Page 42 of The Best Bad Decision

Tears prick at my eyes and I press my lips together. Katy’s hand on my wrist reminds me she’s there—my best friend, my rock. I open myeyes and find her looking at me. Her expression isn’t judgemental or sad. It’s not even concern. It’s just love and support, the way it’s always been with Katy. Even when I’m so deep in my own dark forest that I can’t see her anymore, my Katy-cat is always there to help me home.

She makes me call in sick for the first time in five years, and then, promising to stay with me, she does the same.

We have a girls’ day. Katy brought an overnight bag when she rushed over last night, and she brings everything I need right to me, waiting on me hand and foot. Between us, we eat all the snacks I have in the kitchen, huddling under blankets, watching Disney movies and painting our nails. We even video chat with Paloma, and Maisy dances as we sing “Happy Birthday”. Maisy loves it. I love it, too. It’s the kind of day I need, even though I can’t get out of bed. It’s the kind of day I don’t get often enough. The kind where I get to stop worrying about everyone else and just focus on what’s in the room with me. Me, Maisy, Katy. It’s the best day I’ve had for a long time.

Katy stays for a second night. After Maisy is asleep, we uncork a bottle of red and the emotions I’ve been bottling up for weeks. It comes flooding out in a rush of tears; Katy and I both cry into our wine, holding each other, and a little piece of me heals in my best friend’s arms.

Rare is the sunny day in mid-November in London, but my mum had a day off from working at the hospital and demanded a morning with her granddaughter, leaving me at a loose end. I’m still reeling from last week, from the breakdown I never saw coming. It shook me in moreways than one, and it was a desperately needed reminder to spend more time looking after myself, as well as everyone else.

So I decide to head out for a run.

I used to run several days a week, and I miss the endorphin release that comes with it. I haven’t run for a while, and I miss it. I pull a pair of gym leggings from my drawer and shimmy into them, before tugging on sport socks and my favourite running shoes. Over my sports bra, I wear black long sleeves and over that, for an additional layer against the late autumn wind, I snag a heather grey tee from the pile and pull it over my head. I check my reflection in the mirror as I pull my curls into a ponytail and smirk. The shirt reads “dibs on the pilot” and it was thrust at me a few days ago by Paloma, who winked at me with her tongue between her teeth.

He’s not my pilot, but heisthe best dad in the world to Maisy, so I guess that gives me some kind of dibs, right?

I leave my house with my phone and keys in my running belt and earphones in my ears, and I turn left, then right, power-walking to begin with. Once my muscles feel warm and I’ve adjusted to the bitter breeze, I speed into a jog, and then a full run as I reach the river bank.

My favourite running playlist sets the pace and my feet pound against concrete to the beat of pop-punk. I run through the gentle burn in my calves, relishing the feeling of my short ponytail swishing behind my head. When my hair was longer, I used to twist it all into a bun to run, but since cutting it shorter, I love the way it swings and swishes against my shoulders.

It’s been ten weeks since Cam and I bumped into each other in Santiago. In ten weeks, so much has changed—and yet, so much feels the same. So much feels soright.Like it’s always been this way. Having him inLondon and being with him in Phoenix felt so normal, so domestic, like something I could get used to having. And knowing he’ll be so much closer soon, when his transfer comes through, I know he thinks he’s doing it for Maisy, and maybe it’s selfish of me, but I want him closer, too.

It only took one night to turn my life upside down. And since spending Thanksgiving with the man responsible, for the first time in a really long time, I feel like I’m back on track to righting it again.

Maisy is so happy. I’ve never seen my sweet little girl so bright and playful. She’s always been full of exuberance, but since bringing Cam into her life, she’s been even bolder. She talks about him daily, counts the minutes to his nightly calls—he’s never far from her mind, despite the distance. He’s never far from mine, either. Of course, there are the nights she cries herself to sleep, squeezing her pilot bear and out of her mind with missing him so fiercely, her three-year-old mind can’t process the emotion. There are the nights when his calls are short; a quick “I love you, sweet dreams” moment snatched between flights or in the middle of the night somewhere on the other side of the world. Those nights are the hardest. Those are the nights she cries until she’s hoarse, her entire body convulsing with the strength of her sobs.

