Nancy was intent on us spending sister time this weekend. What this meant was we threw on a movie and watched it while simultaneously scrolling on our phones.

The movie was at its slowest part so we were pretty much talking over it. Nancy was laying against all my pillows to make the most cushioned backrest of all time on while I tried to copy the nail art I found on my phone on my nails. It wasn't going very well. The white polish refused to make the thin wispy lines and instead made fat, messy streaks.

“Do you think it’s appropriate to put baby toys on the registry for my baby shower or does it look weird since the baby won’t be able to play with them for a while?” she asked, her acrylic nails making loud tapping noises as she scrolled through her phone.

I held up my hand and studied the  two nails I'd gotten painted. "Baby shower? Don’t you have a while before you have to start planning that?”

Last I heard the doctor had said Nancy was about three months pregnant.

“I know,” she said, sitting up and adjusting the cushions behind her. She was only just starting to show and even then, it wasn't very obvious. “I just want to make sure I milk all I can out of our relatives on Dad’s side.”

It momentarily stunned me to hear her refer to our father as ‘Dad’. Nancy was usually very careful to address him in ways that made our relationship to him sound as distant as possible. She would go as far as to call him 'our biological father' or 'mom's husband'. I was still reeling from the mention of him when she continued.

“It's pretty easy to do since they’re all like ‘Sorry our son killed your mother. Maybe if I give you gifts and send money I won’t have to show my face around ‘cause that would be awkward’.”

Nancy scoffed, not needing any response from me. “But hey, if you can make money off of your loss and trauma, might as well, right? It won’t make it go away but at least you’ll be comfortable, don’t you think?”

I had never reached out to my relatives on my father’s side. When I was younger they’d communicate with my uncle and give us things through him. Since we never moved, they still had our address and thus, every few months we got something from them. I certainly agreed with Nancy’s characterization of them. It did seem like the gifts and money were more for their conscience than out of love for us. They never showed their face or cared to see how we were doing.

I didn’t know if I agreed with trying to profit off of that guilt. 

Nancy scrunched up her face. "If only Stephanie would feel some of that guilt."

"Stephanie?" The name didn't strike up any faces in my memory.

Nancy looked up at me, her lips pressed together. "Yeah, our aunt from our dad's side."

When I didn't recognize the name, she continued with exasperation dripping from every syllable.

"She married rich a while back but since she hates her brother, she's kept it all to herself - even after she was widowed."

I never thought too much about my father's family. It felt like the right thing to pretend they didn't exist. Logically, I knew that though my father was evil, it didn't mean his family had to be. But I couldn't help but see them as the people who spawned such wickedness. My father came from them, grew up with them, shared DNA with them. Parts of him resided in them and I couldn't help but be afraid that those parts would be ugly, or worse, they would be beautiful and complicate the view I wanted to have of my father.

"Have we ever met her?" I asked.

"No. She doesn't want anything to do with us. She never has." I watched as my sister crumbled up the bag of chips that had been open beside her and tossed it into the bin. Her choppy sentences and tone cued me into her mind being at work. If I sat it out in silence for a little while, she would spill whatever it was she was thinking about.

“You don’t still write those letters to him, do you?” She locked eyes with me until I answered the question.

“No, I haven’t in years."

I thought it was common knowledge since I had made a big show of stopping when I did. Perhaps speaking of our father's family reawakened her fear that I'd get hurt.

Nancy hummed. “Good.”

A few minutes later, I got a text from Kimberly responding to my question about meeting up. She said she was free for the rest of the day so I told Nancy that we were hardly hanging out with each other as much as we were existing in the same space. She excused me and I met up with Kimberly at a lunch spot on the other side of town.

The place was buzzing with life. Waiters and waitresses were balancing plates, maneuvering around each other with the kind of skill that comes with having worked with the same people for ages. The chatter coming from each wooden bistro table was diluted by the soft jazz music coming from the speakers overhead. Whenever I inhaled, the scent of baked goods like muffins and croissants filled my nose. The decor was minimalist with plants dotting the space in corners and hanging around windows. It was the kind of place Kimberly was good at finding. That one restaurant with disgusting food had been out of the norm for her.

“I must admit, I made an oopsie,” Kimberly said, once I’d taken a few bites of the burger I ordered. “When I was leaving your birthday diner, I placed the note from Adonis down to zip up my coat but I don’t think I ever picked it back up. When I went to take it out of my purse to throw it out, it wasn’t there.”

I paused, the french fry in my hand soaking in a pile of ketchup. “You’re saying you left it in my house?”

She scrunched up her face, her fox-like features sharpening.  “I was hoping you’d say you found it and got rid of it yourself. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” I said, popping the fry into my mouth. “It might have gotten thrown out in the clean up. No one has mentioned it to me. Everyone’s acting the same as usual.”

