"You know I never had a real mom and dad. When I was your age it made me very angry. I was so confused and I don't want that for you. I guess I brought you here because there's two parts of you yeah? One of them is me and one is your dad."
No but for real, can we talk about Kira for a second? Look at tHE MINI-LUMBERSWEATER, and the lumbercurls. But personality-wise she’s so much like her mother I’m gonna cry. THERE ARE TWO PARTS OF HER. ugh feels
Summary: “It looks sad,” Kira says contemplatively as they stand on one of the lookout platforms built for tourists, because that’s what they’re pretending to be; tourists.
The brisk wind rips at his hair while Cal frowns at the glacier. Kira is right. The shapes are unsympathetic, the colors grim, and it looks very big, very terse and very lonely. He feels a twinge of dysphoria in his heart – maybe caused by their situation at large rather than the imminent view – standing on this lookout point trying to keep up an illusion that neither of them are strong enough to sustain and both of them can see through. But Kira puts her hand in the vacancy of his palm, and the way it fits there – like a consoling truth in the midst of the pretending – makes him feel better.
It takes them awhile to get to the closest store, the small strip mall looking out of place in the stretch of road and fields, but it had to do. Kira bounces out of the RV as soon as Cal turns off the engine, eager to get out of the truck and into the open.
Inside the store, there is a surprising amount of clothes and Cal realizes then and there that he has no idea what an eight year old girl would need. Running a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath. He can do this, it’s just shopping right?