Page 52 of Angels Fall

“Mom. I—Why didn’t you give me a heads up on any of this before yesterday?”

“We’ll tell you everything when we see you. Can you make it or… Should we come to you? Would that be better?”

“No!” I say, too aggressively, then auto-correct, “No. No. Sorry, just, uh, no. I can make it. I’m… excited to see you.” I am, I realize. “So just give me a bit to wrap up a couple of things and change and stuff and I’ll be over. OK?“

“Wonderful, we’re in room three nine one five. I’ll text it to you because I know you’ll never remember. Where are you, by the way?”

“Uh, I’m working, why?”

“It sounds like a nightclub.”

Fuck. “Uh, sorry, Mom! Have to handle something real quick, but I’ll be there soon, K? See ya in a bit!”

I end the call and lean back in my sad, rickety office chair with a confused sigh. Well, that’s a strange turn of events. How the hell did my parents get to Vegas?

Who cares, I decide. I might even be smiling. Because… I have family here! On a day meant to be spent with family. Shit. I am not poor Maddie, girl perpetually on her own. What do you know. I have somewhere to go. I have a place I belong. And even if it’s just some hotel restaurant, it’s still better than sleeping away my day feeling lonely and desperate.

On my way out of Pete’s I wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving. I smile as I say it. I might even have a spring in my step.

When I get home, I choose my most conservative outfit—tan trousers, pink silk blouse with a ruffle at the neck and wrists—and put on a pair of shoes that no stripper would be caught dead in. I even put on earrings. And not the kind that droop down to my shoulders. Real earrings. With genuine sapphires and diamonds.

Sitting next to a foil-covered pumpkin pie on the kitchen counter is a note from Diane and Caroline. For you, it says.

Sweet. Now I have something to bring. Good daughter.

I gather up my purse, my pie, and get into Diane’s car.

It’s nearly two o’clock by the time I fight Strip traffic and pull into the valet at the Four Seasons drop-off at Mandalay Bay. I figure what the hell. I’m never gonna get that money together for Carlos, I might as well enjoy life while I still can.

Inside I am a little lost because you can’t ever find the elevators in Las Vegas. They hide them, hoping you’ll stumble into a casino and spend all your money. A man greets me with a huge smile you only find on the faces of greeters at five-star hotels. “Can I help you with that, ma’am?” he asks, pointing to my pie.

“Um, no. I’m just looking for the elevators for room”—I check the text my mother sent, because she knows me well. I never remember anything—“three nine one five.”

His smile grows wider, if that’s possible. “Well, let me escort you up.” He takes my pie with an assertiveness that implies carrying it myself isn’t an option.

“Thanks. I’m here to see my parents,” I say, kinda loopy like I’m a little high. I continue to give way more information than the guy needs. “They’re in from Monaco. They surprised me,” I say, unnaturally excited about the turn in my day.

“Great!” he says, equally unnatural in his enthusiasm.

He flashes his ID badge at an elevator that’s tucked into a short, private hallway, and then waves me inside. There’s a bench, which is unusual for most elevators in Vegas. I mean, typically they want to cram as many people as they can into these things. But it is the Four Seasons, so that must be what you pay extra for here, right?

The ride up is quick and we make no stops. Just right up to the—I stare at the panel of available floors on the side of the elevator. Just one to choose from. Top.

The doors open to another short hallway leading to a tall wooden door with the room-number placard off to the side. My escort knocks for me, then hands me my pie and says, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

I fish a bill out of my purse, pull up a twenty—fuck it, why not—and hand it over with a sweet, “You too,” that I actually mean.

The door opens and my mother and father are there. Wrapping me in hugs, talking a mile a minute, saying things like, “You look great!” and, “Do you believe this suite?”

And that’s when I see the staircase.

Staircase? Who the hell has a staircase in a hotel room?

And that’s when I see who’s coming down the staircase.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Chapter Twelve - Tyler & Maddie