Page 2 of Missing White Woman

Lucky for him, I wasn’t one to make a big deal.

“It’s fine,” I said again as I finally opened the door. It was cold enough inside to give me goose bumps if they hadn’t already been there. “I blame those big-ass hands of yours.” I was proud of how I sounded. More teasing than annoyed.

He laughed then, the first time I’d heard him do that all week. I was glad too because I loved how it sounded. “Oh, now you have a problem with my big-ass hands. Last week it was—”

I laughed too. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait.”

“Bye, Ty.” I tried to stifle a yawn.

“You’re gonna wait up for me, right?”

“Bye, Ty.”

“Right?”

“Guess you’ll have to get here and see.”

But we both knew I would—in no makeup but also no bonnet. Happy to see him. Like always.

We both said goodbye and I finally stepped inside, thanking the heavens there wasn’t an alarm and that snoop of a neighbor hadn’t dialed 911. The cold air felt better than any jail cell I’d been in.

* * *

This trip had been planned for a month.

Ty had rolled over on a lazy Sunday morning when my mom would’ve wanted me to be two hours deep into worship service and casually asked if I’d ever been to New York. His spontaneity was one of the many things I liked about him—already loved about him, though I hadn’t said the words out loud yet. And neither had he. It’d only been a few months since we met jogging.

We were at the “Let’s take a trip” stage. Technically, it was a two-week work trip for him. One he took every couple of months to his company’s Jersey City office. I was just tagging along for a weekend.

Ty had been here since Monday, but he’d been staying at a hotel until today. The plan was for me to come up Friday evening, then we’d stay in an Airbnb and spend the next two days in New York City before I went back home in time for my own job Monday afternoon. Of course mine was nowhere near as fancy. I was a manager at a stationery store.

I’d never been much of a traveler, but still I was excited when Ty turned toward me that morning. So excited that I’d even purchased new Kenneth Cole luggage and packed the good panties—even though my mother spent the entire month strongly disagreeing with the trip. That was the great thing about being over thirty—even if I did still live in my college studio. Your mother kept giving advice; you just didn’t have to take it.

My maternal line was that of a mighty few. Only children begetting only children. All girls. My grandmother was in her nineties, battling dementia like she’d battled everything else life had thrown at her. Yet she’d gotten worse right before my mother retired from her position as a head of marketing. Taking care of her had become my mom’s full-time job. And my part-time one. I was off Thursdays and Fridays, so I would drive forty-five minutes to my mom’s house to give her a break.

My mother had a million and two questions when I’d told her about the trip. She’d sent them in a string of single text messages over the course of five excruciatingly long minutes. The English major in her not accepting a single typo no matter what the medium.

What about COVID?

The numbers were down.

When are you going?

Last week in April.

That’s soon.

It was a month away.

My relationship history was mainly made up of a series of first dates. Ty was my first serious boyfriend in over a decade. I was going to enjoy my first couples vacation just like I was going to enjoy my first time ever in New York. Even if my mother wanted to ruin it one text at a time.

Initially she’d sent me articles about how dangerous New York City was. When I pointed out I was staying in New Jersey, she just switched to sending articles about there. Shootings. Break-ins. Assaults. Her latest was about some pretty blond white woman who’d gone missing.

I didn’t click a single link. Just promised to bring the Mace she’d gotten me.

And when she wasn’t bothering me about the dangers of the big city, she was bugging me about where I was staying. After a few weeks, I mentioned the house, but not Ty’s job chipping in for it. New York City wouldn’t be my only first. I’d also never stayed in an Airbnb. I’d been excited about that too. At least before I encountered the key code.