Amber Waves

You are a secret agent. You have infiltrated the manor headquarters of a power-hungry roboticist who is building a of robotic “animals” as part of a plan to take over the world. You are currently in a room on the south end of the top floor of his manor, where you have just finished subduing five of his allies. The door on the north end of the room is closed; you hear the sound of voices from the other side. Suddenly, another sound draws your attention. As you turn to see where it’s coming from . . .

. . . your eyes open. You aren’t a secret agent, you own and run a large business, and you aren’t in a manor, you’re . . . not sure where you are.

After a moment, you get your bearings: you’re sleeping on your friend Niall’s couch. You’re not homeless—well, technically you are, but it’s only temporary and not your fault. Four years ago, you moved in with your girlfriend April. Four days ago, she kicked you out. Niall said you were welcome to sleep in his home office until you could settle on an apartment, and you were happy to take him up on the offer.

The sound you heard is your cell phone going off; it’s clearly somewhere in the room, but sounds muffled. After a few moments, it stops. Still bleary, you look around you. If you have to be begging a room from someone else, at least Niall’s home office is a pleasant one. The couch is long enough to sleep on and well-cushioned. There's a ledge that runs along two sides at the level of the windowsill, extending a foot into the room and running the whole length of each wall; the couch sits along one of them, matching its height almost perfectly. You look at your laptop sitting on the coffee table and wonder why you set it there instead of on Niall’s desk in the corner of the room. Next to the desk is a small refrigerator which he cleared out for you; the only thing you had to put in it was a six-pack of Ommegang Abbey Ale. (You also took a half-full bottle of whiskey with you, but you finished that last night. In your defense, it was a small bottle.) The closet is pathetically empty, with only your jacket hanging up and your duffel bag on the floor.

You feel around on the ledge for your cell, but all you find is April’s picture. You can’t help staring at it for a moment. April Jordan was your girlfriend for something over five years. For the last four, you've been living with her (well, actually, four years, five months, three weeks, and two days, but who’s counting?), until she abruptly declared that you weren’t satisfying her sexually and she’d found someone new who could meet her needs. This meant, of course, that you were superfluous and needed to get out of the way. You never saw it coming.

Maybe you should have. April was never an easy person, after all; but overall, you were happy with her, and you thought she was happy with you. Apparently, she's just a good actress.

And then again, maybe she just had you mesmerized with the sex. That's how she landed you in the first place. You were 22 with a business degree and a business plan, single and not looking for a relationship just then—especially not with someone in her 30s; but in the course of looking for a little capital to get started, you ran into April, and she connected you with a couple people who helped you get off the ground . . . and then she seduced you. Which, oh, man, could she do.

She could have been a porn star—literally; someone once showed you the website “Brittany’s Bod,” and you had to admit that Brittany looked a lot like a younger version of April. She’s tall and leggy, with a pretty, sensual face, full lips, big, well-formed tits, and a tight, round ass, and she has neither doubt nor compunction about how to use any of them. Obviously, that was as much experience as natural talent—she’d had a daughter at 16, after all, so she hadn’t been a virgin for a long time—but still . . . sex with her was a whole lot different from any of your previous girlfriends, and it didn't take her too much trouble to hook you.

At the time, you were very impressed with how much she’d helped you. Looking back, you realize that she really didn’t exert herself much, except in bed. Your business succeeded remarkably quickly, actually—things just seemed to break right for you. After you’d been together a year or so, you were starting to have a little more free time, and you and April were a well-established couple. You just had a small apartment, she had a house, and she suggested you move in with her. You were thrilled. You might have been less thrilled if you’d realized it meant April and her daughter would mostly be living off your income; still, you were making plenty of money and spending a fair bit on them anyway, so it didn't matter much. April never seemed to want to get married, claiming a bad past experience, but otherwise, you were a family.

And then it ended. And here you are, sleeping in a strange room, fumbling around trying to find your cell phone. Fortunately, when the notification for a new voicemail message sounds, you can tell that it’s coming from the closet. You walk over, pull your phone out of your jacket pocket, and check your notifications.

The missed call was from April’s daughter Amber. When you started seeing April, she was 31 and her daughter was an exceptionally promising 15. She’s now a beautiful young woman and a top student at your alma mater here in town . . . and, oh, no, yesterday was her 21st birthday, and you were so preoccupied with your own situation that you didn't call or send a card or anything. She's probably upset, because the two of you have always been close. You’ve never tried to be a father to Amber, but you’ve been something of a big brother, and you’ve become very good friends over the years.

You play the voicemail, afraid of what you’ll hear. Amber is indeed angry and upset, but to your relief, not at you. Her message rambles, but the gist of it seems to be that she’s apologizing to you that you weren’t invited to come out with her last night. She told her mom and assumed her mom would bring you. She didn’t find out April had dumped you until your ex showed up at Bruno’s last night without you, and apparently was quite angry at her mother for not telling her. In fact, she was angry enough to leave her own party early. She wants you to come over to her house. Her housemates are all leaving this morning for the long weekend, so it will be quiet.

You definitely want to see her, but you don’t want to go empty-handed. You haven’t gotten her anything for her birthday yet, and you shouldn’t show up without some sort of present. Fortunately, there’s a box of cards on the desk made by a local artist; Niall’s always picking up stuff like that to support the local arts community. There’s bound to be a birthday card in there.