All I knew this morning when I woke is

I know something now that I didn't before.

And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago

Is green eyes and freckles and your smile

In the back of my mind making me feel like

I just wanna know you better.

- "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran

Zuko

When I get back to the shop, Uncle is napping on the booth where I left him. I set the bag of sandwiches down on the table and watch him for a moment before I shake my head and move to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea.

My thoughts drift back to the young woman. Katara. Her name sounds like a lullaby, her skin the soft glow of a nightlight. I can't quite explain it, but she feels safe. Like a parachute on a skydiver's back. It's strange since I've only spoken to her the one time, but there is something about her that feels secure.

She's pretty too. Her skin is the color of caramel and her hair is chocolate. But her smile is what is truly beautiful. Like it's a light, and I'm a moth, drawn to it.

I was a stuttering, rambling mess throughout our whole conversation, and I cringe now in embarrassment. But I couldn't help it. She just had that kind of effect on me. I felt like I was drunk, tripping over my words. But she seemed a little nervous too, and that makes me feel a little better. And if I'm being honest, a little hopeful too.

When the tea is done, I carry two cups back into the main room. Uncle's head has fallen onto the back of the booth and his mouth is agape. He's snoring gently, and I feel a swell of love rise up inside of me. He didn't have to do this for me, and really, I ought to be more grateful.

"Uncle," I say gently as I set the cups down. "Uncle, I brought your lunch."

He wakes with a snort, jolting upright. His sharp eyes fall on the tea and the food, and he sits up with a smile.

"Mm, looks delicious, nephew." He picks up the tea with a curious frown. "Don't tell me that sandwich shop makes tea. That could be bad for our business."

I give an amused half-smile. "No. I did."

"Oh." Uncle surveys the cup, and my amusement quickly sours as I narrow my eyes at him.

"You expect me to work in your tea shop, but you don't like my tea?" My tone is only a little accusatory.

"I never said you would be making the tea." He chuckles as he unwraps his sandwich. His eyes fall on the clock on the wall. "You've been gone for almost forty-five minutes. Did you go to Nehalem for these?" He chuckles again.

I roll my eyes. "I don't even know where that is." I open my own sandwich. "I...took someone home. She was caught out in the rain." I gesture outside, where the downpour has relented to a drizzle.

Uncle seems to have just noticed it. "Oh." He looks back up at me. "She, hm? Is she around your age?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I take a bite out of my sandwich. I wish I hadn't said anything at all. Uncle is always encouraging me to talk to girls. I don't know if it's his way of trying to show a fatherly inclination or if he thinks I need help in that department, but most of the time I wish he would let up. I have a girlfriend, for crying out loud. Sort of.

Maybe Uncle is encouraging this just because he just doesn't like Mai.

No, I know he doesn't like her.

Uncle is not easily dissuaded. He surveys his sandwich, lifting one corner of the bread to inspect the meat and toppings. "What's her name?"

I narrow my eyes at him over my sandwich. "What makes you think I got her name?"

"Hopeful thinking." Uncle shrugs and reaches for the tea. I can see him startle when he takes a drink, and I wonder if my tea is really that bad. I glance down at my own cup with a frown. Uncle clears his throat. "But since you didn't say no, I'm assuming you did."

"I did. It's Katara."

"What a lovely name." Uncle's eye has a sparkle to it, one I recognize all too well. The old man is scheming. "Do you think you'll see her again?"

My irritation is mounting. I don't want to talk about girls with my uncle, and I really don't want to talk about her, not when I can still smell her rain-soaked hair and can see the ocean depths of her eyes. I just want to eat my lunch and get back work.

I don't know why I'm so eager though. It's not like I'll have anything to do when it's done.

"Considering there's like, two people in this whole town, probably," I snap.

Uncle sighs and takes a bite of his food. Guilt washes over me. He's just trying to help, I remind myself. You don't have to be so hard on him.

I exhale. "I think I'd like to," I murmur. It's almost an acquiescence.

He takes it. Uncle smiles warmly at me. "Then I'm sure you will."

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I can feel a headache starting to pulse behind my eye, but we're not done working. There's more to set up and arrange down here (and rearrange, if I know my uncle as well as I think I do) and we still have to unpack the loft. I suppose there's really no hurry, since it's not like I have college or a job to worry about now, but I'm feeling restless.

I'm still thinking about Katara.

"Have you heard from Mai?" Uncle poses the question nonchalantly, but it's anything but casual.

