When Fred had packed up her cosy, coastal life in Baltimore and traded it for a bigger, more densely populated city, she hadnât anticipated becoming part of the most hated demographic in the big apple. Back home, sheâd ridden her bike just about everywhere with zero problems. In New York, simply trying to get from point A to point B had caused her to be sworn at on the Subway, cussed out on the road, and one time, a little bit hit by a car. She hadnât realised how much New Yorkers fucking hated cyclists. Like it was her fault sheâd had so many traumatic Father-Daughter driving lessons that sheâd simply sworn never to get behind the wheel of a car again.Â
Besides, she liked cycling. There was something so freaking electric about riding through the city, hair growing steadily more tangled as the wind whipped it to and fro, listening to Don Giovanni at eardrum-splitting volume. She didnât even care that she looked kinda dorky in her helmet. And if she timed it, she could usually make it from Anna Mayâs house to Casa LivvyKaiFred in under twenty minutes. Glancing down at the her watchband, she smiled. Seventeen minutes was gonna be a new personal record.Â
Of course, Anna May, in usual Anna May branded dramatics, had been kind of pissed at Fred for skipping out on band practice. Sheâd pursed her lips when Fredâs phone had started ringing, lines on her forehead appearing in a way that reminded Fred just why theyâd broken up all those years ago. Fred had slipped onto the fire escape with an apologetic smile on her lips, shrugging her shoulders all devil-may-care and shit. It wasnât like they needed Fred all the time, anyway. She was only the violin accompaniment, Anna May was the lead vocalist, the star. She liked to remind everyone of that at every given opportunity. And besides, Fred had made a pact with herself never to ignore a call from Kai or Livvy.Â
Sheâd pressed the phone to her ear, reminding herself to keep her voice at a safe decibel for Livvy ears. (She and Kai often answered the phone to each other with an assortment of loud yells and screams, but the rules were a little different for Liv, on account of all her health stuff). It had been a short phone call - twenty six seconds, when sheâd looked back at her call log - but long enough to set off alarm bells. Livvyâs voice had been strained, lulls in her sentences, like she was struggling to string anything coherent together. Fred could practically picture her at the other end of the phone, furrowing her brow, sitting in a dark room. And Fred knew Kai wasnât home, he often came home hours later than the two of them, bag overstuffed with studentâs papers about the non-existence of God, or whatever.Â
It had been enough to make Fred head straight home.Â
She wheeled her bike up the four flights of stairs, the tires thunk-thunking off every step as she went, her violin case banging against her back. She was sweaty and breathless, blowing damp tendrils of hair out of her face as she fumbled with the lock that always stuck. When she finally managed to get it open, the whole apartment was shrouded in darkness.Â
Her mouth turned downwards as she tried to shut the door behind her as quietly as she could, cursing the rattling of her bike chain when she leaned it against the wall. She shed her jacket as she went, dropping her violin into the sagging armchair that inexplicably lived in their hallway. She felt her way along the hall in the dark, around the handle that opened up to Livvyâs room.Â
Sure enough, she could make out the vague outline of her. She tiptoed over to her bed, feeling the mattress dip underneath her as she clambered in next to her, laying on her side so that they were face to face.
âHey, Liv.â she breathed, keeping her voice low. She reached a hand out to gently push Livvyâs mass of dark hair off of her face, tucking it behind her ear. âI got your call. We finally staging that intervention for Kai?â
She smiled at her in the low light, hoping she could see it. Or at least, hear the warmth in her voice.Â
âSâit your head again?â
