The phone rang three times before Adele answered. Her short, auburn hair was messy, which was unusual—Adele was obsessed with keeping it perfectly styled.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said, my face wrinkling with worry. I didn’t want to be inconvenient, especially since it was still dawn in California. College was hard enough, and I was sure the dark circles under her eyes were from her night owl tendencies and the inevitable stress of college life.
“Nope, you didn’t. But I’m surprised—you never call this early.”
“It was a silly decision—”
“It’s fine, Mom. I’m cool,” she said, flashing that beautiful smile I called the “Adele smile.” It stretched from cheek to cheek, lighting up her face, much like people said mine did when I smiled.
“If you say so.”
“Yeah, I say so. So why did you call?”
“I was wondering which of these two lingerie is better.” I raised both pieces to the camera and displayed them as best I could.
“Seriously, Mom? That’s why you’re calling me at 6 a.m.?”
She chuckled softly, and before I could reply, Martha popped her head into view on the screen.
“Your mom is turning into a MILF,” she said.
“There’s no way that’s happening, but I gotta say, it’s intriguing that my mom is calling me this early to ask about lingerie.”
“What! No fucking way,” a masculine voice chimed in the background.
“Who’s that?” I asked, my concern sharpening. Adele had just come out of an ugly breakup, and the last thing she needed was to jump into something new so soon.
“A friend.”
“Are you sure, Adele Daisy Miller?”
Adele burst into laughter, that whole, unrestrained laugh she only let out when she knew she had gotten caught in a playful lie. Adele knew I only called her by her full name when she was in trouble.
“You called to select the perfect lingerie for you. It seems you’re forgetting that.”
“This is more important.”
“A friend is a friend. Nothing much is going on between us.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know, maybe that’s why you never became a CIA.”
“I’m serious, Adele. You shouldn’t start—”
“Seriously, Mom, he’s just a friend,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated this time. “You know what? Why doesn’t Michael help us pick the perfect lingerie for you?”
“Oh, this is getting interesting,” Martha said, smirking.
I shot her a glare before addressing Adele. “Hello, daughter. I won’t let your friend see what I will wear for your dad.”
“Relax, Michael is practically gay.”
“That’s not what I said!” a male voice protested, now closer to the phone. “I said my mom thought I was going to be gay because I was obsessed with Cinderella and Barbie dolls.”
There was a soft thud as though someone had climbed onto Adele’s bed, and then he came into view. His features were captivating, even through the phone—a strong jawline, piercing green eyes, and a mop of messy blonde hair that made him look like a younger, hotter version of Leonardo DiCaprio.
“That’s literally the same thing, bro,” Adele teased him.
“Gay or not, whatever nonsense you said is not happening,” I said, grabbing the lingerie and tossing it back into the drawer.
“Good morning, Mrs. Miller. I guess this is the part where I say I’ve heard so many good things about you,” he said, flashing a bright, confident smile.
“Good morning…”
“Michael,” he supplied.
“Michael. I hope you’re being a good friend to my daughter.”
“Very good, indeed. I hugged her all night while she cried over that jerk.”
“Shoot, you’re not supposed to say that.” Adele smacked him on the chest, and for a moment, I thought he was genuinely hurt until they both giggled.
“I’m glad you’re both happy.”
“Happy being friends,” they said in unison, nodding dramatically.
“I should leave you to continue whatever you were doing.”
“But Mom, we haven’t picked the lingerie!”
“Adele, come on, don’t be naughty.”
She stuck her tongue out, rebellious as ever—my sweet, sweet daughter.
“Don’t push it,” I warned.
“The grey one will fit your skin tone better,” she grins.
“Thank you. Mommy loves you. Always remember to be a good girl for me,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Bye, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you more.”
I was about to end the call when I remembered Michael. “It was nice meeting you, Michael. And please don’t mind how silly my daughter can be sometimes.”
“I’ll try to overlook her silliness, Mrs. Miller.”
“Please, call me Addison.”
“Addison,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue with surprising ease. It sounded nice. Too nice. I ended the call before I could overthink it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“What was that?” Martha asked, her sharp gaze locking onto me like a detective on a case.
“What?”
“Adele and Michael. They’re smashing.”
“I agree with that.”
The sky looked so bright through the window of my room, painted in soft strokes of orange, pink, and purple. The clouds were wispy and scattered like someone had brushed them lightly across the horizon with a delicate hand. It was the kind of sky that made you believe in good things and promise beauty and hope.
Mom used to say that every time the sky was bright, something good was bound to happen. So, I’d been hopeful, especially with Ronald asking me on a date after so long.
But here I was, sitting on the edge of my bed, twisting the hem of my dress between my fingers. Ronald was an hour late. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing invisible creases on my dress, trying not to feel frustrated.
Maybe something didn’t go according to plan. Perhaps they promoted someone else instead of him. That would have crushed him. And yet, here I was, planning a date and feeling slightly hurt without stopping to think how he might be feeling. If he hadn’t gotten the promotion he’d been working so hard for, it would have been like pouring years of effort into a bottomless pit.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and dialed his number. It rang, rang, and rang again before going to voicemail. I tried two more times with the same result.
