Free Fall (Harry Styles)

Chapter One

The Groundhog Day Effect. That is what I have been experiencing for the past two years. I wake up at the same time, drink the same coffee, take the same route to the same job that I have been working for two years. The only change in my daily routine has been the book I'm reading. Don't get me wrong, lack of change is all I have ever hoped for my entire life; I am not complaining, or at least I think I'm not. In the first 20 years of my life, all I have hoped for is a sense of normalcy. I may have taken this hope a step too far considering at the ripe age of 20 years old, the most interesting thing about my day is whatever antics Fenway, my slightly overweight but completely endearing Scottish Fold, has to offer me that day. I'd like to assert that my new self-proclaimed life of work, reading, eating, sleeping, and repeat is not another tired and overused "I'm not like other girls" trope. It is simply the result of the pure exhaustion of living life.

As I mentioned, I am not complaining. After growing up with a less-than-normal childhood, these past two years have been needed. Growing up in Boston was one of the greatest gift life has given me, but with the beautiful city full of beautiful people, and amazing sports teams might I add, also came my family, therefore, a trip across the pond was my saving grace. I initially moved to England two years ago to pursue my education in hopes of becoming a lawyer at the Univeristy of Oxford. Lord knows how I got accepted. But of course, knowing me, things did not go to plan. I've honestly blocked out most of what led up to my final decision to drop out or "take a hiatus," which apparently sounds better, but two years later, I find myself content with my decision. Sure, this is not the path my parents had planned for me, but they aren't here anymore, and things have changed since I was a small, wide-eyed, little girl who would dress up as different Supreme Court Justices for Halloween. So here I am, in my little apartment in London, nuzzling back into my warm sheets trying to ignore the repeated nagging from my roommate, Marley, yelling at me to get up for work. 

Despite my protests and countless slams on the "snooze" button on my phone, I had rolled out of bed with about 30 minutes to spare. I am not a morning person; in fact I contest mornings. I manage to drudge out of bed and get ready for the day ahead of me. My routines for early mornings consist of the bare minimum; I wash my face, brush my teeth, and make my coffee, and by 7:45am I am out the door. My walk to Books 'N Such is only about fifteen minutes; it should be twelve but my Corgi-esque legs do not permit for that.

England is beautiful. Though some hate the dreary weather, I find peace in it. Also, I will take any excuse to wear my favorite yellow rainboots. Fall is my favorite time of the year in England. At home, I loved the spring. There was nothing quite like a warm summer night in Boston, watching the Sox play, or try to play, and eating a Fenway Frank. Those were always my fondest memories with my father. I often find myself longing for those days of what I considered normalcy.

"Good morning, dear!" I am snapped out of my nostalgia induced trance and look up to see Mr. Grant, or Timothy as he has consistently requested I call him. Mr. Grant is a sweet older man, around 65; he reminds me of my father, the good parts at least. Mr. Grant had owned Books 'N Such with his late wife, Edna, taking ownership about 30 years ago. Their story is one of my favorites. Mr. Grant grew up in England and never left. He met Edna when she was on a gap year between her studies abroad. Edna was also from the North East; she grew up in none other than New York City. After meeting each other in this very bookstore, Mr. Grant proposed to Edna not even a year later, both working for the previous owner until he passed it down to them in his old age. Since then, the pair has run the shop. Since moving here about two years ago, the two had become like parents to me. I had stumbled into the shop within my first week of moving here and being a young girl named Topanga with a slight Bostonian accent in London piqued their interest. We had got to talking and it came up that I needed a job and they happened to need an extra set of hands to help out around the shop, but between you and me, I think they were just trying to lend a helping hand to a girl who was wildly out of her depths. Since that day, they have been, besides Marley, the closest thing I have had to family. Edna had passed away in the summer, just a couple of months ago; I have missed her every day since. Mr. Grant took it incredibly hard, he even confided in me that if he didn't have me, their 'honorary daughter,' as they so affectionately referred to me as, he doesn't know how he would keep on living. We have truly been each others support systems since Edna's passing.