“Of course,” Mora answers, then turns around and walks away. Kai tugs me closer and supports some of my weight as I hobble to the waiting town car. It’s so warm inside that it burns; I peel off my coat as Kai shuts the door.
“That was weird,” I say as the driver eases the car forward.
“What?” Kai asks.
“Mora. I don’t know. She’s just… weird. I mean, she gave us a ride to the hospital, but… you don’t think she’s weird?”
“I think she’s nice,” Kai says, voice hard—so hard my eyes widen in surprise. “She was telling me about her sister. It was her twin sister, she said. I feel bad for her. She says she’s lost everything more than once.”
“I don’t think she feels bad for herself,” I mutter, though I’m instantly ashamed—why would I fight with him on a day like this? Kai shrugs off my comment. “You sounded great,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says, looking out the window. When I don’t respond, he turns to me, eyes softening a little. “Sorry. I just… I think I’m finally crashing from all the emotion.” He reaches across the seat and takes my hand. “Is your knee okay?”
“Yes,” I answer. “It’ll be fine. How are you doing?”
“Surprisingly fine, right now,” he says, and it’s true—there’s little of the sadness I saw on his face during the service, as if it’s been washed away by the warmth of the car. “If I have a meltdown tonight, though, I’ll signal you.”
The flashlight signal is as old as my friendship with Kai. We always leave the bottom few inches of our blinds drawn up. One flash means Are you there? Two means Good night—which happens nightly, without fail. Three is Come over. Four is Meet you on the roof. I’m surprised the neighbors have never complained about it, really, since there are some nights where we argue via flashing over who should come over to whose house.
Our building looks almost pretty in the snow—probably because the white covers all its flaws. The car lets us out a few yards away so the driver can avoid going over an ice patch, and we balance and slide our way to the front stoop. The memory of Grandma Dalia being hauled out of the building is fresh in my mind as we trudge through the snow to avoid the slippery sidewalk. I hug Kai tightly before we split to go to our separate apartments.
Night comes early; by six o’clock it’s dark. The roads have frozen over again, and thus are nearly desolate—no one is crazy enough to drive on them. At ten, my mom calls—she’s not coming home after work. It’s not worth risking the car, especially when she technically doesn’t have car insurance. I microwave a cup of noodles and fill time flipping through the cookbook—I forgot to give it back to Kai after the service. The pages of beasts feel more jarring and threatening than usual, making me keenly aware of how alone I am in the apartment. I shiver and close the book. You’re not alone. Kai is just across the courtyard.
There’s a strange feeling in my gut as I go to my bedroom—as if what I just thought isn’t true, as if Kai isn’t really there. I peer across the courtyard toward Kai’s window, lifting the flashlight from the nightstand. I flick the light four times in his direction, then grab my coat and make my way into the hall and up the stairs toward the roof. It’s relatively easy to convince myself that I just want to see the city in the darkness and ice, to check on the roses, but I can feel the need to see Kai rising within me, the need to feel his hand in mine. I reach the step by the roof access door and sit down, shivering in the cold—there’s no heat in the hallways. The door frame is so cold it burns my back when I lean against it, even through the layers of fabric.
A few moments pass. I could go check on the roses without Kai, but it seems wrong, a violation of an unspoken trust. I let my hair down, hoping it’ll offer some warmth against the weather. Another minute; I think the wind is picking up. We probably shouldn’t go out there. I should just go to Kai’s house when he gets here.
Another minute.
Another.
I look at my phone and realize fifteen minutes have gone by. I send Kai a text, folding my hands into my sleeves while I wait for a reply. Nothing comes. Irritation rises in me, nearly overpowering my sympathy. Were it any other day, I’d stomp downstairs and give him an earful for not answering—he’d do the same to me if the situation were reversed. But today was the funeral, so instead, I go back to my apartment, fuming, alone, and, for some reason that I can’t entirely pinpoint, afraid. I want to be with him, next to him, and not being able to makes me feel wildly off balance. I inhale, trying to steady the frustration I feel rising like a thick ball in my throat. I lock the door of my apartment, kick off my shoes, and go to my bedroom.
Maybe he’s already asleep.
I’m lying to myself, and I know it. Kai doesn’t sleep when he’s upset. He stays awake, he worries, he paces. I angle the flashlight out the window and flash the light twice. Good night. Wait.
No answer.
I flash the light twice again. Nothing. I groan, lean over, and look out the window.
The blinds are shut.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning, my heart still stings a little from the sight of Kai’s closed blinds. It feels silly and stupid and as if I’m the sort of girl who doodles hearts with Kai’s name in them on my notebook. It’s embarrassing. I nag myself to get over it, that some closed blinds are no big deal, to stop moping, but the voice in my head saying all that sounds like Kai, which leaves me doubly embarrassed to have those thoughts in the first place.
Movement outside the window catches my eye—snow, more snow. Will it ever end? I wonder how the roses are doing in all this. Surely they’ve pulled through, even if they’re losing their petals. They’ve made it through hurricanes and ice storms, after all. I firm my jaw, feeling as if it’ll be some personal victory if I can go to the roof and check on the roses without Kai.
I rise, pull on my warmest clothes, and head for the roof. I hear people milling around inside their apartments, cursing at the new snow falling and shouting at one another as several days’ worth of cabin fever sets in. As I grow closer to the roof, the temperature drops. I hug my coat tight and shiver as I grab hold of the freezing metal door handle, slide the key into the lock—
It doesn’t turn. I frown and pull the key out—it’s already unlocked. I push on the door, letting it swing to reveal a thick layer of snow on the rooftop, the gray-and-white skyline beyond that. There are roses, still, but they’re buried underneath the white, drops of crimson in a monochrome world. I smile when I see them there, struggling but hanging on. I step out onto the roof, extend a hand to swipe snow off the nearest rose—