Page 11

The entire conversation was our way of expressing a sentiment we’d never say directly to each other. I love you.

After I hung up, I logged into my savings account and transferred the money to her.

One click of a button, one additional confirmation, and it was done.

I stared at my new account balance.

Zero pounds.

My adrenaline crashed, and the reality of my situation sank in.

I had no second job, no savings, and no viable alternatives on the horizon. Antarctica was as far out of my reach now as it had been three years ago.

Tears stung my eyes and nose. I didn’t regret helping my parents. Not one bit. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel sorry for myself at the same time.

Climbing back up the mountain after almost reaching the top was almost worse than having never started. I knew firsthand how long and hard that journey was, and the thought of doing it all over again made my stomach cramp.

But like I said, I was young. I was determined. I could do this.

I allowed myself a few more minutes to wallow before I logged out of the app and wiped my eyes. I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, making sure to exhale slowly like my old yoga teacher taught me.

Once I’d gathered myself, I turned to my tried-and-true method for cheering myself up: window shopping.

Spoiler: retail therapy worked. At least, it worked for me.

I spent the next two hours wandering in and out of the shops on Oxford Street. I didn’t buy anything, but just looking at all the pretty dresses and shiny jewelry made me happy. By the time I hit my eighth stop, I’d pulled myself straight out of my earlier funk.

I was admiring a display of bracelets in my favorite boutique when someone bumped into me and nearly knocked me into the display.

I caught myself just in time and glanced down at the culprit. The tiny culprit.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widened with guilt. “My dad always tells me to pay more attention to my surroundings, but I get so excited when I’m shopping and…”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her with a smile. “I totally get it. I’m the same way.”

She smiled back, her expression shy. She looked about eleven or twelve, with long blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. There was something strangely familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I didn’t see another adult nearby, and I was about to ask where her parents were when she said, “Actually, would you mind, um, helping me? I can’t decide between these two dresses, and my dad is no help. He thinks lavender and lilac are the same color.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! Lavender leans blue, and lilac leans pink.”

“Exactly.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Dads. You know how they are.”

I laughed. She reminded me of myself when I was her age. I’d given up on asking my dad for his fashion opinions too.

“Let’s see the options,” I said.

She held up both dresses. One was pale green tulle with a full skirt; the other was a silvery, sparkly affair with cap sleeves. They were both beautiful but distinctly different.

“Hmm.” I tapped a finger against my chin. “Are they for a special occasion?”

“They’re for a piano recital.” Her voice faltered a bit on the word recital. She was probably nervous about performing, which meant her outfit had to be perfect. A good dress could do wonders for someone’s confidence.

“I see. Well, the green matches your eyes, but the silver sparkles are really unique,” I said. “Have you tried them on already?”

The girl nodded.

“Were you comfortable in both of them?”