“I know,” he says and pushing my hair away from my face, his hands coming up to cup my face, and his thumb moves up and down. “You can keep whatever you want, and then if you want, you can donate the rest.”

“Donate?” I ask, shocked. “How about you return it?”

He scrunches his nose. “No,” he says. “Final sale.” He winks at me.

“Mom, open this one. It’s for you. It’s bras,” Dylan says, coming over with the light pink bag. “And underwear.”

He hands me the bag, and it’s a tad heavy for a bra, and I look in and see the pink tissue paper on the top, and inside, I spot maybe ten bras. “This whole bag is full.”

“I can help you decide which one to wear.” He winks at me. “Here, let me put this in my room.” He grabs the bag and walks away.

“You got a bathing suit, too,” Dylan says, coming to me and putting the thing in my hand.

“Dylan, don’t open all the bags,” I say, but he’s already elbow deep into another one when the doorbell rings. Getting up, I walk to it and open it, spotting a woman standing there. She is dressed in jeans and a top and stilettos. Her blond hair is fixed perfectly, and her makeup is a tad too dark for morning. Let’s not even discuss the heavy lip gloss. I can probably see myself in the reflection.

“Oh, hi,” she says, “you must be the maid.” She smiles. “Is Justin home?”

“Um …” I start to talk, but Justin is behind me.

“Not the maid, Gloria,” he says, almost hissing. “What can I do for you?”

“We are just letting you know that we are going away, and that our daughter might be coming by.” She now ignores me. “She was hoping you could show her around.”

“Yeah,” Justin says, “not likely.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You should let security know that you’re leaving,” he says. The elevator pings, and the same security guy from before is coming up with the food. “Just in time. Gloria is leaving, and she needs someone to show her daughter around.” He reaches out and grabs the food. “Have a great night,” he says and closes the door in Gloria’s shocked face.

“Do I want to ask if you know her daughter?” I ask him, and then I want to kick myself for even asking.

“Never met her,” he says, “but if she is anything like her mother …” He shudders. “I’m not interested in the least.” He turns to walk into the house and calls Dylan.

“Well then,” I say and walk into the house with him, and I stop in my tracks. Not only does it look like a bomb exploded, but all the bags are empty. “What is all this?” I ask Dylan, and he points at the clothes.