Page 24 of The Heartbreak Hotel

Eighteen

What did you enjoy about “those things, dear?” Nan is leaning close to Kim on the couch, watching her intently. “The things you love don’t cease to exist because you can’t do them with him anymore. You can still do them.”

“I’m not going to go indoor rock climbing by myself,” Kim says, teary-eyed.

Nan throws her hands up. “Why on earth not?”

“I agree,” Bea says. She’s cross-legged in the armchair next to Mei’s, mug of coffee in her lap. “I think you should go climbing by yourself, Kim. Like a total fuck-you . You don’t need Peter to take you to the gym—you have just as much of a right to be there without him.”

“What if he’s there, though?”

“Then he sees you living your best life,” Mei says.

Next to her, on a dining chair we’ve pulled in from the kitchen, Joss nods.

We’re arranged in a haphazard sort of circle: Mei and Bea in armchairs by the fireplace, Joss on the dining chair, Kim and Nan tucked in next to me on the couch.

“And you get seeing him again for the first time over with. Win-win, right?”

Kim groans, dropping her head back into the couch cushions. “I guess so.”

It’s Monday afternoon, just after lunch.

Nan, Bea, and Kim have forged such a special bond that I’m a little sad to have another booking coming in tomorrow.

With Mei and Joss in the mix, it’s basically all of my favorite people in one room.

Bea and Kim head back to Denver tomorrow, but Nan’s decided to stay for a while.

What reason do I have to leave? she asked me.

I’m hesitant to let the dynamic shift, especially since this group has been so open to my programming: hikes, breakfast together every morning, group sessions that usually result in one or all of us weeping into our coffee mugs.

Quinn charmed the pants off of everyone at breakfast, and Goldie’s satisfied with the absence of danger at the house (I refrained from telling her I have a new guest—female!—coming tomorrow). She leaves for Denver in an hour, and is upstairs putting Quinn down for a nap before she goes.

“Just because Peter introduced you to climbing doesn’t mean he owns it,” Bea says now. I think of Polliwog’s, of Elk Poop ice cream, of Henry. I understand . “Even if he thinks he does, that pompous ass.”

“Well said,” Nan agrees. “Hobbies are for everyone. If being in that gym brings you joy, you need to get back there as soon as you can.”

“Plus, endorphins,” Mei says. “Exercise is irritatingly effective at making you feel better.”

“It’s true,” Bea says. “And since I can never get you to go to Pilates with me…”

Kim rolls her eyes. “ Joss ,” she says, pointedly changing the subject. “Let’s discuss your trauma, please.”

Joss laughs, chin tipping back. She’s cross-legged in the chair with a mug of coffee in both hands—she came in for a warm drink before starting on fall cleanup in the yard, and we convinced her to stay.

“Or something else,” I say quickly. “Anything at all.”

She nods her head back and forth, like she’s deciding what to say. “I’ve been processing a loss for a bit—a heartbreak.” She glances at me, and I give her a sad smile. She’s never told me, but then again, I haven’t asked. “The garden helps.”

“Doesn’t it?” Nan asks, and Joss nods.

“I guess what I’ve been struggling with most,” she says, “is everyone else’s reactions to it. And managing those, when I’m still trying to manage my own pain.”

“Why does anyone else get an opinion?” Bea says, indignant. “It’s your breakup.”

“It’s a little different, when you get old,” Joss says, nudging Bea’s knee with her own.

Mei says, “You’re not old ,” and Joss waves her off before continuing.

“It’s a whole family affair.” Joss’s eyes flit to mine, and she takes a sip of her coffee. “Everyone has feelings, and you sort of have to navigate them.”

I tilt my head, wishing we’d talked about this before. Thinking of my mom’s reaction to my breakup. In all the years I’ve known her, Joss has never mentioned a partner.

“I think it’s like on airplanes,” I say, shifting in my armchair. “You have to put your own oxygen mask on first—even if other people are struggling around you.”

Bea lifts one arm in the air, snapping, and Joss breathes a laugh.

“Take care of yourself first,” I add. “Everyone else can wait until you’ve patched your own pain.”

“ Agree ,” Mei says, and Joss smiles at me.

She’s opening her mouth to say something else when the back door pushes open, whining merrily, and suddenly Henry is standing in my house.

His eyes flicker across the living room, lighting on one face after another, before landing on me.

I think of us after the hike, his low voice telling me, Not necessarily , and swallow.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He looks startled, a little embarrassed to have walked into a house full of people. He’s in dark jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows.

