Page 42 of The Way We Fell

There, on the counter, unfolded and plain as day, is the letter. The one that landed on my doormat this morning. The one that might change my life. The one Iwantto change my life.

Dear Miss Keller, we are delighted to confirm your acceptance to study Foundations of Counselling at the London College of Psychology. Successful completion of this course may lead to further avenues of study.

I can’t stop the grin as it spreads across my face, and I touch my fingers to my lips. I hardly dared to hope for this letter, especially after applying so long after the deadline, so close to the course beginning. When it fell through the letterbox this morning, I cried some happy tears before calling my mum to tell her everything. It’s only a short course, but it comes with the dangling carrot of more, and the promise of a new beginning—of something I feel like I’ve waited all thirty-two years of my life to find. I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and snap a quick photo of the first line, before sending the picture to Amie.

Amie

What’s this?

Katy

isn’t it obvious?

Amie

Counselling?

What’s going on K?

You never mentioned this before?

Katy

I think it’s what I want to do.

Amie

Think? That’s a big step for ‘think’.

Katy

I know. It’s what I want to do, A.

Amie

okay.

CONGRATULATIONS BESTIE!!! I LOVE YOU!

I’m coming over with wine to celebrate

Half an hour later, true to her word, Amie is on my doorstep in leggings, an oversized flight school sweater that looks like she probably stole it from Cam, and her slippers. There’s a bulging cotton tote hung over one slim wrist, a bottle of our favourite Sauvignon Blanc in one hand, and an unsealed envelope in the other, along with the ribbon to the rainbow-coloured helium balloon bobbing a few feet above her head.

“What the hell,” I laugh as I usher her inside. “How the fuck did you get that so quick?”

“Magic.” She winks at me, following me through to the kitchen. She empties her shopping bag on the counter: a package of steaks and a bowl of prepared mashed potatoes, a second bottle of wine, and a pint of raspberry ripple ice cream—my favourite. There’s also a box of fancy, expensive chocolate and a sleeve of Amie’s favourite cookies, as well as a multi-pack of KitKats.

“Oh, and this is for you,” she says, finally handing me the envelope. I pull out its contents to find a bright pink card with the wordcongratulationsprinted across the front in gold-foiled calligraphy. Inside, in her big, loopy scrawl, Amie has written a short note of pride and signed her own name, next to Cam’s blocky initials and a big scribble from Maisy. I stand the card on my kitchen counter next to the display tower of colourful espresso cups.

“I love you,” I sniffle, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m proud of you, K.” She busies herself putting the ice cream in the freezer and unwrapping the steaks. “Are you gonna tell me what prompted this?”

“Let’s cook first, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

By the time the food is ready, the final vestiges of daylight have melted into night and it’s completely dark outside. String lights offer the only light in my living room, giving the space a warm glow. We balance our plates on our knees and our stemless wine glasses on the wooden tray on my footstool-turned-coffee-table.

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