Page 22 of The Way We Fell

“Whatever you say, Princess. Whatever you say.” I cross the room, standing with my back to her as I study the full-to-bursting bookshelves built into alcoves on either side of the chimney breast. “Hey, you know you have two—wait—fourof the same book here?”

“They’re special editions.”

“They’re the same book.”

“With different covers. Special edition. Overseas publication. Limited print run.Exclusive.”

“But… they’re all the same on the inside?”

“Some have different fonts. Fancy illustrated chapter headings. One of them is signed by the author.”

“Is the story different?”

Katy’s eyes drop to her feet, suddenly finding her pink woollen socks very interesting.

“No. And there are actually six of them, by the way.”

I smirk into my coffee, dropping into what might just be the most comfortable, oversized and overstuffed armchair I’ve ever sat on. I hold the cup to my face, inhaling the bitter aroma. It gives me something to do with my hands, if nothing else. I didn’t mean to end up here. I certainly didn’t mean to find myself knocking on the front door. This is Katy’s space—herhome. It’s not somewhere that should have to house my oversized emotional baggage.

But something about Katy told me that maybe she wouldn’t mind. That she’d let me in. That her sanctuary could become a safe space for me to land, too. That she’d open her door, open her arms, and let me be whatever I need to be, however I need to. And I need that.

I need the way Katy looks at me like I’m justme, rather than the worry I see in Ruth’s eyes, the pity in Mum’s, the avoidance in Dad’s. I need the way she doesn’t tiptoe around me, asking questions aboutmerather than my past, but never with a quiet whisper, never deciding for me what conversations I can or can’t handle.

There were days—not even that long ago—when I wondered if I’d ever be brave enough to march out of my house and show up at someone else’s, someone who wasn’t related to me and therefore had no obligation to let me in. Days when I wondered if I’d be brave enough to let someone get close enough to me that I felt confident enough to show up, that I wouldn’t be turned away. That I wouldn’t panic and turn away.

Because it’s not that I feel shy, or incapable of social interaction. It’s that I’m—well, afraid, I guess. Afraid of getting close and then losing another friend. Afraid of burdening another person with the things I’ve seen and done. Afraid I’ll never find who I am outside of the army, afraid I’ll never feel like myself again.Afraid.But I made it here. It feels like a relief, in a way, to take this seat. Like I’ve achieved something. Done the unthinkable.

The more time I spend with Katy, the more I hate the walls I’ve put up. The more I want to be able to tear them down and let her in. I watch Katy through my lashes, eyeing me with a curious smile over her own steaming mug.

“What?” I ask. It comes out much more harshly than I intended, and I kick myself. “I mean,” I start again, more gently this time. “What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “It’s just nice to see you. You know, in general, but also outside of our brunch schedule.”

My lips curve behind my coffee cup. She’s right. I came here of my own volition. I chose to do this. To open myself to seeing someone outside of a medical appointment or a trip to the supermarket. To be vulnerable enough to say,I don’t want to be alone right now.

And I know I’m not. Because Katy’s on my side.

Chapter ten

Katy

“Howhotisit?Is there a pool? What do I pack?”

My phone is propped on my tablet stand on my bedside table with a video call in progress. In three corners of the screen, my best friends are going about their day, all rolling their eyes at me. Paloma is looking up at her computer screen, bright colours reflecting off her pale skin. Ruth is in her kitchen, cooking something that sizzles through her phone’s microphone. Amie is on her sofa, cuddled against Cam’s chest, and I can hear Maisy roaring like a dinosaur in the background.

“It’s warm, but not exactly tropical. There’s a pool and a spa in the hotel. Bring those cute denim shorts you got last summer.” Amie answers every question without looking at her phone, her eyes and a soft smile fixed on what I assume is her daughter out of frame.

“Ooh the grey ones?” Paloma snaps her face to the screen and picks up her phone. “They were cute. Pack those. Definitely pack those. Ooh and that pink dress!”

“Which one?” Ruth snorts. “There’s only about a hundred of those in her wardrobe.”

“Hey,” I protest. “Pink looks cute on me.”

“It does!” Ruth agrees. “I wish I looked cute in pink. I just look like one of those cabbage patch thingies.”

“Shut up, you look cute in just abouteverything,” Paloma insists. “Even a bucket hat. And no one looks cute in a bucket hat.”

I dig around in a drawer and pull out three bikinis, holding them up to the camera.

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