But regardless of where he is or how much time he has, he calls every single night to remind his little girl of how loved she is.

My pace quickens with my heartbeat when I think about Cam and those nightly calls. The way he loves Maisy has me swooning; the easy way we laugh and talk after she falls asleep has my underwear damp and my pulse racing.

I ache for him.

And that’s why I can’t have him. Why I can’t let him get too close. Why he’s already too close. Because the closer he gets, the more it’ll hurt if he leaves. And everybody leaves. They always have.

It was never supposed to happen. I never meant to have a one-night stand. I never meant to let anyone into my heart.

I never meant to fall in love.

Six and a half miles later, I find myself back at my front door, sweaty and breathing heavily, but feeling lighter than I have for weeks. I let myself in and immediately head upstairs, stripping as I go and switching on the hot water as soon as I reach the bathroom.

One long shower later, Maisy and my mum are back, colouring pictures at the kitchen table whilst I pack for my next work trip. Maisy is quieter than usual. The older she gets, the more she understands, and she’s come to recognise that when my suitcase comes out, it means I’m going away for a few days. She’s always safe and loved when I’m away, but it doesn’t make leaving her behind any easier. And it doesn’t make her miss me any less.

I step onto the train seconds before the doors slide closed and brace myself to be catapulted a few hundred yards down the track. The transit train is an underground monorail beneath the terminal and ramp areas, and it’s the quickest and easiest way to connect passengers between the different terminals and satellite buildings. The alternative is a stuffy bus ride around perimeter roads and through tunnels and underpasses, or a good ten-to-fifteen minute walk through a musty corridor somewherein the bowels of the airport, a fluorescent-lit beacon in the maze of tunnels and pathways. But I chose to wear heels today, so train it is.

Once I’m in the building it’s a short walk to my gate, and I flash my ID first at a gate agent, then at an electronic keypad for access, before making my way down the jet bridge to the aircraft. Today’s flight is a short one—a quick hop from London to Berlin. I’ll be back on the ground long before nightfall, in time for a conference call with Cam for a bedtime story. Maisy is with my mum tonight, and this morning, over a bowl of Cheerios before I left the house, they were making plans to go swimming.

I arrive at the aircraft with the rest of my crew and we complete our pre-flight checks before calling for the gate team to begin boarding. Soon enough, we’re seated for takeoff and barrelling down the runway, bound for the clouds. And then, we’re back on the ground.

Our hotel in Berlin is right on the banks of the Spree and close to the cathedral. I love the architecture and the history of the city. I love the ghosts in the brickwork, the myths and the legends. I love it even more in the summer, when the sun glistens off the surface of the water and the city sparkles. But this time around, it’s the dead of winter, and I find myself staring up at one of the city’s oldest and most storied buildings, coffee in hand, and clearing my mind for the first time in a long time.

I want to let myself beAmieagain. That’s how I feel when Cam and I talk at night, when he makes me feel safe enough to take off every mask and let him seeme. It’s how I felt after Maisy went to bed and Katy stayed for that second night. We drank wine and talked, and my heart felt so full. It waseverything I needed.

Guide me, I think, staring up at the old Silesian sandstone. There’s something so soothing about the bustle of the city and its iconic buildings that brings me a deep sense of peace. Let me be me again.

The flight home was fraught with utter chaos. Between grumpy passengers and an airborne medical emergency that had me on my knees in the cabin, I’m so exhausted that by the time I slink through my front door, I feel like I’ve worked a flight at least ten times longer than just an hour and a half. Maisy flings herself at me before I can even shut the door, crashing into my legs and wrapping her little arms around my knees.

God, it’s good to be home.

I scoop her into my arms and pepper her face with kisses, hugging her close and breathing in her soft strawberry shampoo.

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