7. Amie
seven
Amie
Amie
Do you think he’ll hate me?
Katy
Who?
Lolo
ill beat him up
who are we talking about?
ROO
Who could ever hate you, sweet thing?
Amie
Cam. Do you think he hates me?
Katy
Why would he hate you?
Amie
He should hate me
I hate me
Katy
I’m playing my violin for you
Lolo
@Katy ?? u don’t play violin
ROO
never change, Lo
I smile at the sight of Ruth’s signature kangaroo emoji alongside her name. She saved her number in my phone the day we met, alongside ROO and the little kangaroo, and it’s never changed. It’s her display name on every app. It’s one of those things I know I can rely on to always be the same, no matter how everything else around me changes. It’s comforting that way. Like having my best friends show up for me, regardless of anything else going on. It’s a comfort and a blessing, and not one I will ever take for granted.
Two days after my emotional text outburst, Katy makes herself at home in my kitchen.
“Wait, do that again,” I say. Katy untwists some of Maisy’s hair, then slowly twists it around her fingers again. She’s teaching me to braid, because Maisy’s fine curls tangle so easily. Maisy kicks her feet and giggles. Roger is in his usual spot, tucked snugly under one arm, and she’s holding her tablet in her other hand, playing a puzzle game on the screen.
“When is he coming over?”
“Next week,” I say, mirroring Katy’s hands with my own. It looks so easy, but last time I tried, Maisy and I both ended up in tears. “Do you think he hates me?”
“A, I don’t even know the guy,” Katy says. “Hand me that comb? I don’t see why he’d hate you, though. You’ve just given him this little princess.”
“But I kept her from him for three years.” I hand her the comb and she uses the long, pointy handle to separate another section of hair. “Besides. If he meets her, he can break her heart and I’d never forgive him. Or myself.”
“You want to keep all the hair tight to the scalp,” she instructs, effortlessly weaving the new section in with the rest. “He won’t break her heart. And it’s not like you could’ve told him anyway, right? You said yourself you didn’t get his number.”
“I didn’t even know his name. I thought it was Cameron,” I muse. I’ve lost track of the twisting and weaving. Katy continues, smirking, braiding all the way down one side of Maisy’s head and finishing it with a pink ribbon tied in a neat bow. Then she picks up the comb and uses it to slap my fingers away, before separating the hair on the other side, and beginning the whole process again.
“Exactly,” she says. There’s an edge of duh to her tone. “You can’t blame yourself for not telling him, just like you can’t blame him for not being here. You would’ve if you could’ve, right?”
I nod. “I wish—”
“Don’t do that, Amie.” She interrupts me. “Don’t dwell on what could’ve been. This is where you are, and you have the chance to turn everything around. If this is what you want—if him meeting Mae is what you want—then it’s right there. Take it and move forward. Don’t lay blame.”
I know she’s right. But the pain on Cam’s face cut me to the core. It burned deep into my soul and I might never forget it. The sadness of missing out, the hurt of not being told. I’m the one who caused that pain, and the haunted look in his eyes will never leave me as long as I live. A few hours with him in Santiago only proved that I still want him—but I can’t. He’s in this for Maisy, not for me. How could he want me after I caused so much hurt? I could’ve prevented this. I could’ve changed all of this if I hadn’t run.
If only I hadn’t run.
Trying to prepare for the arrival of someone who is, ostensibly, a complete stranger, is a challenge. Sometimes, I trick myself into believing he’s not a stranger at all. He’s never felt like a stranger to me. One night, I knew him intimately, every inch of his skin, every breath, every heartbeat. But that was one night, almost four years ago, and for every day before and since, he’s been a stranger.
We exchanged numbers in Santiago, but the only time I’ve used his is to send him some new pictures of Maisy. I just don’t know what to say. I want to say so much, but I daren’t. I won’t. We agreed he wouldn’t meet Maisy over the phone—that we’d save that moment for when he’s here in person. So our text conversations have been brief, largely revolving around sharing a few work stories and sending photos of Maisy.
The day before he’s due to fly out here, I text him from the soup aisle of the supermarket as I pluck a tin from the shelf and drop it into my basket.
Amie
What food do you eat? Allergies? Should I get anything specific?
Cam
I’ll eat anything. Don’t worry about me. Jumping on a plane now. See you tomorrow.
Well, I guess that’s that.
Maisy’s favourite crackers make it into my basket, along with some more soup, pizza fingers, KitKats, and plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables. At the last minute, I add some chicken nuggets and the ingredients for taco night, and then check out, heading home to fill the fridge. The house needs a deep clean before Cam arrives, and that might just be what I need to take my mind off his perfect fucking face.
It takes me a good six hours to clean from top to bottom, and by the time I’m done, my mum has brought Maisy home from the park and they’re colouring pictures of dinosaurs at the kitchen table whilst a tray of pizza fingers cooks in the oven.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Mum runs a hand over Maisy’s curls as she concentrates on her picture, gently pressing a yellow crayon to a dinosaur eye on the page.
“Not really.” I pull a face. I’m not even close to being ready. There are a million reasons why I need to do this, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it.
“It’ll be okay,” Mum promises. The oven alarm buzzes and she jumps up, stuffing her hands into my oversized pink oven mitts to retrieve the hot tray. She plates the pizza and cuts it into finger-sized pieces, then pours a cup of strawberry-infused water from a jug in the fridge .
“Pizza fingers!” Maisy cheers as Mum slides the plastic plate and cup in front of her. “Thank you Gramma!”
Mum kisses Maisy’s head before leading me to the hallway. We can still see Maisy, but her little ears can’t overhear.
