Page 26 of The Way We Fell

“When is it, again?” She picks up her phone and swipes at the screen. “Let me see if I’m working.”

“Two weeks on Saturday,” I confirm. A slow smile spreads across her face.

“Let’s do it.”

I spend the next week applying and being rejected for new jobs. Katy’s putting in overtime to cover a colleague on holiday, so I don’t see her much, but she sends daily texts with dumb jokes she’s found on the internet, and silly stories from customers. When my phone rings one evening with her name on the screen, I almost don’t answer. But there’s a little tug in my chest—a little voice of disappointment—that forbids me from ignoring the call, and ignoringher.

“I just wanted to say hi.” Katy’s voice is high and sweet through the line, and I fling myself back against the sofa cushions.

“Well, hi,” I answer. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. I like talking to Katy—I like it a lot, probably more than I should—but I don’t think I’m great company right now. I don’t have a lot to say.

“And… okay, fine. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I just spoke to your sister.”

“And what did she have to say for herself?”

“She…” Katy trails off, pausing for a moment before continuing. I can hear the quiet rush of wind and buzz of road noise in the background, like she’s talking to me as she walks home from work. “She kind of implied that you had a fight.”

“She did, did she?” I exhale heavily through my nose, a silent almost-laugh at the audacity of Ruth.

“She did,” Katy confirms. I can almost see the way her lips twist as she chooses her words carefully.

“Did she tell you thatshefought while I just sat here being yelled at?”

“That was about the gist of it, yeah.” Katy sighs heavily through the phone. There’s a jingle of keys and a few small thumps on the line like she’s juggling her phone, and then I hear her front door open and close before the background noise melts away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Princess, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do, though, you know? I do worry.”

“I’m good,” I say. “I might not be around much next week, though. I’m going camping.”

“Yeah, she said that, too.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s a bad idea too?”

“Nope.” I hear the way she pops thepand I can’t help but imagine a little smile on her face, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. “Is it safe, wherever you’re going?”

“Doesn’t get much safer than a quiet, family campsite in the New Forest in February, Katy.”

“Then no, I’m not gonna talk you out of it. Go camping. Be safe. Don’t get eaten by a bear.”

“There are no bears in Hampshire, Princess.”

“Okay, then don’t sit in any poison ivy.”

“Probably won’t find any of that, either.”

“Okay, well… have fun, I guess? Stay warm. Text me so I know you’re safe.”

I chuckle. It’s amazing how two minutes of conversation with Katy can pull me out of a funk. I haven’t experienced that since—well, maybe ever. This woman has been such an overwhelming revelation, with her steadiness, her warmth, her tender empathy. The way she cares for those in her life so wholly and completely, so freely. It feels good to be one of those people, to be chosen by Katy. Because when Katy Keller chooses you, shechoosesyou, and she does so over and over again, day in and day out. It’s something my sister always told me about—one of the things she’s always loved and admired most about her best friend—but to experience it for myself is something else entirely.

Over the next day or two, I spend some time with my parents, and my sister, who has just returned from New York. Ruth tries once again to talk me out of my camping trip, and instead of cancelling it, I invite her to join me. Exactly as I expected, she declines the offer, reminding me of all the work she has to catch up on following a work trip—something I’ll never understand—but eventually, with a grumble or two about stubborn dickheads, she brings me a bag full of food the night before I leave. I’m packing clothes, toiletries, and essentials into my backpack when she hammers at my door.

“Brought you some bits so you don’t die out there.” She dumps the overflowing shopping bag on my breakfast bar and begins to unload it. A few packages of granola bars are piled up on the counter, followed quickly by a couple of Tupperware boxes.

“Made you some of those energy ball things,” she says. “You like coconut, right?”

I nod as she pulls out some bags of jerky. Ruth knows very well that I like coconut. I’m the one who always ate the coconut chocolates she left behind every Christmas. It’s always been one of my favourites.

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