I pick up the paper bag of lighter fluid beside me and get to work.
It’s showtime.
Lia
When I getto my door, I find a giant vase of flowers propped against my door.The flowers are spectacular—like nothing I’ve ever seen.Brilliant flame-orange tiger lilies mixed with blood-red roses.
It’s a fire bouquet.The flowers you give to a pyro.
My foolish heart picks up speed, thrilled to be honored this way.I pick them up and find a long envelope behind with my name scrawled on the front in block letters.I open the door and stumble in, setting the flowers down to tear open the envelope.
Lia,
You were never a project to me.You were (are) the brightest thing to come into my life in a long time.Maybe ever.I think we had (have) something special together, and I sure as hell am going to do everything in my power to get it back.
I’m so fucking sorry I tried to dick with your life without talking to you first.I never should’ve presumed that way.I understand now that I took the dynamic we have in the bedroom and applied it to real life and that was wrong and offensive.
I want you to know that I put you back on the schedule starting tomorrow, and I got myself transferred to another station, so you don’t have to worry about anything being awkward when you go back to work.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to work this thing out with you—I definitely do.I’m going to do everything I can to prove how much I respect you as a person, a firefighter and the woman who turned my world on its head in bed.
But I know I tend to move too fast and smother, so I want to give you space and time.That’s why I’m saying this in a letter and not crowding you in person.
Lastly, I want to say I don’t need to fix you.There’s nothing wrong—you’re perfect as you are.In fact, I want to honor and love everything you love—including fire.
Please look out your bedroom window.
My breath sucksin and I’m already running to my bedroom and pulling open the shade.
I spot Blaze below, standing in the middle of the street, facing my window.As soon as he sees me, he strikes a match and drops it into the street.
I cover my mouth with my hand, choking on a cry.
There, in the middle of the dark, empty road, is a fire.Not just any fire—flaming words:I [giant heart] U Lia.
My vision blurs as I watch the flames curl and lick and then die out.
Blaze holds up a finger.Uses a bottle of lighter fluid to write something else and throws another match down.
Sorry,it says.
“Hey you!”One of my downstairs neighbors leans out her window.I can hear everything through the single glass pane windows in this old building.“What do you think you’re doing?I’m calling the cops!”
I throw my window open.“It’s okay!”I open my window and yell down.“He’s with the FDNY.He can put it out.”
Blaze straightens and pulls the hem of his FDNY shirt down to display the big white logo scrawled across his massive chest.Then he turns back to me and holds up his finger one more time.
He writes again.This time:
Happy Birthday.
I pull my head back out of the window because I don’t want him to see me cry.Somehow this has turned into the worst and best birthday of my life.
When the flames extinguish, all he does is lift a hand in my direction and walk away.
He meant it about giving me space.
I can’t help but notice the gaping hole left in my chest cavity where my heart used to be.Space from Blaze feels all wrong.