I shake my head. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Henry says. He glances at Joss, and I follow his gaze. “I just—Joss asked me to stop by for something in the garden. I didn’t realize you’d be—” His eyes move back to mine. Doing therapy? Talking about our feelings? “Busy.”

“Not busy,” Joss says, standing. She doesn’t look at Henry as she steps around him, placing her mug on the kitchen counter. “Let’s talk outside.” She waves at me, then smiles across the group. “Thank you.”

“Oxygen mask!” Bea calls, and Henry shoots me a bemused look before following Joss outside.

I watch them through the window, Joss leading Henry toward the back of the garden until they’re partially obstructed by a fringe of pine boughs.

I’m not close enough to read his body language, to see if his shoulders tense up as they talk.

“Lou, you okay?”

I jump, turning to find Mei watching me from across the room. “What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Bea, Kim, and Nan have all turned to look at me. “Sorry, I just zoned out for a second.”

“It’s all right,” Mei says, eyeing me and then squinting out the window. A squirrel skitters down the porch railing, its mouth stuffed with bark. “What are they doing out there?”

“What’s who doing out where?” Goldie’s voice precedes her down the staircase, and Kim scoots over to make room for her on the couch. When she drops onto the cushion, Mei says, “Ask Lou.”

Fantastic. The last person I want to explain Henry to is Goldie, who’s eternally suspicious of men. I make the mistake of glancing out the window again—where Henry and Joss are still just within sight—and she cranes forward on the couch to look for herself.

“Who’s that?” she asks. She’s changed into her conference attire: black slacks, block heels, a herringbone blazer.

With her hair in a sleek bun and her freckles hidden beneath a smooth layer of foundation, she looks like the Goldie that the rest of the world gets: Immigration lawyer Goldie. Professionally helpful Goldie.

“Joss,” I say. “The groundskeeper.”

“And who else?” She looks at me. “I thought there weren’t any men staying here.”

“There aren’t,” I say, resigning myself to it. “That’s my landlord.”

“Henry,” Bea adds, slow smile twisting her lips. “He’s soooo —”

“What’s he doing here?” Goldie asks, her eyes narrowing.

I wish I knew , I think. But Goldie latches on to mysteries with the tenacity of an Olympic marathoner, so I just say, “Talking with the groundskeeper.”

Bea’s standing up to catch a glimpse of Henry in the garden, but Kim yanks her back. Goldie levels me with her gaze but, blessedly, drops it.

“We were talking about Joss’s and Kim’s ex-beaus,” Nan says, looking at Goldie. “Do you have anything you’d like to bring to the group, dear?”

Goldie’s eyebrows hike up. “Oh, I’m not here for therapy.”

“It’s not therapy,” I say. Goldie’s clinically allergic to discussing her feelings. “We’re just talking.”

“Where’s Quinn’s dad?” Bea asks, pulling one knee up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it. “Or is that too personal?”

Goldie stares at her, then drags her eyes to me. “It’s pretty personal.”

“Ignore her,” Kim says.

I say, “Goldie conceived Quinn with a sperm donor.”

“ Shit. ” Bea lifts her palm toward Goldie for a high five. “Respect. Who needs men?”

Goldie breathes a laugh, touching her palm to Bea’s. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“I love men,” Kim sighs. “It’s basically my whole problem.” She looks at Goldie. “Is it hard, raising him on your own?”

Goldie shrugs. I know it’s hard. Know, too, that she’ll never admit that to a roomful of strangers. “I basically raised Lou,” she says, waving one hand in my direction. “So I’ve done it on my own before.”

I feel my cheeks flush, but Goldie saves me from having to respond. “Can we talk for a minute before I go?”

“Sure,” I say, standing. I cast a glance across the group. “You all feel free to keep going—I’ll be back.”

“I think it’s time for me to rest these old bones,” Nan says, making to stand.

Mei gets up to help her, and Bea follows. “A nap sounds great ,” she says.

When I lead Goldie into the kitchen, all four women head for the stairs; their voices fade as they disappear.

“Look,” Goldie says, leaning one hip into the kitchen island. “I want to talk to you about this rental plan of yours.”

I groan, reaching for a crumpled dish towel on the counter and starting to fold it. “Do you have to?”

“Yes.” She crosses her arms. “Tell me about the financials. Is it working?”

I hang the towel over the faucet and glance out the window, where Joss and Henry are still talking near the aspens. The window’s open to let in the breeze, but they’re too far away for me to hear them. “What do you mean by working ?”

“Are you making enough money to pay your rent?”

“That’s not how it’s set up. I’m staying here for free and giving most of the income to the landlord.”

