I woke with a start. I’d had a dream about my mother and sister. There was a tidal wave. Mirabelle wore my old leather jacket and my mother was pulling at the sleeve. I tried to capture details, but they slipped away. I felt shaky and sad as if something terrible had happened like maybe they had died. It had been a decade since I had spoken to them. Now, I’d be getting married. There was no way to tone down the exclusion, my engagement would scream from the headlines. For my mother, that was karmic justice, but for my sister… I felt sorry for her. She couldn’t help being born into the system.

Brett was still sound asleep. I slid out, past the blackout curtains, and onto the balcony. The sun was blinding, the sky, clear blue, the sea calm. The rough waters had receded in the low tide, exposing the rocks below and a wide strip of sand. People were already out strolling and walking their dogs.

A hotel worker kneeled on the rocks below, sawing away at the plastic ring now wedged in a cranny and cuffed around the leg of the dead gull. When it was loosed, he put the mangled bird in a sack, flung the bag over his shoulder, and climbed down to the sand and past guests enjoying their free continental breakfast on the patio.

I walked back inside the dark room where Brett slept, his face slack and peaceful. He had thrown the covers off during the night and his body was crunched together in a child’s pose, clutching a pillow with his knees drawn up to his chest. He snorted and pulled the pillow closer. Brett hardly ever slept past seven. I considered crawling back in bed, but I was restless and off-kilter. The dream or nerves, I didn’t know.

I was having doubts. Big ones. I was sure Brett loved me, but could I sustain a future with someone whose happiness and well-being depended on being more successful than me? This thought had kept me up half the night.

I needed coffee. I needed to clear my mind and focus on the day ahead. The day.

And then, even though I was still pissed at her, I needed to talk to the one person who knew me best.

“Hello?” Nicole answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

I’d taken the back stairs down to Brett’s car where he’d left our phone. It was difficult to get cell reception in Malibu, but I had managed to find a weak signal by driving to the other side of the parking lot and standing on the hood.

“Nic, it’s me.” Out of nowhere, I burst into tears.

“Jackie?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you very well. You’re breaking up.”

“Sorry. I’m outside.”

“What’s going on? Did he ask you yet?”