I check my watch; it’s five-thirty. The sun isn’t up yet, and it’s chilly. Hope I didn’t catch a cold, I think and thank whoever gave me their hoodie. Carmel truly is a nice place with nice people. At first, I’m thinking of leaving the hoodie on the bench so whoever left it can get it back. But on impulse, I put it in the pocket of my backpack. A souvenir from Carmel.

My phone is in my handbag; I slept with my head on it, and I now have a massive headache. I take it out, and it’s almost out of battery.

No text, but I do have missed calls from him—ten of them.

Why did he call instead of texting? We said 6 AM. I’m not late yet, am I? The last call is from a few minutes ago. What if he can’t make it and wanted to tell me?

I imagined we’d see and hear each other face to face, but this is not one of my stories where every scene is written to perfection. I have to call him back and see what’s going on.

I take a deep breath and press call. It rings once and before it rings a second time, I hear his voice, do a double take, look at my phone, and then put it back at my ear.

“Maya, Maya, can you hear me?”

“David—” I say and can’t continue.

David got his phone back. How? When? What happened? What does this mean?

“Are you OK? Where are you? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I tried, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

“I lost it. Just got it back.”

Did he get it back straight from Max? Did Max leave it somewhere for him?

“How did you get your phone back?”

“Does it matter? I forgot it in a Lift yesterday.”

He’s acting like nothing’s wrong. Like he did nothing.

“Where are you?” he asks, his tone edgy. “Are you still at the airport—?”

Where else would a stupid woman like me be? At the airport, waiting for him.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then where are you?” he repeats.

“Carmel. You wouldn’t know it.”

“What are you doing in Carmel?” he asks.

I don’t respond. I don’t have to justify myself to him.

“I’m in Monterey,” he says, then I hear him talking to someone before talking to me again. “I’ll be in Carmel in less than ten minutes. Meet me at Hotel Marin.”

“David—”

He hung up.

Meet him? I don’t want to meet him. What is he going to say? That it wasn’t him with that woman? The only person I’m going to meet is Max, at six, at the bench. Is this what I want? I don’t know anymore. With David on his way here, things feel different. It’s like a wake-up call. ‘Hello, this is your reality. What are you doing?’ Am I brave enough to go through with this? It’s all so different in the daylight. As if I was living in this carefully constructed yet fragile bubble for the last day and now that the sun is almost up, the bubble has popped. I look a mess, I haven’t showered in a day, I have sand in my hair. I have sand everywhere. If I meet Max like this, he’ll take one look at me and run the other way.