Page 4 of Not in the Plan

“Shocking, since you’ve been up since three.”

“You heard me? Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. I just wanted to?—”

“Iron. I know.” Her mom jutted her head toward the cornerof the room. “I’m the one who put the iron and board in your room for you.”

Mack’s heart softened. “Someday I’m gonna craft a personal essay on the joys of midnight ironing. Reduction in heartrate. Satisfaction of a job well done. Waking up sharp and fresh.”

“Mackey.”

“What?”

“You’re avoiding.” Her mother tightened her frilly pink robe around her willowy frame.

Mack brushed her palm across the tiny hairs poking out from her freshly buzzed undercut. “Can we just say it’s been a hellish week and leave it at that?” Words congregated on the tip of her tongue, begging for release. “I gotta go.”

Her mom shook her head. “You can’t go traipsing around in an unfamiliar city. You know, I saw onDateline, or maybe it was one of those Netflix true crime stories, about this writer who?—”

“Ah, come on. I travel all the time for work.” She laid a quick hand on her mom’s arm. “I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

Her mom sighed and leaned into the touch. “It’d be nice to have breakfast with you… I, we, haven’t seen you for so long.”

Her mom’s words landed with a punch.

“You trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Honey. I’m trying to make you feelloved.”

Less than eight hours with her mom, and Mack pulled in two different directions. Option one, rush into her mother’s arms and cry it out. Option two, run like hell.

Her money was on bailing the F outta here.

“I’m sorry. I know. There’s just… a lot.” Mack waved her wrist as if that would magically explain everything that transpired in the last few months. “We’ll chat later.”

Mack darted down the hall before her mom could speak. She hit the elevator button multiple times before the dooropened. After she verified no sketchy white van was parked near her rental car, she hopped in.

Inhale. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four. Exhale. One, two, three, four. Repeat.

Minutes later, her heartbeat slowed. She rolled her windows down and took off for any place but here.

Seattle air was different from New York’s. The city smelled like the color green. Ripe. Meadowy. Invigorating. Clean. Made her want to breathe and meditate. And forget the scene twenty-four hours ago when she raced around her apartment, stuffed her military-style folded clothes and anxiety meds into luggage, and rushed to the airport.

She needed to figure out a plan—and fast. The countdown clock ticked toward a looming deadline.What am I gonna do?

Two hours later, her head feeling clearer, the rental car shook with the infinite potholes as she headed downtown. The fuel gauge indicator verged just above half. No way would she break her own rules in a different city and let it dip any more. She pulled off the highway and followed her navigation to the closest gas station.

“Jesus.” Was the apocalypse happening? Every pump was full.

She white-knuckled the unfamiliar steering wheel as she snuck in between two SUVs. Before her smartwatch could warn her that her heartrate was too high, she deflated into the seat and took a breath.

Moments later, she exited the car and swiped her card. The machine beeped in response.

Card error. Please see attendant.

Seriously? She swiped a second card. The same message flashed across the screen with the same shrill buzz. She glanced up at the person pumping gas next to her, who was for sure judging her incompetency.

“Broken machine,” Mack muttered with a weak smile.

The woman gave her an uninterested nod.

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