"No." I take a drink of my tea and try not to pull a sour face. It's bitter. Maybe Uncle is right about my tea, I think to myself. I huff out a breath. "I texted her last night, but…"

I let the words hang in the air between us. Uncle nods as he chews his sandwich thoughtfully. Something hot boils in my belly. I can't tell if it's anger or shame, or maybe both. But it sours my appetite and I push aside my half-eaten food as my head pulses a little harder.

"Maybe it is time to let her go, nephew." Uncle speaks slowly, carefully, and another wave of guilt washes over me. I know he's trying to tiptoe around my temper, and it makes me feel even worse. He watches me over the rim of the tea cup he's holding but not drinking from. "You know what they say about closed doors and open windows."

I shut my eyes and resist the urge to scrub my hand down my face. I can hear the wisdom in his words, like a preacher with a sermon from my childhood. I know he's not wrong, but it's not easy to hear. I have a hard time letting go. When I find something safe, I cling to it like a lifeline, and it's nearly impossible for me to let go and see where the waves will take me.

Mai is safe. At least, she's been safe enough. She's been one constant in my life, one thing I could count on to be around. No matter how many times we've broken up, she's always been there to catch me if I fall. She has been there with me through all of my worst moments, with her rasping voice telling me to get over it and her pale fingers to work away my stress. She was Azula's friend first, but she's been my safety net. If I let go of her, will I keep my head above water or will I drown in the undertow?

And she's mad at me. Furious, really. Because I didn't stay, because I didn't fight.

I'm tired of fighting.

"This is a fresh start here, Zuko." Uncle's tone is soft, gentle. It reminds me of my mother. "Don't let the opportunities pass you by."

"Okay," I tell him, because I'm not sure what else I should say. I just know that I should say something. I stand up. "Are you ready to get back to work?"

He smiles wanly up at me in a way I'm all too familiar with. He doesn't quite believe me, and I can't say I blame him. I have a history of telling him I'll listen to him, and then I don't. Because I'm an impulsive mess who thinks I'll do one thing and then I end up doing something else, and that's how we ended up here in the first place.

But maybe this time...I'll listen.

Katara

By the time I'm done in the shower, the rain has turned into a light drizzle. Wrapped in my bathrobe with my hair twisted into a towel, I go upstairs to my room. I pass by my brother's door and feel a pinch in my heart. I miss him.

I stop with my hand on the doorknob, that ache settled deep in my chest. We just saw him over winter break, but it feels like it's been longer. I never knew how hard it would be for me when he left for college. But then again, he was never planning on going to college three hours away either. He has a scholarship to thank for that. I'm proud of him.

I open the door. The squeak is a sound I've heard all of my life, like a nursery rhyme my mother used to sing. I step inside.

Sokka hasn't lived in this room in a year, except for when he comes home for breaks. It hasn't changed much since he left. The single bed is still pushed into one corner. It's unmade now, just a bare mattress, but I can still picture the blue and green plaid quilt that used to cover it, sewed by our gran-gran. But his posters of athletes and rockstars still adorn the walls, and his baseball trophies line the shelves Dad hung up when Sokka won his first trophy in the Little Leagues.

I can remember that day so clearly: Dad had smashed his thumb with the hammer and had yelled expletives until Mom had come to see what was going on. Then she had finished hanging the shelves while Dad bemoaned his "broken" thumb and I played Doctor Katara to my most dramatic patient, back when I had dreams of actually becoming a doctor. Afterwards, the four of us sat on the back porch while Mom and Dad drank beer and Sokka and I had root beer.

I smile at the memory as I step inside. It still smells like Sokka, just a little bit, beneath the scent of disuse. The floorboards creak under my feet as I cross to the window. It looks out over the whole town, clear to the beach, an identical view to the one in my room.

The view is obscured now by the sheets of rain, but I can see the gilded roof of City Hall, the church steeple, the high school I graduated from nearly a year ago, the same school my brother and parents graduated from.

Somewhere in the gridwork of streets and buildings is a scarred young man in a coffee shop. I wonder if he's thinking about the girl he rescued from the rain.

I leave Sokka's room and go into my own.

Mine hasn't changed much since I was a child either. The walls are still robin's egg blue, and the matching dresser and desk that Dad built out of sturdy oak still sit where they always have. My twin bed sits below the window to let in the morning light, with white fairy lights winding along the white-painted bars of the headboard.

The only things that have really changed are the framed pictures on the wall, and the myriad of things I have tacked to my cork board: train ticket stubs, flyers for charity events, postings for my high school swim times, pictures of my friends and I, dried flowers hung from ribbons. And the pamphlet from my mother's memorial, dated eleven months and twelve days ago.

It's almost been a year. It feels like it was yesterday; it feels like a lifetime ago.

