Chapter one
Ruth
Katy Keller’s car smellslike oranges.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever been in her car. We’ve been best friends for more than half of our lives, and she’s worn that same sweet citrus perfume for as long as I’ve known her—longer, probably. But it’s a comforting contrast to the smell of exhaust fumes and petroleum that permeated the air when we stopped for petrol.
Now back in her seat next to me, Katy snaps her head round to look at me before pulling away from the pump. Her blonde ponytail flips from one bare shoulder to the other. She’s wearing one of her favoured oversized, off-the-shoulder things that used to absolutely baffle me. Why on earth would you only want one shoulder covered? Why wouldn’t you cover neither, or both? And then Paloma, the resident redhead in our four-woman group of ride-or-die besties for life, convinced me to buy one. I loved the easy slouch and the effortless comfort.
“Gonna do anything exciting in the Big Apple?”
“Am I fuck,” I answer dryly. “I’m going to land, go to the office, go to bed, go back to the office, go to the airport and fly straight home.”
“God, your job is fucking boring.”
“Isn’t it fucking just.”
Katy pulls back onto the main road, rolling her shoulders back and forth as she grips the steering wheel.
“The least you could do is go and get some of that famous New York pizza.”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be, K,” I say sadly. I tried it the first time I visited the city, and it was perhaps one of the greatest disappointments of my life. I’ll stick with the Italian-wannabe stuff we have in England.
“Really? That’s shit. At least in Mexico the tacos are just as good as they’re supposed to be.”
“That’s because tacos areactuallyMexican.” I turn to face her profile. “Pizza isn’t from New York. New York just wishes it was.”
Katy chuckles in response, focusing her attention on the road ahead.
“You still need to tell me all about it, anyway,” I continue. “I haven’t seen you since before I went to Austin, and then you and Amie were living it up in Mexico.”
“It was amazing,” she gushes, a grin lifting the corners of her mouth. “The food—oh my god, Roo— the food is insane out there. I wish you and Lo could’ve come with us.”
“Next time,” I say quietly. I doubt it’ll happen. I fly regularly for work and I hate every single second of it. I can’t imagine myself willingly getting on a twelve-hour flight just for fun—tacos or no tacos.
“Next time,” Katy agrees. “Anyway, what’s with all the travel lately? You never fly this much. You’re turning into Amie.”
The fourth member of our group, Amie, works as cabin crew and Katy joined her recently on a long layover to Mexico. They sent a few photos in our group chat, but I’ve been so busy—and so jet lagged with my own back-and-forth flights—that I haven’t seen either of them lately. I haven’t seen much of Paloma, either, and she’s been in London the whole time. I haven’t really seen much of anyone lately.
“Fucking tell me about it,” I grumble. “I hate flying.”
Katy says nothing, instead flicking her eyes from the road signs outside to the navigation screen inside the car and back again.
“The jet lag is the worst,” she says after easing to a stop at a red light. “I don’t know how Amie does it.”
“Still feeling Mexico, huh?”
“It was amazing, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but fuck me, Roo. I’m shattered.”
We lapse into silence again for a moment.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I swear. Katy glances to the side, ponytail swishing lightly, then flicks the stalk to signal a lane change before turning the wheel and steering the car to the left.
“What’s up, Roo? Tell me you didn’t forget your passport?”
“No,” I say with a scoff. “I didn’t grab a jacket and it’s gonna be cold. New York is always cold.”
“There’s one on the back seat,” she says, her eyes never leaving the road. “The blazer thingy. You can take that but for the love of God, Roo,pleasebring it back with you.” Katy still hasn’t forgiven me for borrowing a hoodie and leaving it in a hotel room when we were teenagers.
