I’ve been to Kiara and Val’s place plenty of times before, enough to know where to turn and which hill to climb. But I’ve never been here at night. Compared to the perpetually loud streets and brightly lit high-rises of my old neighborhood, my friends’ street is dimly lit and quiet. Aside from the fleeting headlights of passing cars, the only sources of light are the streetlamps that dot the sidewalk and the occasionally uncovered windows of people’s homes. After living near the hustle and bustle of the Financial District and Chinatown, I find the sudden silence jarring.

“Hey!” Kiara waves at me from where she’s standing in the doorway to her building. She’s holding the door open, and light filters out from the hall, casting a warm, faint glow on her pink braids and brown skin. When she sees my face, her expression softens, and she approaches me with her arms outstretched.

“Come here, baby,” she says.

Tears erupt from the corners of my eyes as we hug. During the train ride, I naively thought I was done crying. But now that I’m in the refuge of Kiara’s arms, uncontrollable sobs rack my body. Waves of grief hit me one after another, each one leaving me emptier than the last.

“You’re okay,” Kiara says, gently patting my back. “Good riddance to him! He’s a complete mess. I still can’t believe he couldn’t even give you a straight answer for why he’s breaking up with you.”

Val steps forward from behind Kiara to join our group hug. A direct contrast to Kiara’s cute white blouse and pink skirt, Val’s in a black turtleneck, khaki pants, and combat boots that, along with her fade haircut, make her look like she’s about to report to basic training. They can’t be more different, and yet they give off the same loving energy, incredibly in sync with each other in a way that only the luckiest couples are.

“You’re all right, kid,” Val says. “James was only dragging you down. There are lots of other men and women out there for you. Or even nonbinary folk! The world is your oyster.”

I know her well enough to get that she’s channeling her suburban white stepdad, Bill, to try to make me laugh. It’s a bit she likes to do sometimes, since the phrases he commonly uses sound ridiculous coming from a petite, Mexican butch like her. And I’d be cackling, too, if I didn’t feel so hollowed out inside.

Kiara pulls away and says, “Okay, so… we should go back inside before our neighbor throws a shoe at us.”

I blink away tears. “Is that a real problem you guys have had?”

“Yeah… they hate us. Not everyone appreciates our spontaneous EDM parties.”