I go to my closet and pull out a pair of leggings and one of Dad's old sweaters. When I'm dressed I go back downstairs and into the kitchen. Momo follows me, weaving through my legs. He's much happier now that I'm not wet.

I make a sandwich and a cup of orange spice tea. I use the microwave because I'm impatient. Then I go back to the living room and curl up on the couch. I turn the TV on and boot up Hulu and settle into a favorite of mine, The Golden Girls. It's like putting on an old cardigan: familiar and comforting.

My friends think I'm weird because I like watching a show about old ladies. But I like the show for its lessons in love, life, and friendship. They're lessons that span generations. And it used to be something my mother and I enjoyed together.

My mother was prone to insomnia, just like I am. Countless nights I would creep down the stairs, unable to sleep, and find my mother curled up under a throw blanket Gran-Gran had knitted, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and The Golden Girls reruns on TV. Her blue eyes would catch in the darkness, and she would smile at me and beckon me to her, inviting me to burrow into her side to share her popcorn and watch the show.

"The moon likes our company," she would tell me.

It still likes mine.

An hour later my phone buzzes on the end table. I check it. It's a text from my boyfriend, Jet. He's off to college too, but he's a few hours south, in Eugene. We text and video call frequently, and he makes a trip up to see me every few months.

But I worry. Our relationship isn't what it was when we were both still in high school, and we knew going in that long distance would be hard. Sometimes I miss him fiercely. I miss him curled up here beside me on the couch or surfing in the ocean with me. And sometimes when he's here, I still miss him. Things just aren't the same as they used to be.

J Hey babe

I hold my phone in my hand and look down at the screen. I wait a few minutes to text him back. I'm not sure why, but I don't want him to think I'm just waiting around for him to text me. I don't. And he probably won't even think that, but still, I wait.

K Hey what's up?

I turn my attention back to the TV, but I don't have to wait long for him to text me back. Maybe he doesn't feel the same way I do, but I know he's probably texting me between classes.

J I was thinking about coming to see you for spring break.

My heart skips in my chest. I haven't seen Jet since winter break either, and I do miss him, no matter how much things have changed. And really, I don't have any plans for break other than a few hikes with Aang. And Sokka will be home, too.

K I'd love that :) I miss you

J I miss you too

We text back and forth for a while, setting a date. He'll be here on March 21st. It's something to look forward to, at least.

Zuko

I retire to my room early. Uncle is still awake, working on one of his puzzles. He's got his records on, and even with the door shut I can hear Sam Cook's smooth voice.

I was born by the river in a little tent. And just like the river, I've been running ever since…

I find a box of clothes among the other boxes of things I have yet to unpack and find a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Even with the heater on, my room gets cold. It's as though the wind seeps in through the cracks in the boards and the window's old frame. I imagine that in the summer, it will be hot. Sam Cook continues to sing.

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die. 'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky...

I change quickly before I climb under the duvet on the bed. I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling. I'm tired but I can't seem to shut my brain off. The day keeps playing over and over in my mind: bumping into Katara, taking her home, my conversation with Uncle.

I'm not someone who believes in coincidence. I think everything happens for a reason, even if we don't always know what that reason is. I don't think it's a coincidence that Katara and I ran into each other twice today. I know it's a small town, but what were the odds that she would be coming back onto the sidewalk right when I rushed down the stairs? And how likely was it that I would be at that caution light when she walked past?

I think about what Uncle said, about closed doors and open windows. But Sam Cook seems to seal the deal for me:

It's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gon' come...

Katara

I'm still watching The Golden Girls with Momo when Dad comes home. He's walking with exaggerated care, and I can tell he's drunk even before I smell the beer and whiskey on his breath or see the glassy sheen in his eyes.

He hangs his coat up on the hook and braces his hands against the wall to slip off his boots before he makes his way to the kitchen. He sees me out of the corner of his eyes, and he flashes me a bright smile.

"Hey, snow pea," he greets me, his words thick and slurred. "I didn't see you there. Why are you sitting in the dark?"

I flick on the lamp on the end table. I haven't realized the sun has set. I've been lost in thought.

"I'm just watching TV." I eye him, where he stands on the cusp between the kitchen and living room, propping himself up on the doorframe. "Did you catch a lot of fish?"

"Oh yeah. Rain always helps. Brings 'em to the surface, y'know." Dad smiles at me again. "What did you do? Did the rain ruin your trip to the beach?"

I think of Zuko, with his timid smile and pink scar, and his warm car that smelled of bread.

"No," I say after a moment. "It didn't ruin it at all."