Martha’s message popped onto my screen before I could dial his number for the fourth time.
How’s the date going?
I stared at the message for a moment before quickly Googling a fancy restaurant nearby and typing back a response:
It’s going fine. We’re currently drinking a two-hundred-year-old wine.
I set my phone down but kept glancing at it, hoping for Ronald’s call or text—something, anything.
What the hell was going on?
Another text from Martha lit up my screen.
Has he told you he loves you yet?
He promised to show me instead. 😉 I replied.
The bubbles appeared as she typed again.
Oh, on days like this, I unfortunately miss my useless husband.
I knew better. Martha didn’t have the strength to miss her ex-husband after what he’d put her through. It was just her usual sarcastic quip.
I started typing a reply but stopped when my phone buzzed. Finally, Ronald was calling.
“Hope you’re okay, honey?” I asked, my breath catching in my chest.
“I’m okay…” His voice trailed off. Then, after a beat of silence, he added, “Actually, I’m not.”
“Why? Someone else got the promotion?”
More silence. I could practically see Ronald nodding, his usual response when he couldn’t speak.
“Shit, those people are so ungrateful—”
“That’s not why I called you.”
Of course, he cut me off. Ronald had never been the type to sit down and talk through his feelings.
“Why did you call then?” I asked, deciding not to push him. I’d press for answers when he was home, not over the phone.
“I won’t be home for a few days. We just had an impromptu business trip to Florida, and we’re heading there now.”
“This is nine minutes past fifteen, and you’re traveling to Florida at this hour?”
“Yeah. Like I said, impromptu. Had to buy the tickets at a ridiculous price.”
“They didn’t give you the promotion you deserved, but they’re sending you on a business trip?”
“That’s how real life is, honey. Cold. So freaking cold.”
His tone was calm, but something about it didn’t sit right. It felt rehearsed like he was holding something back.
Was he isolating himself again? Planning to bear the weight of his disappointment alone?
We were a family. Families were supposed to lean on each other, not shut each other out.
I had to do something. There was no way I would let him handle this on his own.
But what could I do?
I had no grand plan apart from figuring out Ronald’s location. If I could track him down, we could both get home and cry about this mess together.
Now, how could I get his location?
“Are you sure you can handle being there right now? I want you fine,” I asked, my voice laced with worry.
God, please be honest with me for once. Just come home.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “You just take care of yourself. I have to go now. We’re about to board the plane.”
And with that, he hung up before I could get another word in.
Frustrated, I stared at my phone, my mind racing, when Martha’s text popped up.
Hello!!! Hope you guys are not doing anything silly in that fancy restaurant.
I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. But then an idea hit me. Martha could help. She had a knack for sneaky stuff, and this situation called for it.
Of course, that meant admitting to Martha that the entire fancy restaurant story was a lie. Not only were Ronald and I not at a fancy restaurant, but we hadn’t even had our date—and I had no idea where he was.
I typed out a text: I have to tell you something.
Her reply came instantly. What’s it?
I took a deep breath and explained everything, leaving no detail out.
Her response was swift:
I was waiting for you to tell the truth.
My eyebrows furrowed. What the hell do you mean? I typed back.
Before I could get a response, my phone buzzed. Martha was calling.
“So you knew I was lying and just played along?” I said the moment I answered.
“You wanted to play, and I wanted entertainment.” There was a pause before she sighed. “Right, I’m sorry. That sounded horrible. So, where do you think he is?”
“I have no fucking idea. That’s why I need your help. I need to find him. I want to be there for him.”
The line went quiet momentarily, save for the faint sound of her sipping something.
“I hope it’s not what I’m thinking,” she said.
I rolled my eyes, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Martha, just because I think my husband is lying about where he is doesn’t mean he’s cheating. Jeez.”
“Okay, then. I think it’s time I tell you the truth, I know.”
My heart skipped a beat. What truth was she talking about?
“What are you on about?”
“I’ve just sent you where I think your husband is.”
A notification buzzed on my phone, and I glanced at it. The address read The Copper Lantern Motel. A small, dimly lit place in New York that didn’t quite fit Ronald’s usual haunts.
“How do you know where he is?” I asked, my voice sharp with a mix of worry and disbelief.
“I had a hunch that he was up to no good.”
“That’s such a sneaky thing to do,” I said, rubbing my temples as a headache crept in.
“But you just asked me to help you find him—now, isn’t that sneaky, Addison?”
“I have a valid reason for that.”
“My reason is valid, too.” There was another pause, and I could almost feel her hesitation on the phone. “Just come to the location I sent. You’ll find your husband there.”
I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong. I knew Ronald. He’d never cheat on me. But something in Martha’s voice made me pause.
“I’ll be there in a bit,” I finally said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down the address she’d sent.
“Good. I’ll be here waiting for you,” Adele said, her tone firm like she fucking knew what she was talking about.
For the first time, I started to doubt myself. Could Martha be right? Could Ronald be somewhere I didn’t expect, doing something I couldn’t imagine?
I couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in my chest, even though I knew my husband, or thought I did. I had to find out.