“Don’t let him do anything you’re not comfortable with, honey,” she begins. “I know he meant a lot to you that night, but you don’t know him. Just be careful with that heart of yours.”
“I will, Mum,” I promise.
“I’ve picked up another shift at the hospital tomorrow so I’ll be working, but text me if you need me. I love you.” She shrugs on her coat and wraps me in a hug. “Love you, Maisy Moo, see you soon!”
And then it’s just me and Maisy again. The way it’s always been. The way it might never be again.
The following morning— the big day, as my friends have dubbed it—Katy shows up early with a tray of coffee and my favourite breakfast bagel from Bagel Hero, the brunch bistro that sits almost exactly halfway between our houses. It’s been our favourite meeting point for years. It’s become tradition to pick up coffee and bagels for one another before we meet, and this morning especially, I’m grateful. I need the distraction, if nothing else.
“My saviour,” I gush, laughing as I swipe a coffee cup and my breakfast, wrapped in a paper bag. “Mae has been a wild thing this morning.”
“What, my little Maisy-Pop?” Katy laughs, then hollers into the house as she follows me to the kitchen. “Maisy-Pop!”
Tiny feet stomp like thunder as my little girl launches herself down the stairs at warp speed, t-shirt inside out and curls wild around her head like a tangled halo. She flies at my best friend and collides with Katy’s knees, screeching with glee as Katy feigns a backwards stumble and drops down hard into a dining chair, one hand dramatically covering her chest. Maisy roars with laughter.
“There’s my Maisy-Pop,” she exclaims, pulling Mae into her lap and peppering her grinning face with kisses. My heart swells as I watch them. Katy has been my best friend since we met at eleven years old, fresh recruits to the cross-country running club after school on Thursdays. But it’s not just Katy. All three of my best friends love my daughter like their own, and willingly drop everything to spend time with their three-year-old goddaughter at a moment’s notice. The privilege isn’t lost on me for a second. Katy looks up at me, arms wrapped around Maisy’s middle as Mae tucks into the bowl of Cheerios I place on the table.
“What time does he land?” she asks. I tear into the paper and unwrap my bagel, inhaling the delicious sausage and egg aroma before taking a bite. I chew and swallow quickly before I answer.
“Not until ten—I have some time.”
Katy covers Maisy’s ears with her hands.
“You gonna sit on his face?” I scowl at her.
“You know damn well I’m not doing that. You know I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Katy releases Maisy’s head and my little girl giggles. She’s none the wiser, still spooning Cheerios into her mouth and dribbling milk down her chin. I reach over with a damp flannel and wipe her face clean.
“Same thing. He doesn’t want me, he wants Maisy. He’s coming here for her. It’s safer that way. For all of us.”
“Hmm,” She hums noncommittally. “You ready to see him?”
“Nope.” I pop the p and take a large mouthful of coffee. It’s enough to deter Katy from the line of questioning and for that, I’m grateful. She’s known me for long enough to know she won’t get anything more out of me.
Truthfully, I’m terrified. For three years, it’s been just me and Maisy—and my mum, and our chosen family. Our village is small, but it’s perfect for us. But now Cam is in the picture, and I owe it to him—to all of us—to give it a shot. For Maisy. I don’t know how she’ll react. She’s only three years old; will she even understand? And what if he meets her and decides doesn’t want to be part of her life, after all? I think the thing I’m most scared of is that Maisy will understand, and she’ll fall in love with him. Because then he can break her heart.
“Have you spoken to Roo recently?” Katy asks. She’s changed the subject to Ruth, one of our other best friends: the third member of our four-woman family.
“Not since her disastrous date with Halitosis McHands,” I admit. Katy smirks. That nightmare of a dating app matchup happened a few nights ago, and Ruth had shown up on my doorstep with mascara-stained tear tracks down her face, two pints of ice cream and three bottles of wine at 8pm after cutting the night short.
“Oh, she has another date tonight,” Katy informs me with a mischievous grin. “I think Lo set this one up.”
“Good lord.” I roll my eyes, laughing. “I hope Lo has plenty of ice cream in the freezer.” Lo is Paloma, our fourth bestie, and easily the most unhinged of us all. None of us can remember ever meeting her—she was just one of us one day, and we love her unconditionally.
“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Katy smirks. “And plenty of tequila on tap!”
A knock at the door puts paid to the conversation, and I answer it to a courier delivery agent. I drag the large box into the kitchen to find Maisy’s bowl empty. She’s already jumped down from Katy’s lap and has tipped her box of crayons onto her colouring table in the living room. I brandish a paring knife to slice through the tape.
“What’s this?” Katy is eyeing me suspiciously whilst Maisy watches with excitement through the open door.
“Just a new suitcase,” I say nonchalantly, like I don’t already own plenty.
“Another suitcase,” Katy repeats slowly, rolling the words around her tongue to taste them.
“What can I say? I’m a filthy, filthy slut for good luggage.” I wink at Katy as I lift it from its box, setting it down and rolling it in a circle on my kitchen floor. It glides like a dream. The soft shell is expandable with plenty of pockets for last-minute items, and the compression board and straps on the inside will be perfect for Maisy’s souvenirs and my chronic overpacking habit. I unzip the front pocket and pull out a padded laptop sleeve, and inside one of the small pockets on the side, I find—
“Is that a key leash?” Katy leaps up from the table and rounds it, ripping the lanyard from my hand and inspecting it from every angle. She looks up at me with a wicked smirk. “Sold. I think I might need a new suitcase too.”
I clean up after breakfast while Katy redresses Maisy and tames her wild curls. Then, I leave them building an airport with Maisy’s toy planes—and a handful of animals for the all-important airport zoo—and head for the real airport.
It’s time to face the music.