Page 23 of The Way We Fell

“Blue,” my friends say in unison, and all three of them laugh. I toss the sky-blue two-piece into my open suitcase.

“And the pink one,” Amie adds. “Your tits look great in the pink one.”

“Thanks, A,” I grin. I throw both of the remaining swimsuits into my case before unearthing several sandals and repeating the process. It takes another hour and half a bottle of wine, but with the help of my friends, I manage to pack for the trip. I even manage to zip my suitcase closed with little fuss, despite the four books I added to compress all the clothing. I set an early alarm, prepare my carry-on bag with my passport and essentials—as guided by Amie, my travel guru—and crawl into bed. When I plug my phone in to charge and turn off the lights, there’s a message from Jay waiting for me.

Jay

Be safe in Mexico, Princess. Don’t drink the water. Text me when you land.

I send a quick‘thank you’back before I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

Amie manages to pull enough strings to have me, Cam, and Maisy upgraded to business class, so even though our flight is long, it’s far more comfortable than I expected. I spend most of it alternating between reading about cowboys, and using the in-flight Wi-Fi to text Ruth and Paloma. At some point, I fall asleep, and when I wake, I find Maisy peering directly into my face and demanding to join me for a cuddle and to watch her favourite dinosaur cartoons on her tablet. Twelve hours after we leave the ground in London, we land to a balmy evening in Mexico City.

We join Amie and her flight crew on the bus to the hotel, and Amie collects the room keys from the check-in desk before handing them out. She hands over my key last. My room is adjoined to hers, and I take Cam’s bag along with my own as he carries a sleeping Maisy to the eighth floor. We have a full day of sightseeing and exploring planned for tomorrow, so after a quick, blissfully hot shower to rinse off a long day of travel, I settle into the king-sized bed for some much-needed sleep.

After breakfast in the sweetest bistro close to the hotel, where Maisy charmed the elderly couple at the counter with her wide smile and broken Spanish, we venture further afield to an artisan market. Stepping out of the rideshare and into the midday sun in Mexico is glorious. The driver’s air conditioning chilled my bare limbs, and although it’s not exactly tropical, it’s still warm, even for February, and the afternoon sun heats my skin pleasantly.

We shuffle through an archway towards what looks like an explosion of colour. There are colourful flags hanging from ceilings, rows and rows of tables laden with a rainbow of handcrafted goods, and I can hear at least four different songs playing from various stereos around me.

The air is filled with the most delicious smells of all kinds of local delicacies from tacos to churros, and I even spot stalls selling huge cups of prepared fruits. Everyone who passes us smiles and says hello, and both Cam and Amie return their friendly greetings.

“This place is insane,” I whisper, trying to take it all in. I’m not usually one for being overstimulated, but with all the colour and noise, the brightness of the outdoors and the dark of the covered market, the smells, andI’m on the other side of the fucking world—

“You okay?” Amie asks quietly. She bumps my hip with hers and I plaster a wide smile on my face.

“I just can’t believe I’m actually in fuckingMexico,” I say, spinning on the spot with my arms outstretched. Maisy is in Cam’s arms, sitting comfortably on his hip, and she stares at me with wide green eyes.

“That’s a bad word Aunty K,” she says seriously. “Mama says not evenDaddysay it.”

Amie turns away and I see her shoulders shake with laughter as she shoves her fist against her mouth. I fight back a smile and reach out to my goddaughter. She takes my hand and holds it tightly in both of hers.

“You’re right, Maisy-Pop,” I tell her. “It’s a very bad word and I shouldn’t say it. Neither should Daddy. I promise I’ll try not to do it again.”

Maisy nods solemnly, accepting my apology. For his part, Cam smirks, then smooths a hand over his daughter’s curly hair. When Maisy looks away, I pull a face and stick my tongue out at him. Since he and Amie reconnected and he dove headfirst into being both a dad and a partner, I’ve spent a lot of time with him. We both love Amie and Maisy, and in just a couple of months, I’ve come to love the man like a brother.

Like a tall, kind of hot, mildly annoying brother.

I’m so happy that Amie’s in love. She’s never been happier in all the years we’ve known each other, and her happiness brings me so much joy. But now I’m here with my best friend—and her boyfriend and their daughter—feeling exactly as I feared: like a third wheel. I kind of wish Roo or Paloma were here, too. Someone I can have fun with, whilst Amie is busy with her family. Someone who knows me, who I can let my hair down and be a little crazy with. Someone who I can be myself with. Someone like Jay.

Wait.

Fuck.

I wish Jay were here.

To quell the ache in my chest at the thought of Jay, I offer to take Maisy for a walk around the market so Amie can have some time alone with Cam. Maisy is thrilled, and she spends the first few aisles gasping and giggling with delight at the colourful sights.

“Don’t touch anything, Miss Mae,” I warn, pausing to ghost a fingertip over a pair of floral beaded earrings. They’re stunning: intricately woven sunflowers that hang three or four inches from the ear hooks. They look just like something Paloma would wear, and I stuff my hand into the pocket of my shorts and pull out a handful of crumpled notes.

The stallholder greets me in quickfire Spanish and I feel my eyes cross slightly. I’ve never been a languages girl. That was always Amie. While she excelled in languages in school, I was more of a middle-of-the-road kind of student, good at sports and history and very average at everything else. I wrack my brain for the few Spanish words I know and come up empty.

“How much?” I point at the earrings, keeping half an eye on Maisy. She has her hands carefully on her knees as she crouches in front of a little basket of colourful wooden cars, enchanted by their shapes.

“Setenta,” the young girl tells me with a lisp and a grin. Her teeth are held in place with shiny silver braces. “Seven—um, seventy pesos.”

Sold.

I flip through the notes in my fist and hand over a fifty and a twenty, and the girl produces a small paper bag from her pocket. She bags the earrings and I tuck them into my shoulder bag, then call to Maisy.

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