Page 108 of Break Your Fall

Camille chuckles from her place behind the island. “Oh, you know that’s not gonna last.”

“They were looking at awedding book,” I emphasize, which only makes her laugh more.

“Reyna, they’ll be divorced in a year, tops.” She squeezes the honey bottle in her hands over the toast on her plate as she adds, “If he can stand her for that long.”

“He’s stood her for this long! And thank you, that’s why I came here,” I say with a nod at Camille. “I needed someone to trash talk my mother right now.”

“Trash speaks for itself,” she deadpans, and I smile my amusement before my scowl is back and I wave my arm with my next complaint.

“You know, she doesn’t deserve this. Asecond chance,” I mock my mother’s words, then stop my pacing and jab my finger into my chest. “Ideserve a second chance.”

“And you have them,” Camille reminds me, always so calm and reasonable. “You have a father and a sister and a Tommy.” She adds Tommy’s name to the list so simply that I don’t catch it until I’m holding her knowing look as she bites into her toast.

I bite my lip and start pacing again as she elaborates through her mouthful, “You have a second chance at a family and at a love. Focus onyourlife, and let your mom fuck up her own.”

“Ooh, you know what I’m gonna do?” I chime as I point to the side in her direction.

“Let my words go through one ear and out the other?”

“I’m gonna take a cue fromyou, and give her what she deserves, like … show him her dress before she walks down the aisle. That’s bad luck, right? And take away all the blue things so she can’t borrow any.”

Camille’s laughter stops my pacing again. “While I’m liking the sound of this, this isn’t you.”

“So?” I protest with a face. “It can be me today. Er—on the wedding day.”

“Let your mom ruin her marriage on her own,” she repeats, leaning forward with the stress. “She’s ruined relationships before, she’ll do it again.”

My phone pings from my dress pocket and I pull it out to see Tommy’s text responses to the news.

WHAT??the first one reads.

Then,Is this an August Fools joke?

I smile and send back,I wish

“Speaking of your second chance,” Camille says through another bite of her toast. “Just when I’m trying to be a better friend, you go and replace me with a sister.” Her words are teasing, dressed in a smirk, but she lets me hear the regret she feels in the small way she delivers them. “It’s okay if you do,” she adds, assuring, as I approach the island, returning my phone to my pocket. “I don’t think I have it in me to be what you need.”

“You do,” I tell her, a smile spreading my lips as I hold her stare. “You’re still one of my best friends, Camille.” Once I’ve said those words, I know that I mean them. I still love her, and I still believe in us.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” she says with a nod, affirming our history with a lilt of a promise that we’ll go through a lot more together.

“We can be good for each other,” I reaffirm myself. “We can be better than what we’ve been. I know it’s not gonna happen overnight. But we can.”

Camille returns my smile, and I swipe her other piece of toast, biting out a chunk as she rolls her eyes at me.

After my vent with Camille, I needed some time to myself to work through the feelings that shouldn’t even exist, and I couldn’t go back to my bedroom to work thanks to the people who caused said feelings, so I called my dad and asked if I could access his studio. I waited until closing, and he left the gallery key for me, so now I’m finally making myself at home in his space—our space.

The first thing I see when I flick on the light is my canvases for my showcase. Finished and beautiful and waiting for the world. I smile as I set up the blank canvas I brought along, stealing glances at my series as I gather supplies and paints, the crinkling of the plastic under my steps filling the silence.

I sit on the stool now in front of my workspace and breathe, my eyes moving around the room, my gaze touching every wall, every corner, every paint splatter, every piece of a new home.

A dream come true.

My skin prickles as soon as I lift my brush to the canvas, the chilling sensation pausing my hand mid-air.

Noises reach my ears from the gallery. The thudding of shoes, drawing closer to my open door.

The only person who knows I’m here is my father, and I have a very small moment where I’m thinking he has come to check in before the thudding turns to voices, more than one, several pairs of feet, several voices that I recognize the closer they come in my direction.

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