I hoped if I said it out loud I might believe it.

It was an honest mistake Kimberly had made but a big one at that. Nancy and Darren would flip if they read it. If someone found it, I hoped it had been my aunt or uncle or Julio.

“Okay! Then it’s probably fine!" she cheered, waving her fists in the air. Her beaded bracelets rattled against her skin. “I’m sure if someone had found it they would have brought it to you or at the very least said something.”

I nodded and drowned my lingering worries in more ketchup and fries.

We chatted some more, the two of us never seeming to run out of things to talk about despite the fact I was hiding the most crucial parts of life - the investigation -  from her. When we got into a rare lull in the conversation, I knew it was my opportunity to bring up what I wanted to speak to her about.

I tugged at the ladybug necklace around my neck. It felt like the right occasion to wear it out, especially since I was about to follow Adonis’s advice. 

“So, I was thinking about what Adonis said in his letter and what you’ve told me millions of times before that.”

Kimberly’s head whipped up from her plate. Her eyes practically sparkled with anticipation. When I smiled, she mirrored it.

“I think it’s time for me to think about moving out of the house.”

“And move in with me?” She let her fork clatter onto the plate as she clasped her palms together.

“If you’re still looking for a roommate.”

“Are you kidding? I have been wanting this forever!”

She squeezed my arms from across the table and I squeezed her back.

“We have to keep this on the down low,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to find out before everything is taken care of. You know how my family is -”

“They’ll try to talk you out of it,” she finished for me again, this time looking dismayed. She mimed zipping her lips shut. "We'll keep it under wraps.”

For the rest of our outing, we were buzzing with excitement about moving in together. Kimberly got all the practical, logistical stuff out of the way in the beginning, like how much splitting the rent would be and the landlord's rules, so we could spend more time on the fun stuff. We talked about the furniture I’d bring to the apartment and how I wouldn’t have to worry about Nancy eavesdropping on my phone calls through the wall.

We parted ways with a big hug goodbye and a promise that someday soon, the two of us would get to walk home to our shared apartment together.

I hadn’t walked so much as ten feet down the block when someone else had grabbed a hold of me.

Immediately, I thought of the person who had called with their distorted voice. I thought of their warning. People were out to get me. Then I was thinking about the moves I had learned in my first few kickboxing lessons. I wasn't confident I could perform any of them without a still target and padded gloves.

I tried to wrench myself free from the person's grasp.

“Hello, Mickey!” The person had a tall frame, broad shoulders, and a lopsided smile. My mind placed his familiar features and I recognized him.

It was Vincent.

He was more chipper than usual, reminding me of the version of himself he showed at my birthday party and around my family. No. He was even more energized than that. His voice had reached a tone that was scary considering its tendency to remain in an uninterested, gravelly conference.

“It’s crazy running into you out here! I thought I was safe from my coworkers on the weekend." He had released me from his grip but stood so close to me that it almost didn’t make a difference.

I wracked my brain for something to say. I felt as though I needed a moment to process what’s going on but for some reason, I didn’t feel like it’s an option. It was like I was on stage for a school play but showed up unrehearsed.

"What are you up to?” I tried.

“Nothing much, just trying to make the most of the weekend.” It was odd that he wasn’t referencing our real relationship with each other. He didn’t have to pretend to be my coworker when no one was watching us. “Say, what direction are you heading in?”

I gestured in the direction that I had been heading when he bumped into me. “This way.”

“Me too,” he said, despite how he bumped into me because he was heading in the opposite direction than I was. “How about we walk together?”

Something flashed in his eyes. His mouth twitched. It was a threat - no, a warning. Despite his countenance, he wasn't asking.

Something is wrong.

He couldn’t tell me directly but something was wrong and he was trying to get me to follow him. 

I followed his lead and kept the causal air in my tone. “Sure. You actually missed Kimberly by a second.”

I looked back to see her walking down the block. Her head had already been turned in our direction, like she had heard a fraction of our conversation and was mildly curious. I waved her over to us. If there was some unseen danger, I wanted her with Vincent and I where she’d be safe - just in case.

Once she was within earshot, Vincnet said, “I’d love to take you two to ice cream.”

Kimberly seemed a bit taken back but she didn't resist. “I never turn down free dessert.”

Vincent took us to an ice cream shop bustling with customers on the town’s Main Street. The line was long and winded out of the shop but he insisted the ice cream was worth the wait, especially since it’d be too cold for ice cream soon.

The place was decorated like it was located on a beach in the 1960’s with a broken jukebox in the corner, faded advertisements framed on the walls, and metal chairs with red and white striped cushions.

