Gloria presented her the stack of mail. “Maria Regina. You’re really not allowed to ignore me since I’m your mother. Life cannot just be about work.”

“It’s not just about work. It’s about Miko, our future.”

“That’s still work. You volunteer for everything; you don’t ever take a day off. And I asked Mr. Leong—he doesn’t work Sundays.” She blinked repeatedly, her flirtatious look. “So maybe you shouldn’t work one Sunday so you can have a good time? I already talked to him.”

“You did not.”

“I did. Since you’re so type A about everything except your social life, I thought I would take the initiative.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

Gloria was right, of course. Regina approached parenting like her business, completely hands-on. Team mom, room mom, PTA mom. All of it. Still, she pretended like she didn’t hear her mother, and instead, flipped through the mail: Credit card bills. A notice for her to re-up her commercial kitchen lease. A note from her accountant to remind her that quarterly taxes were coming up.

“I mean, you could have just saved all this for me to look at later,” Regina said, properly deflated.

“There’s an express envelope in there.”

Regina fished out the official envelope marked for two-day delivery. She tore it open to reveal a kraft envelope with her name and address handwritten in a fancy scrawl in blue ink, complete with curlicues on the first letter of her first and last names. And while the top-left corner of the envelope didn’t bear a return address, Regina knew who it was from. No one had a love for kraft and calligraphy more than her longtime friend Adelaide, who also had an obsession with burlap, lanterns, wreaths, and antiques. While Regina could wax poetic on wine and menu pairings, Adelaide was equally as passionate about interior design. Adelaide was a woman who embraced her Southern roots despite not having lived in the South for years, with a homey and modern style that had preceded Joanna Gaines and the Magnolia empire.

“Adelaide,” she whispered.

“I could tell it was important,” Gloria noted.

Adelaide had only mailed Regina three times: once, to invite her to a book club at her home all those years ago; second, to apologize over their biggest fight; and third, to announce her pregnancy and Regina’s new role as godmother. Even more, Adelaide had her number. There was no reason why she couldn’t have called with news. They followed each other on social media and could have easily DMed.

Regina thought back to the last time they had touched base. It was a random text about six months ago when Adelaide let her know that she and her daughter were PCS’ing, or moving, to the DC area from South Korea. I’m on your side of the world, finally! it had said, though after a couple of back-and-forth texts, their communication had trailed away.

“Thanks for bringing it over.” Regina absentmindedly sidestepped to a barstool in the corner of the kitchen and popped up onto it. Around her, sounds prattled on. She slid a nail under the flap to lift the envelope’s seal.

Under her breath, she read aloud, “‘To my dearest Reggie. I know it’s been a hot second, but I need you…’”

“What is it, iha?” Gloria said, sensing Regina’s rise in panic as she skimmed the rest of the note. Regina didn’t catalog every word or all the details, but the message came through loud and clear.

“Sounds like I’m going to get the vacation you say I need.” She looked up at Gloria. “It’s an SOS.”

CHAPTER TWO

Adelaide

Present Day, Thursday

“Lord, help me,” Adelaide Wilson-Chang groaned at the kitchen sink. She let go of the vintage Corelle plate, grateful that it was indestructible as it clattered into the porcelain, and gripped the sink’s apron front with her left hand. She pressed with the heel of her right hand against the sharp pain in her abdomen.

She counted backward from ten and focused her eyes on the sponge sitting in the sink. These days, she’d resorted to her labor breathing to cope, and while for the most part it worked, the pain was getting worse. Last week, she could have walked through the pain; two weeks before then, she’d been able to fake her way through her mommy meetups and her neighborhood La Leche League meetings. But now, God, she couldn’t even do the dishes without her gallbladder acting up.

Five… four… three…

The pain ebbed, and Adelaide straightened tentatively. Her vision expanded to include the entire room; sounds returned. The laughter of her daughter, Genevieve, reached her ears—a salve—and with that, the rest of the pain subsided.

Two… one.

And with one final deep breath, Adelaide’s body relaxed into its normal stance, and her breathing returned to normal. Her gaze lingered on the open window that provided a view of the postage-stamp-sized backyard of her town house, and she pressed a hand against her forehead, now damp with sweat.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” she said aloud to the empty kitchen, echoing what her mama would say when the poop started to hit the fan. The mantra acted like a reset button, her declaration to the world. If she said it, it would happen. After all, everything was fine. She had pain, sure, but that would be fixed soon. Her family was safe, albeit not all present, and best of all, one of her best friends, Sophie, was here, and the other, Regina, was on the way.