Page 14 of The Best Bad Decision

“You know damn well I’m not doing that. You know I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Katy releases Maisy’s head and my little girl giggles. She’s none the wiser, still spooning Cheerios into her mouth and dribbling milk down her chin. I reach over with a damp flannel and wipe her face clean.

“Same thing. He doesn’t want me, he wants Maisy. He’s coming here for her. It’s safer that way. For all of us.”

“Hmm,” She hums noncommittally. “You ready to see him?”

“Nope.” I pop thepand take a large mouthful of coffee. It’s enough to deter Katy from the line of questioning and for that, I’m grateful.She’s known me for long enough to know she won’t get anything more out of me.

Truthfully, I’m terrified. For three years, it’s been just me and Maisy—and my mum, and our chosen family. Our village is small, but it’s perfect for us. But now Cam is in the picture, and I owe it to him—to all of us—to give it a shot. For Maisy. I don’t know how she’ll react. She’s only three years old; will she even understand? And what if he meets her and decides doesn’t want to be part of her life, after all? I think the thing I’m most scared of is that Maisywillunderstand, and she’ll fall in love with him. Because then he can break her heart.

“Have you spoken to Roo recently?” Katy asks. She’s changed the subject to Ruth, one of our other best friends: the third member of our four-woman family.

“Not since her disastrous date with Halitosis McHands,” I admit. Katy smirks. That nightmare of a dating app matchup happened a few nights ago, and Ruth had shown up on my doorstep with mascara-stained tear tracks down her face, two pints of ice cream and three bottles of wine at 8pm after cutting the night short.

“Oh, she has another date tonight,” Katy informs me with a mischievous grin. “I think Lo set this one up.”

“Good lord.” I roll my eyes, laughing. “I hope Lo has plenty of ice cream in the freezer.” Lo is Paloma, our fourth bestie, and easily the most unhinged of us all. None of us can remember ever meeting her—she was just one of us one day, and we love her unconditionally.

“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Katy smirks. “And plenty of tequila on tap!”

A knock at the door puts paid to the conversation, and I answer it to a courier delivery agent. I drag the large box into the kitchen to find Maisy’s bowl empty. She’s already jumped down from Katy’s lap andhas tipped her box of crayons onto her colouring table in the living room. I brandish a paring knife to slice through the tape.

“What’s this?” Katy is eyeing me suspiciously whilst Maisy watches with excitement through the open door.

“Just a new suitcase,” I say nonchalantly, like I don’t already own plenty.

“Another suitcase,” Katy repeats slowly, rolling the words around her tongue to taste them.

“What can I say? I’m a filthy, filthy slut for good luggage.” I wink at Katy as I lift it from its box, setting it down and rolling it in a circle on my kitchen floor. It glides like a dream. The soft shell is expandable with plenty of pockets for last-minute items, and the compression board and straps on the inside will be perfect for Maisy’s souvenirs and my chronic overpacking habit. I unzip the front pocket and pull out a padded laptop sleeve, and inside one of the small pockets on the side, I find—

“Is that a key leash?” Katy leaps up from the table and rounds it, ripping the lanyard from my hand and inspecting it from every angle. She looks up at me with a wicked smirk. “Sold. I think I might need a new suitcase too.”

I clean up after breakfast while Katy redresses Maisy and tames her wild curls. Then, I leave them building an airport with Maisy’s toy planes—and a handful of animals for the all-important airport zoo—and head for the real airport.

It’s time to face the music.

eight

Amie

Ilean against apillar in the terminal building’s arrivals hall. Through the haze of overwhelming emotions, the one thought that sticks out to me is how odd it is to be at an airport—at my airport—in my own clothes, without my work gear. It happens so infrequently these days and it makes me feel off-kilter, as though I’ve forgotten something important.

I’ve been killing time people-watching. That old movie, Love Actually—they got it right. There’s nothing quite like witnessing the sheer joy on display at an airport arrivals lounge; lovers reuniting, sons and daughters coming home from their travels. It’s heart-rending and heart-wrenching in equal measure. It feels like a punch to the gut, seeing all this love on display so freely and unabashedly, all the while not knowing what to expect when Cam arrives.

I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and idly scroll through apps, sipping at the still-too-hot peppermint tea in my hand. Cam’s plane landed forty-five minutes ago; with any luck, he’ll be strolling through those automatic doors any moment.

As if on cue, he appears, handsome as ever. God, he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing black, straight-cut jeans that hug his strong thighs and a casual navy button-down that stretches deliciously over his broad chest andshoulders. He’s rolling his corporate black carry-on beside him, with an olive-green backpack slung over one shoulder and a gift bag sitting atop the suitcase. As he gets closer, I see something yellow and fuzzy peeking out of the top. Tired green eyes sparkle at me with something that looks oddly like gratitude. The man looks like a damn snack. And he’s right here in front of me. I shove my phone back into my pocket.

“Hi,” he offers in greeting. He reaches out to pull me into an awkward hug, surrounding me with that citrus and cedar scent I can’t rinse from my memory. It takes a second for my brain to get the message, but I lift my arms to return his embrace and I feel his muscles relax as my arms close around him. Memories threaten to overtake my barely-checked emotions, but in his arms—however awkward and distanced the hug may be—I feel safe. We fit together like proverbial puzzle pieces, and I’m reluctant to leave the safety of his arms when we pull apart.

Just seeing his face has assuaged my fears and bolstered my courage. I had arrived at the airport fearful, with knots in my stomach. I had been torn between needing to do this and not wanting to all at the same time; terrified of handing him the opportunity to break Maisy’s heart. But seeing the relief in his eyes when he spotted me waiting for him did something to me. Was he relieved that he’d made it? That I had shown up instead of leading him on and standing him up? The gratitude said thank you for being here, but also, thank you for letting me be here.

Hesitantly, he takes my hand and we fall into step beside each other, and I realise that I’m grateful he’s here, too.

We try to make conversation during the drive home. I don’t know whether it’s my anxiousness or whether Cam is jet-lagged, but it very quickly devolves into an awkward silence. I swing my white SUV into the driveway and kill the engine, sitting for just a moment in thesuffocating quiet. Cam reaches across the centre console and squeezes my fingers in his. The single squeeze has become ourthing—it’s a signal of support, of thanks, of quiet strength. I take all the comfort and strength that finger squeeze offers and breathe in deeply, exhaling through my mouth and closing my eyes. When I open them again, his eyes are focused on me.

“You got this, Amie,” he promises. His green eyes are earnest; he looks at me like the world begins and ends with the two of us in this car. It’s not quite stars, but it’s pretty damn close. “We do this your way, however you wanna do it. You’re in control.”

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