Page 133 of How to Walk Away

I gave her a look. “I’m not spending two hundred more dollars on uncomfortable underwear that no one will ever see.”

“Don’t be such an old lady,” she said, holding the panties out. “I have to room with you.I’llsee your underpants, if no one else. And this situation right here”—she dropped the pair in the wastebasket—“makes me lose my will to live.”

In the end, she gifted me the lingerie. Against my will.

She also Instagrammed photos of our shopping day—but then she refused to post the final outfit. “You’re too gorgeous,” she declared. “You’d break the Internet.”

***

I ALMOST CHICKENEDout. This couldn’t possibly be a good idea. But then I’d circle back around to the sad, quiet version of herself that my mom had been this whole long year, and my resolve would come back. I didn’t honestly know if she could win my dad back. The plan seemed like a long shot with deep potential for crushing humiliation.

But it didn’t really matter. I knew I had to help her try.

Besides, my mom had already spent all of her frequent flyer miles to get us an upgrade to first class.

Kit gaped when she told her.

My mom shrugged. “Go big or go home.”

I looked at Kit. “We’re going to need that on T-shirts.”

The morning-of, I had a few more second thoughts.

“What was I thinking?” I demanded of Kit as we shotgunned our morning coffees. “How am I supposed to lug this wheelchair all around Europe? That place is one hundred percent stone steps! Stone stepsand fashionable people. This is lunacy. They’re going to stop me at the gates and send me home.”

Kit wasn’t having it. “You’re not a quitter.”

Maybe not—but I wanted to be. “It’s going to be the worst thing ever.”

My mom was walking by, and she paused to squeeze my shoulders. “No,” she said. “You’ve already survived the worst thing ever.”

And there was the crux of it. This would be my first flight since the crash. “I’m not sure I can do this,” I said.

Kit drained the dregs of her coffee and clanked her empty mug down in the sink. “Loving the self-doubt,” she said. “Let’s definitely run with that. But let’s get on the plane first.”

***

FIRST CLASS WASlike a VIP party.

Not only had I never flown to Europe before, I’d never flown anything but coach before. Now I was ruined, because I found out what I’d been missing. First class greeted us with champagne and strawberries, and it only got better from there. It practically had a swimming pool and a DJ.

We had to fly direct to London, then hop over to Belgium on a second quick flight, then take a train out to Bruges. It was going to be a long day and a half. But I couldn’t complain. They gave us warm blankets and steamed hot towels for our hands, like we were at a spa. We had our own little sleeping pods with seats that reclined into beds. Plus, our seats were in the closest row to the door, so it was easy to wheel right to my spot.

Still, no amount of luxury could change the fact that this was my first flight since the crash. Despite all my attempts to focus my brain on something else—and I was doing a valiant job—my body could not be fooled. My hands felt cold and quivery. My eyes darted left and right like a trapped rodent’s. My heart stumbled around in my chest like it was being attacked. There was no point worrying about it, I knew. This was happening. It was out of my hands. I’d made my choice, and now I just had to survive it.

Once we were buckled in, when my mom reached across the aisle to squeeze my hand, it was ice cold.

She met my eyes. “Are you terrified to fly again?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Just a smidge.”

Kit leaned over. “Remember that time we went to Hawaii—and youlived?”

“We all lived, as I recall,” my mother said.

“Would you like me to distract you?” Kit asked, nodding as she said it to let me know thatYes, I absolutely would.

My hands were turning kind of a bloodless gray. “I really can’t imagine any possible way you could do that.”

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