I tried to enjoy the experience, not thinking too hard about whether we were in danger or not. The explanation that made the most sense was that someone was following me - someone other than Vincent and he caught on. He inserted himself so I wouldn’t be caught alone, and took us to a public area where a person would be less likely to strike.

I wanted more than anything to have a candid conversation with Vincent about what was really going on but inviting Kimberly along had probably made that impossible.

I didn’t want to let whoever may have been watching us know I knew what they were up to so I tried to focus on the conversation Kimberly and Vincent were having about K-dramas. Vincent let Kimberly rant about her hate for the rich guy, poor girl trope without an ounce of judgment.

It turned out Vincent wasn’t lying when he said they had the best ice cream. I got the coffee flavor and by a miracle the caffeine did not further inflate my nerves. Soon, I found myself forgetting the reason why this impromptu hang out started and got absorbed in the conversation and the atmosphere.

It was all Vincent's doing. The ice cream shop was pretty and the ice cream itself was great and having Kimberly around was soothing but Vincent was the one being a beacon of tranquility. He was keeping the conversation going, searching for something to say despite how he himself enjoyed the silence. He was the one pulling me back into the moment by asking for my opinion whenever my gaze started to wander to the dark corners of the buildings and strangers' faces.

He was looking out for me. He was going out of his way to. 

I caught his eye a few times in the middle of our conversations. The corner of his lips would tug upwards to create the most subtle yet most reassuring of smiles. 

We finished our ice cream and walked Kimberly to her car almost a full two hours later. Vincent’s body language seemed less tense, the plastic grin on his face swapped for a genuine one. I took it as confirmation we were no longer in danger.

It was pouring out. The sun hid behind the clouds rather abruptly on our little walk. The sunset orange sky was swapped out for a purple and gray darkness that sent the streetlights on in a hurry to produce light.

The concrete on the sidewalk was dotted with the dark circles the rain water created and soon the smell of it filled the air. It felt refreshing in my lungs.

Our walk to Kimberly’s car turned into a sprint for cover underneath a storefront. The rain had gone from a manageable drizzle to a torrential downpour, with the droplets rebounding off the pavement.

We waited for a few minutes and when the rain didn't let up, Kimberly suggested we make a run for it.

“Wait,” Vincent said, shrugging his leather jacket off his shoulders. Kimberly had brought a jacket with a proper hood and everything but I had settled for a thick knitted sweater as proper attire for the day. He instructed me to place it over my head like he had days ago with the newspaper.
"There's nothing worse than being soaked to the bone."

"That's exactly what you will be since you're giving this to me," I said, remembering how opposed to the rain he had seemed when it was just a drizzle a few days ago. He shuddered exactly how he had done before.

"I know," he said. Then more softly so Kimberly couldn't hear, "But I can't let my partner in justice get sick."

I let out a surprised laugh. I had thought Vincent hated me when we first met and now he was affirming he saw me as his equal. He was also as stiff as a plank of wood when we first met and now he was far more light hearted. I couldn't help but feel utterly exhilarated every time he revealed a different level of himself. It felt like a reward, like maybe I had done something special to convince him to let some walls down.

The three of us ran a few blocks in the heavy rain. Kimberly's squeals made the experience less miserable and more invigorating. The night was truly beautiful. The rain’s soothing patter on the ground and the adrenaline rush from running in a desperate attempt to avoid being soaked through. It was a simple moment that somehow gave me more than most planned, extravagant ones I had experienced.

I wished I could bottle it up and save it forever.

Droplets of water created little rivers going down Vincent's forehead, sliding down the sides of his nose, his lips, and plummeting off his jaw. It made his hair a flat patch of strands that got into his eyes. The rain soaked through his clothes quickly, making his button up stick to his skin.

As I watched him sprint with the form of a trained runner, I thought that however disgusting the rain made him feel, he didn't look it. The rain made him glow. It brought him to life.

He opened the passenger side door of the jeep for me and gave me his hand to help me hop in. He closed it shut and gave me a breathless smile from behind the window glass.

Kimberly climbed into the driver's seat, shaking in her drenched hoodie. The front of her hair was stuck to the side of her face but her makeup had somehow stood more intact than mine. She started the car. Her first priority was turning the heat on.

Vincent waved goodbye and made a break for the sidewalk, presumably, off to find his own car. When Kimberly was busy trying to pull out of the parking spot, Vincent turned from his sprint and jogged backwards. He held up his thumb and pinky, bringing the sign to his ear.

"I'll call you," he mouthed.

For a second, I had forgotten the context of it all. My chest filled with warmth and a smile crept onto my lips.

Then I remembered why he had been with me at all that day. It was because I was in danger. It was because I was his partner, helping him get information to solve a case.

Shame and guilt destroyed the giddy feeling that had snuck up on me.

I was half way home when I realized I still had Vincent’s jacket around my shoulders.

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