Fly With Me | ✓

23

Everleigh was dead asleep when her phone rang a little too loudly and woke her up. (Maverick would never need to know that she'd made her ringtone for him Lost in Translation.) (Stevie's was Abstract Blue—that one she'd be fine to admit.) Tokyo was gorgeous, and she probably should've been enjoying the nightlife, but the jetlag was hitting her hard. Returning to flying wasn't easy, especially after being grounded for clinical for so long.

Everleigh hummed as she swiped on her phone as she pressed it to her ear. "Hmmm, hello?"

"I'm so sorry, were you asleep?" Maverick asked. "It's really dark in there."

Everleigh winced. If she told him the truth, Maverick would hang up. Even though it had been a couple weeks since they'd been able to talk. She didn't really want that, but she could've probably fallen asleep within seconds. "Um. No?"

"You're a terrible liar and I can't even see your face."

"You're so mean, Mav." Everleigh's eyes widened. There were people with him. Oh, fuck. She'd heard that voice before. "You didn't even text her first?"

"Yeah, I taught you better than that." Whoever that was said something else in a language Everleigh didn't know. Her accent wasn't Canadian, but Everleigh couldn't place where in Asia it was from.

Maverick's "hey!" in response told her it wasn't anything nice. Probably didn't need translating.

Everleigh blindly fumbled around and flicked the bedside lamp on, pulling the phone away from her ear so she could see the video call. Her eyes squinted as they got used to the new light in the room. Everleigh tapped her phone to see what time it was—solid, midnight. "Um. Hi."

"Oh, Mav, she's so cute—"

"You could introduce yourself, Es—"

Oh, holy shit on toast. If that was Esmé, that meant the other woman in the video was Maverick's mother. Everleigh quickly tapped her screen to enlarge her image and see how she looked after just waking up. And, Jesus Christ, she had zit cream on. It wouldn't have mattered if it was just Maverick—well, it would've, but not as much—but to meet his mother without warning with zit cream dotted all over her face... Everleigh was going to vomit.

"You're the famous Everleigh," the older woman said. "I'm Margaret. You can call me Mags or mom or Peggy. Anything you'd like."

"I—um—hi—" Everleigh said. Mind moving a little too fast and a little too slow simultaneously. "Everleigh."

"We know," Esmé whispered.

Maverick had taken Everleigh far too literally when she'd said that the idea of meeting his family made her want to cry and so he should surprise her with a meeting. This was not what she had meant. She figured at some point she'd make her way to Windsor and agree to go for lunch with him, and magically his family would be there. Not a video call in the middle of the night while there was zit cream covering her face. Dear God.

Esmé looked like Maverick; same brown skin, same curly hair, same whiskey eyes. It was likely they were blood siblings and not simply adopted siblings. They even had the same sort of half smile that told Everleigh they thought she was being dorky and that they were enjoying it. (Little shits.) If she didn't know better, she'd think they might be twins.

Margaret looked about the same age as Troy; a couple years younger than Dawn. With a kind smile that wasn't judging. Dark, long hair that shone in the light of their house. There were a few wrinkles around her eyes from what was surely years of smiling. Everleigh appreciated that Margaret looked like she wasn't judging her.