It took an hour for me to pick up the lock and get into my bedroom successfully. From my room, I could hear the maid from earlier shuffling about downstairs, the sound of her metal bucket scraping the tiled floor sharp. Feeling like some sort of accomplished rebel, I plopped down on my bed, picking up my phone which I’d been charging since I’d exhausted the battery completely last night. I scrolled through the twenty-seven missed calls carefully. They were all from Helen. No texts, but short voicemails after each one.
Helen: Hey, Sol. Call me when you get this. It’s urgent.
Helen: So, Sol. Guess what? Frank and I just got to New York. We’re staying in the heart of the city. Are you there?
Helen: Alright, so, I feel weird spamming your phone like this, but I can’t help myself. It
