“Come sit with us!” he called.
She nodded, and walked over to him, trying to look normal, happy, and relaxed. Andy was her best bet. Morgan wondered what he’d think if she told him her secret; if he’d still look at her like she was a fairy-tale princess, Rapunzel in the tower, and he was the prince who would save her. Probably he wouldn’t. And if she told him about her appointment, he’d probably tell his mother, who’d feel obligated to tell Morgan’s mom. Morgan would have to keep her secret. In this fairy tale, the princess would have to save herself.
Abby
Abby had been proud of herself for the way she’d handled Sebastian’s run-in with the angry driver. Calm. Collected. Appropriate. An experienced ride leader, Lizzie herself, couldn’t have done any better. She thought that he’d thank her; take the opportunity to talk with her, or sit with her at lunch. She hadn’t been oblivious to his smiles, his flirty looks. But that morning, he’d seemed tense and distant, and at lunchtime, he’d just filled his plate and gone off with Lincoln.
Abby ended up sitting with her mom and Lily Mackenzie, who cast mournful sideways glances at her daughter and Andy Presser, who’d gone off by themselves. Abby got Lily talking about her book club back home, and how she’d met her husband, and anything she could think of to keep her from looking so sad.
Afterward, there were thirty more miles to pedal before day’s end. Abby rode sweep and then, with a mile left to go, she pedaled hard to get to the front of the group, then waited in the hotel parking lot, watching as the riders arrived, in various states of exhaustion. When Abby had gone to check in, the clerk had handed her a package along with her key card. Mark had sent her a box of John & Kira’s chocolates. Her favorites. She smiled, and popped a truffle in her mouth.
In her room, she lit the crushed-mint scented candle she’d packed and savored her long, hot shower, twisting her torso from side to side, raising her arms over her head, rolling her neck. She’d just gotten out of the shower when her phone dinged with an incoming text. Probably Mark, she thought, who’d been keeping her entertained with pictures of feet and a link to a story about a college classmate who’d started doing low-cost vasectomies out of a van he’d nicknamed the Neuter Scooter. Abby was looking forward to telling him about the day’s ride and how, as she predicted, the men had been the ones almost getting into accidents, or drifting toward the center of the path, or the road, completely oblivious to other bikes and cars. Lizzie’s theory was that men rode their bikes the way they moved through the world—heedless, confident, making it everyone else’s job to get out of their way. Women were more cautious. They followed the rules and were careful about staying to the side of the road, about observing stop signs and traffic lights and calling “On your left!” when they passed. Many men—maybe most men—couldn’t be bothered.
She wrapped her hair in the special microfiber towel she’d packed—the one guaranteed to keep her curls from frizzing—picked up the phone from where it was charging on the bathroom counter. Mark hadn’t texted. Lizzie had.
Is this guy on the trip? she’d written. Below the text was a link to TikTok.
Abby knew the text was a peace offering. She and Lizzie hadn’t spoken since Eileen’s surprise appearance at the park. Yesterday, Abby had fired off a WTF!?!? text, with a picture of Eileen on the trail. Call me. I’ll explain, Lizzie had written. So far, though, Abby hadn’t called.
She sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hand. Lizzie joked that she was the oldest woman on TikTok, and would tell anyone who listened that she’d only joined to keep up with her teenage nieces, but the truth was, she was just as addicted to the app as any Gen Z-er. Rarely a day went by when Lizzie didn’t send Abby a video she’d seen: a viral dance, workout tips, recipes, makeup reviews, a video of a cat in a tie, or one featuring a mom who’d single-handedly remodeled her laundry room during her newborn’s nap time. Smiling, Abby clicked the link. She felt her smile fade as she saw Sebastian’s face in the center of a WANTED poster, and felt it vanish completely once she’d skimmed a few of the 3,467 comments underneath the video, which revealed that Sebastian had worked his way through seven of the original poster’s eight-woman friend squad.
“Oh my God.” Abby tossed the phone aside, feeling as breathless as if she’d been punched. Then she made herself pick up the phone and watch the video again, shaking her head in dismay. Of course Sebastian had turned out to be too good to be true. Unicorns weren’t real, and neither were handsome, nonproblematic single guys who were both sexual savants and into her. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Sebastian had to have acquired his superlative bedroom skills somewhere, and now Abby knew precisely where, and had a rough idea with how many whoms.