Mid-July
The heatwave returned with a vengeance, turning our apartment into a legitimate sauna.
"I'm dying," Maya said, lying spread-eagle on the living room floor in shorts and a tank top.
"This is how I die. Death by California summer."
"You're not dying. You're being dramatic." I handed her a popsicle from the freezer. "Here. Don't drip on the floor."
"If I drip, it'll evaporate instantly. It's that hot."
She had a point. Even with all the fans running, the apartment was unbearable. The AC unit we'd bought secondhand was struggling and making concerning noises.
"We need to get out of here," I said, texting Kai who was still at work. "This heat is dangerous."
His response was immediate: "Movie theater? AC and entertainment. I'll leave early and meet you guys."
"Maya, get dressed. We're going to the movies."
"I'm already dressed."
"More dressed. Like, wearing actual pants."
"Pants are a hate crime in this weather."
"They're also required in public spaces. Get moving."
