Page 10 of Not in the Plan

Delete.

Mack: I really hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. I genuinely thought

Delete.

Her fingers hovered over the block contact button. This was the fourth message she’d received, and if she had any integrity at all, she’d stop ghosting. Does a two-hour long, sexual yoga session before Mack slipped out of the hotel room constitute a conversation? Blocking felt gross, but they hadn’t even exchanged names. Wasn’t that a universal sign for no follow-ups required?

The other women these last few years seemed to understand that one night, maybe two, was the max of their relationship. Her books would always come first. Words were her spouse. The other women were distractions.

Ugh. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. She dropped her fingers from the block button and silenced her phone instead.The whirlwind of the last thirty-six hours lurked behind her, puckering up to bite her in the ass. She yawned, twisted until she cracked her back, and headed for the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, she took a moment to appreciate her parents’ upgrade. The vaulted ceilings, open floor plan, and hardwood floors was a stark contrast to her childhood dishwasher-less apartment in New York. Even the water tasted better, although having it trickle through a filtered stainless-steel fridge instead of the ’70s style faucet may have helped. She swiped a napkin across the counter to clean the drops that fell from her glass when the front door swung open.

“Jesus, it’s hot today.” Her dad removed his Mariners cap and dragged his forearm across his misted forehead. “You look less salty than what Mom said.”

Whatever.“Yeah, must’ve been the jet lag.” He didn’t need to know the real reason.

“We’re gonna catch the Mariners game tonight.” He reached into the fridge and pulled out an IPA. “Want me to see if we can score another ticket?”

“Traitor. You haven’t even lived in Seattle a decade and you’ve turned your back on the Yankees.”

“Not true, kid. You know they’re my first love. But I’m a sucker for overpriced hotdogs, beer, and ball. No matter who’s playing.” He picked the beer label with his thumb. “You been here all day?”

“No, I got lost and ended up in a random coffeeshop.”

“Which one?”

She dug into the candy bowl and popped a chocolate in her mouth. “Uh… I think Sugar Mugs or something?” Of course she knew the name. But she didn’t need any invasive questions from her dad, who could sniff information out of her like a bloodhound. Right now, Charlie was a surprising lifeline sent to Mack from some literary god that had taken pity on her. She wasn’t going to ruin any inspirational magic by talking about her in any detail.

“Oh yeah? I’ve been there. Good blackberry scones. Did you try one?” He tore open a cracker box and crumbs littered the counter she’d just wiped down.

“Nah. I just asked Charlie for a bagel.”

He wiggled his brows. “Charlie, huh?”

Oops.She popped another chocolate in her mouth and did her best to ignore her father.

“Well, it’s good having ya here.” He crunched into a cracker. “This move’s been tough on your mom. She really thought you’d come with us when we left.”

And here it comes.

“You should visit more.”

She exhaled. Shedidvisit the first few years. A lot if memory served. But her mom getting sick changed everything.

Not wanting to kill her lingering afternoon word-count thrill, she softened her words. “You guys couldn’t turn down the opportunity to take over Grandpa’s business. And look”—she jutted her arm toward the living room—“look how far you’ve come. It’s pretty freaking amazing.”

The condo door flew open before her dad could respond. “Mack.”

Tossed keys landed on the counter with a heavy clank and she flinched.

“I called you at least a dozen times today to see if you were alive.” Her mother bored her gaze into Mack.

“I know. Sorry. I was super busy, but I texted you.” Mack forced calmness into her voice. “You know, I manage just fine every day living in New York. I think I can handle Seattle.”

A heavy sigh escaped from her mom’s mouth. “I just worry. West coast is different than back home, and you have no idea if?—”

“Some pot-smoking, hemp-skirt-wearing grandma is going to jump out of the bushes to force me to eat homemade gluten-free granola with organic dried beets,” Mack said. “I know, Mom. I have the same fear.”

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