He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth
Maya wrapped an arm around me, half-shielding, half-hauling me toward the doors.
Inside, the salon was a magazine spread come to life. All pale wood, blue velvet, shiny metal. There was a gas fireplace, a bar stocked with liquors I couldn’t pronounce, and a row of massive windows framing the water. If I hadn’t been terrified, I would have taken pictures.
Maya planted me on the plushest couch and started pacing, phone glued to her ear, cycling through every emergency contact she had. After the fourth dropped call, she threw her phone onto the table.
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