“No excuses, Beverly Price. You, me, the mall, right now. We’re getting you something that screams sexy, and tomorrow, we’re spending the entire day swimming, tanning, and not thinking about our complicated lives.”

Well, that did sound nice. And I needed a break. I needed to get out of my own head and let myself have fun for once.

“Fine.”

Tiffany beamed. “Good. I’m thinking a cute little bikini. Maybe something red. No, scratch that, too basic. How about a fiery orange one? It’ll make you look sun-kissed even before you hit the water. Or we could go bold with a tropical print⁠—”

“Tiff—”

“Ugh, I can’t decide, Bev. And don’t even get me started on accessories. Sunglasses, a cute beach hat, maybe a beach bag that matches, like one of those woven ones? We’ll grab some cute sandals too, because your toes need to⁠—”

* * *

Tiffany had talked me into way more than I planned to buy—bikinis, sunglasses, a floppy sunhat I’d never wear, even a yellow beach bag I’d probably regret later. But for once, I didn’t care. Shopping with Tiffany had been exactly what I needed—something mindless, something fun. She made me try on half the store, twirling in front of the mirrors while hyping me up so loudly that even the cashier started laughing. We left with shopping bags swinging, frozen lemonades in hand, and the promise of a perfect, carefree summer day tomorrow.

I had found the perfect bikini, too. Not a fiery orange one or some wild tropical print—just a simple, soft pink bikini that fit me like it was made for me.

The shopping bags dug into my wrist as I swung open the front door, my chest still warm from laughter. “Mom?” I called out, kicking off my sandals.

Silence.

I frowned, nudging the door shut behind me. “Mom?”

Nothing.

No sounds from the kitchen. No smell of dinner cooking.

The living room was empty, the TV off.

I glanced at the clock. She had probably gone to bed early, or maybe she was next door with Mrs. Thompson, listening to another long-winded complaint about the neighbor’s pink fence. Dad was working late, as usual.

A slow, disappointed sigh left my lips.

I’d wanted to show her what I got, to hear her tell me that the pink bikini was so me. Even if she would’ve rolled her eyes at some of Tiffany’s more questionable choices, she would’ve smiled, told me I looked beautiful, and tucked my hair behind my ear like she always did.

My throat felt tight.

For a second, I debated just taking my bags upstairs and calling it a night. But my hands were practically itching to show someone, to hear someone tell me you look good in that, Bev.

My eyes flicked toward the hallway.

Show Blake instead.