“That man outside?” Goldie slides in right beside me, following my gaze out the window. I promptly turn around and lean my hip into the counter.

“Yes.”

“So how are you making money to cover your other expenses? Groceries? Student loans?”

I feel warmth start to build in my belly. It’s shame, I know it is: Goldie always brings this out in me. She was born with a plan and never strayed from it even a centimeter—the fact that I haven’t followed the one she had for me makes me feel like a failure.

“I’m using my savings right now.” The money that Henry didn’t accept, back in his office in August. “I don’t have to start paying back my loans yet. And I’m using some of the rental income to cover smaller things like groceries.”

“Savings,” Goldie picks out. She follows me away from the window, comes to face me at the island. “How long will that last?”

“Long enough.”

“Lou, don’t be difficult.”

“ You don’t be difficult.” I sound petulant, but she brings this out of me, too. Without Goldie around, I get to be an adult. But when she’s here, she makes me feel young again—and stupid. “I’m handling this, okay?”

“Are you?” She doesn’t pull her gaze from mine, doesn’t blink. “What happens when that money runs out? You come to me?”

“No,” I say, the warmth that began in my stomach rising up into my rib cage, my neck. I can feel my skin going splotchy. “Don’t worry, Goldie, I’m not going to ask you for a handout.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“I’m not like Mom.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and the words hang between us. She looks offended that I’d accuse her of equating me to our mother. But that’s what she was doing, whether she knew it or not. It’s what we’re always doing, how the two of us move through the world. Molded by her.

“I know you’re not,” she says stiffly. “I only want you to be okay.”

“I am okay.”

A muscle tenses in the corner of her jaw. “I’m just worried,” she says slowly, “that you’re doing this hotel… thing to postpone your career. That it’s one more excuse not to get started.”

My cheeks are hot now. If this goes on much longer, I’ll start crying.

Goldie doesn’t know that I wanted to get started months ago; she doesn’t know that I failed the test. She doesn’t know what Nate did to me—not the depth of it, not the things that I tolerated, the weakness that makes me like our mom.

“The Comeback Inn isn’t an excuse,” I bite out. She doesn’t deserve an explanation, but I give it to her anyway. “It’s something I really care about.”

“But what about a job ?” Goldie presses. “What about something that’ll pay you? Do you care about that, or just playing housekeeper in this—”

“Louisa’s quite good at this.”

We both spin around. Henry’s standing on the other side of the screen door to the garden, one hand on the doorknob. He looks at me, jaw pressed into a tense line, before pushing it open and stepping into the kitchen. “I’ve seen it.”

Goldie opens her mouth, looking from Henry to me and back again.

I still feel like I’m on the verge of tears, my cheeks hot and clammy.

The fact that Henry must have been listening from outside, must have heard all the ways my own sister thinks I’m a failure, makes me want to cover my face like a child.

“I don’t get the sense that she’s playing at anything,” Henry says. The door shuts squeakily behind him and he looks at it, then back at me, before adding, “It seems to me she’s helping these people.”

I look down at my feet, heart frantic beneath my ribs. I didn’t know Henry thought I was good at anything. After all the ways I’ve made a mess of myself in front of him, I don’t know why he’s defending me at all. Goldie recovers before I do.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Henry Rhodes.” When he extends his hand toward her, she takes it. “I’m Louisa’s landlord.”

“Marigold Walsh,” Goldie says crisply. “Her sister. And we were having a conversation, so if you don’t mind—”

“Goldie,” I say quietly. Both she and Henry look at me. “I think we should finish this another time.” Or maybe never .

Goldie looks at her watch. “Fine,” she says, in a way that indicates it’s clearly not fine. “I need to get going anyway. I’m going to get my things.”

She leaves the kitchen in a clatter of heeled footsteps. Henry doesn’t move.

“Sorry,” I say straight down at my feet.

“What for?”

I look up at him, my face still on fire. He’s watching me carefully, that concerned line between his eyebrows, the sunburn gone from his cheeks. They’re clean-shaven: smooth and familiar in the kitchen light.

“That was, um—” I swallow, shaking my head a little. “She just worries about me.”

“That’s what families do,” he says. It makes me wonder, straightaway, what his family is like. “But she doesn’t have a reason to worry about whether you’re doing well at this. You are.”

It’s maybe the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. It’s, somehow, the exact thing that I need to hear.

I mean to say, Thank you . But when Henry’s gaze meets mine, when I open my mouth, what comes out is: “I was going to take my nephew to the park in a bit. Do you want to come?”