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When I got “home” (to his fancy house), I changed into sweats and went onto the balcony to write. A character had formed in my head at the cocktail party last night, and I was dying to start drafting Daphne’s story.

I opened my notebook and started pinning down the details.

Daphne is a lonely, middle-aged woman who agrees to fake-date a billionaire for a weekend.

She loathes the wealthy and inwardly mocks everything going on around her at the beginning of the first night.

Gradually loathes less of it, and begins seeing the life as hers. The people are kind to her and start to feel like family.

Billionaire loves her, and they sleep together.

Burglar breaks in with gun and Daphne saves them all by killing him with his own gun; everyone gushing with love and gratitude for her bravery.

Wakes up Sunday morning in her own house, alone—someone moved her back while she was sleeping because the arrangement is over. Knock on the door—it’s the cops with an arrest warrant. She asks them to call the billionaire to vouch for her, and they inform her that HE was the one who called them.

Uses her one phone call to reach him and he can’t talk because he has a tee time. When she starts crying, he reminds her it was all fake.

I was beyond excited because suddenly I had these vivid details and descriptions that I hadn’t been aware existed until two days ago.

Custom luxury vehicles, a team of makeover artists, doormen who were available twenty-four-seven to notarize financial papers—my writers workshop professor would probably say it was too fantastical to be believable, but I was running with it.

Daphne was getting the full treatment.

I got lost in writing for a few hours, which was so easy to do when I was on a balcony above the city, entirely checked out of life as I knew it.

But I was only checked out until my mother called.

When I saw it was her I wanted to ignore the call, but that usually meant she’d just call more often and maybe even bother Lauren.

I sighed and set down my pen. “Hello?”

“Hey, how’s it going, kid?”

“Good,” I said, wondering why she was calling. “What’s up?”

“Do you have any moving boxes?” she asked, sounding agitated. “Daniel might be moving out and he’s got shit all over the place.”

I sighed and wished I would’ve let it go to voicemail, because the last thing I wanted was to listen to the many adventures of my mother’s boyfriends. I said, “I don’t—sorry. What do you mean he ‘might’ be moving out?”

“Well,” she said, sighing loudly. “Apparently his ex-wife isn’t comfortable with their daughter staying here on his weekends with her because she doesn’t know me.”

“Sounds fair,” I said, feeling so much empathy for Daniel’s daughter.

“No, it does not ,” she snapped, “because Daniel is Elsa’s father, so if he thinks I’m good enough for his child, that’s all that should matter.”

“So,” I said, wanting to divert her from her anger. “He’s getting his own place, then? For when his daughter’s over?”

How absolutely… parental of that man.

I’d only met Daniel a few times because I’d kind of retired from meeting boyfriends, but bravo to good ol’ Danny Boy.

If only my mother had cared that much.

To be fair, my mom was a good person and had always been a good mother. I’d never doubted that she loved me, and she’d always made sure I had what I needed in terms of food and clothing.

But she was…scattered and selfish and utterly unable to be alone.

I don’t know that I would’ve learned that about her if my dad hadn’t died when I was in fifth grade. Before that, we’d been a happy little threesome who engaged in typical suburban things like annual vacations and daily evening dinners.

But when he passed and my mother started dating, everything changed.

It felt like, when I was a child, there was always someone new coming in and out of our lives. Boyfriends I loved who just disappeared at random, boyfriends I hated who moved into our apartment, and boyfriends with children whose homes we moved into.

My mom took care of me, yes, but she also burned to the ground any sense of stability we might’ve had in our lives.

Which, according to Lauren, was why I was a control freak now.

“That’s what he’s thinking about,” she said, “but he also said I can just move into his apartment like a month after he gets it, since she can’t do much about him having friends over.”

Poor Elsa , I thought, my stomach feeling heavy at the memory of my mom “having friends over.”

“Listen, I have to go,” I said, closing my notebook and standing. “I’ve got dinner plans and I need to get ready.”

“Ooh, do you have a date?” she asked, perking up.

Spoiler: My mother thought being in a relationship was the pinnacle of existence.

Spoiler: I was inclined to disagree with her.

“No, just dinner with friends,” I lied, because it was way easier than explaining my actual situation. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she said as I opened the door and went back inside the condo.

Just as I hung up, Declan sent a text.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH ME COMING BY AROUND 6 TO TAKE A QUICK SHOWER BEFORE WE GO TO DINNER?

I was impressed by how conscientious he’d been about sharing his place. He was behaving as if it was my apartment and I was in charge, when in reality he could totally boss me around and there was nothing I could do about it.

I texted: if you don’t stop yelling all the time I’m going to hide a catfish somewhere in your house that will slowly rot and attract vermin

He replied quickly. IS THAT A YES?

I sent: That is a yes but use your key like this is your place. How’s the Q&A going?

Declan: JUST CONCLUDED, ACTUALLY.

I texted: Don’t forget to give Warren his muffins.

Declan: WHAT MUFFINS?

Me: The muffins on the table next to your water.

Declan: IS THAT WHAT’S IN THE BOX?

Me: Duh

Declan: YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THAT.

Me: Sure I did.

Declan: TRUST ME, YOU DIDN’T

Me: Are you going to keep screaming nonsense at me, or are you going to leave me alone so I can shower before you get home?

Declan: I’M GOING TO LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR NOW, BUT LATER YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THE NONSENSE COMMENT.

That made me pause.

Gasp.

Was he teasing me?

I stared down at my phone for a second before texting: ARE YOU THREATENING ME, POWELL?

Declan: Calm your ass down, Mariano. See you at six.