Page 84 of Between Love and War
“I think I’ll name him Starville.”
“I forget you love naming inanimate objects,” I say.
We keep walking, her hand brushing mine sometimes by accident, sometimes not.
Kate decides it’s time for the Ferris wheel now, so I follow her. The operator waits for a few minutes to fill the booths. Obviously, there aren’t many people, so we won’t be waiting long.
When the Ferris wheel picks up steady rhythm as it goes round and round, we look at the surroundings. The view at the top is nothing mind-blowing—just silhouettes of trees, the glow of old bulbs, and the outline of the town in the distance—but Kate lets out this little gasp anyway, like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
I’ve been to hundreds of places. Hundreds of skylines. But somehow, this tops all of it.
“It’s beautiful up here,” she says. And I nod in agreement. “Puts things in perspective,” she adds.
“Why do you need to put things in perspective? Something going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Well, nothing new.”
I look at her, the light from the booths beside us reflecting on her. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything, Katie.”
She tilts her head back and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. The wind blows her hair, and she tries to hold it back, but fails. Her pajamas are almost sparkling in the light inside the Ferris wheel.
Kate looks at me for a few seconds, as if thinking if it’s right to tell me whatever she’s feeling, then sighs.
“Sometimes,” she says, voice so soft I have to come a little closer, “I wonder if I’d still be doing all the things I’m doing if life turned out differently. Or if I ever actually… chose for myself.Like, made a decision not based on what I was told, but what I wanted.”
It startles me, because it’s what I’ve been feeling too. Letting life happen, showing up where I’m expected, performing the role.
“And what do you want, Katie?”
She chuckles. “I wanna have my own bakery. I mean—I already bake everyday anyway. I want those little bakeshops with chalkboard menus and customers that smile at each other.” She moves her hands as she speaks.
“Then what’s stopping you?” I ask. “I’d buy out your cookies every day until I’m legally or medically prevented from doing so.”
That makes her laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. Fear? Practicality? The deep and unshakable belief that maybe I’m only good at things when no one’s watching?”
I tilt my head. “For what it’s worth, I’ve watched. You’re really good.”
She smiles, and it’s small but grateful. “Maybe someday,” she says. “I know it sounds like a lame dream, but I’ve always been more inclined to… softer things.”
I look at her as she continues, the moonlight bouncing off her face. “I never understood why, when people talk about ‘living life,’ it almost always involves movement. Climbing mountains, diving into seas, dancing under neon lights and collecting passport stamps. It’s always loud, always fast, alwaysout there. You know? It’s like the value of life is measured by how many experiences you can cram into a lifetime.”
That lands harder than I expect. Because she’s right. And Iknow. That kind of ‘living’ is what I’ve been sold my whole career. Bigger, louder, higher, faster. And even now—after all thesuccess—I still sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough. Not living enough.
Then Kate continues, “I’m still learning to accept that ‘living fully’ doesn’t look like that for everyone. For me, it’s slower. Quieter. More… still. Like sitting on the couch with a book that I like. Listening to a song I’ve heard a hundred times.” She sighs, and adds, in the softest whisper, “Isn’t that living too?”
I don’t answer, because I know she’s not done. She takes a moment to pause, glancing at the world around her. It’s cramped in this booth, but outside is a blur of lights and midnight silhouettes. Kate looks at me, removes her glasses and wipes them on her sleeve. She continues, “I can’t help but ask myself, though, if this version of living is what I really want. If I really want to be a baker in a small town or someone who travels the world and collects fridge magnets. I don’t even know if I really want to be a mother and have a family. Until you asked me weeks ago, I always thought it was the default.”
I watch her for a long moment. The way her brow furrows slightly, like she’s bracing for someone to disagree.
She sighs. “I don’t know. I can’t choose.”
“Katie,” I say gently, “you don’t have to choose.” I put my arm on the railing behind her, and tilt my body so I’m facing her.
“You can have both,” I say. “Or neither. Or something in between. You can want the slow mornings and the unknown cities. You can be the girl who builds a bakery and still boards a plane. You can live in the same town your whole life and still grow into a thousand versions of yourself.”
She doesn’t move, but when her eyes meet mine, they glisten like she’s holding a hundred feelings at once.
