ANNIE: Please never call me that again.
ME: I can see all of this.
RAYANN: Good. Saves us the recap.
The room phone sat on the nightstand, mute and beige and somehow accusatory. Beside it, the digital clock changed numbers without sound. 16:42. Less than an hour before Sarah’s Johannesburg contact was due to meet me in the lobby.
Too much time for a room I had not chosen.
ANNIE: Does he have family there?
There.
The clean cut.
I looked at the apples on the desk. Too glossy. Too arranged. My hand curled around the phone.
ME: His daughter is in Virginia. Sofia. Fourteen. Homecoming is October 24.
Nothing.
Then everything.
BRYNN: You know the child’s homecoming date?? What in the laminated emergency-contact hell is happening?
SUMMER: That is a calendar-level fact.
RAYANN: That is not even casual calendar. That is color-coded, reminder-set, emotionally dangerous calendar.
EMME: You know Jules stores emotional information in calendar format because it frightens her less.
BRYNN: Did you make a subfolder for the man’s child?
ME: I am leaving this chat.
RAYANN: No, you’re not.
BRYNN: Hot ranger. Teen daughter. Two continents. Active threat situation. This is very low maintenance, Jules. Barely a fucking blip.
SUMMER: Brynn.
BRYNN: Responsible version: this is a complex multi-jurisdictional fuck spiral.
ANNIE: That is not responsible.
EMME: It is oddly comprehensive.
ME: Sofia is not a complication.
The words left my fingers before I could make them colder.
The typing bubbles vanished.
I stood very still.
Outside, traffic moved. Inside, the air-conditioning clicked on with a soft mechanical sigh.
SUMMER: No one said she was.
