Last on His Emergency List

Summary

On the worst day of my mother’s chronic sinus flare-up, I used Graham’s phone to order her nasal spray and decongestants through Postmates.

At the checkout screen, I noticed his default delivery address wasn't our brownstone.

The recipient was listed as Ivy—the woman he had broken up with seven years ago.

My thumb hovered over the glass for two seconds before I tapped into his order history.

Every month, right around the sixteenth, the exact same items appeared: Extra-strength Motrin, adhesive heat wraps, organic peppermint-chamomile tea, and occasionally that oversized salted caramel hot…