Page 33 of The Heartbreak Hotel

Twenty-Five

“Fuck.”

Henry jerks upward, bleary-eyed and flushed. He blinks before stepping backward, my hands sliding out of his boxers.

“She’s early,” I say, scooting off the counter.

When my feet hit the ground I’m immediately in Henry’s space, all but pressed against his bare chest. In the stark rush of my adrenaline I see him more clearly than I could before—there’s a pink scar running the length of his sternum.

“Goldie.” I look up at Henry, and he swallows. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Henry drags a hand through his hair, finger-combing it back into some semblance of order. “Let me just—get dressed.”

I shuffle around him to find my underwear, yanking it on so quickly it gets completely twisted, and reach for my discarded jeans as the doorbell rings again.

She’s going to wake Quinn. She’s going to make Nan and Shani come downstairs.

I imagine all three of them seeing Henry and me emerge from the bathroom together and say, “Could you go out the back door?” before I’ve even thought it through.

Henry stills, hands on the button of his jeans. Then he looks away from me, finishes buttoning them, and says, “Sure.”

I know I’ve fucked up right away, but there just isn’t time. I’m feeling so many things at once—panic, shame, guilt, desire—that I’m nauseous. “It’s just, Goldie’s so nosy, and she’s going to lay into me, I just—” I pull the door open, casting one look back at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says again, softly. I want to kiss him again.

I want to take his clothes off, really—I want to put my palm against the heat of his flushed face and slide his pants back down and finish what we started.

But the doorbell rings again, and I squeak out an unforgivably awkward, “Okay, bye,” and make for the hallway.

Just before I open the front door, I hear the back one whine shut behind Henry.

My sister stands on the front porch in a blazer, black leather tote bag hiked over one shoulder.

“You didn’t have to ring three times,” I say. “Quinn’s asleep.”

Goldie narrows her eyes. “Why are you so red?”

I lift the back of one hand to my face, feel the heat of my skin. “I was, um. Cleaning.”

She studies me for another beat before saying, “Okay,” and stepping past me into the house.

“How was the conference?”

“Fine,” she says, dropping her bag to the floor. “How did Quinn do?”

“Perfect angel,” I say. “He tripped at the park and has a few little scrapes on his palms, but I’ve been disinfecting them and he doesn’t even—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I blink at her. My brain is still whirring at warp speed: Henry, Henry’s mouth, Henry in my hands. Goldie at the door. The doorbell. “Because he was fine? I didn’t want to worry you. I handled it.”

She lets out a short punch of an exhale. “I’d have liked a heads-up. He’s my kid.” She starts toward the kitchen. “Can I have some water?”

“Yes—” I follow her, catching up. “I know he’s your kid.”

“What’s all this?” she asks, pointing to the mess of tattoo supplies on the counter before reaching into the cabinet for a glass.

“Temporary tattoos,” I say, trying to think of Quinn’s rocket ship instead of the constellation on my stomach.

Goldie groans, leaning against the counter next to the fridge and taking a long sip of water. “How many did you give him?”

I press my lips together. “A handful.”

“Great,” she mutters. No Thank you for watching my son . No How was your weekend? I feel myself stiffen.

“When’s your flight?”

Goldie glances at her watch. “Four hours. So I should probably get him up and start heading to the airport.”

“Great.” I start gathering the tattoo supplies. I love my sister, but right now I just want her gone.

“We didn’t get to finish our conversation about the Comeback Inn.”

“Guess you’ll have to call me when you get home to finish chewing me out.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh, like I’m a child getting on her last nerve. “I’m not trying to chew you out, Lou. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Are you?” I turn, stack of tattoo papers in one hand. “Because it feels like I have a good thing going here, and you don’t care because it’s not what you imagined for me.”

“Is this what you imagined for you?” Goldie counters, taking a step closer to me. “Not getting your license? Not practicing with the degree you spent years working toward?”

Shame bubbles in me, hot and painful. She knows exactly where to press so it hurts the most. “I’m going to practice, eventually. But I’m doing this right now.”

“When, though?” Goldie’s voice rises an octave.

“December.” I didn’t mean to tell her—I didn’t mean to tell anyone at all. But all I want is to shut her up. “I booked the exam. But right now I’m taking care of this house and the people in it—including your kid, by the way.”

Goldie doesn’t stop to tell me she’s glad I booked it.

She doesn’t compliment me for taking the step she’s been badgering me about for months.

She just doubles down, twists the knife.

“You do this, Lou. You take care of other people to avoid taking care of yourself. But you need to get your life in order.”

Silence falls between us. I feel tears burning behind my eyes, but I never cry in front of Goldie if I can help it. Nothing’s enough for her, especially not me. “Are you done?” I ask softly.

“Yeah.” She throws her hands up. “Great talk, Lou. I’m done.”

I turn toward the sink—look out over the garden at Joss’s new tree—so I don’t have to watch her walk away from me.

“Is everything okay?” Shani comes downstairs a few minutes after Quinn and Goldie leave, Alfie in her arms. “I thought I heard, um…yelling.”

“I’m so sorry.” I’m wiping down the kitchen counter, and pause to look at her as she comes toward me and takes a seat at the island. “My sister came to pick up Quinn and we tend to be…loud.”

She nods. “I get that. I have three sisters.”

I imagine three Goldies in my life and want to scream. “Do you get along?”

Shani smiles, tilts her head back and forth. “Sometimes.”

I breathe a laugh. “Yeah.” When I reach to pet Alfie’s head, he licks my palm. “How’s he doing?”

“Seems fine,” Shani says, rubbing his chest. “I wanted to thank you, again, for helping us. And letting him stay. I swear I’ll write you the most glowing review.”

“Well, that’s not why I did it,” I tell her, sliding one of Alfie’s velvety ears between my fingers. “But thank you.”

We fall silent for a moment, and then Shani says, “I saw the programs card in my room—with hiking and group discussions and everything? I’m sorry I haven’t filled it out yet.”

“That’s okay,” I say, turning to hang my wet towel over the faucet. “This space is for you; you don’t have to do anything here unless you want to.”

“I do want to. I just—I wasn’t sure if all that stuff was on offer if it’s just me and Nan here?”

“It’s always on offer,” I say, smiling. “Even if you’re the only one here, you can hike or talk with me. But we have a group checking in soon, so you’ll have a bit of overlap then if you’re more comfortable with more people around.”

Shani nods, glancing toward the living room. I get the distinct impression that she’s gathering the courage to say something, and wait until she finds the words.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she says finally. “I swear. But I heard your sister say that, um…” She looks back at me. “You’re not licensed?”

Jesus Christ , Goldie. Below the counter, I press my fingernails into my palm. “That’s true,” I say, as evenly as I can. “I’ve completed my counseling degree but haven’t taken my licensing exam yet.”

I wait for Shani to react to this. I know how I phrased the Comeback Inn page: my therapy degree, my years of counseling. It’s all, technically, true—I have nothing to hide. So why do I feel like a filthy liar?

“Makes sense,” Shani says. She rubs Alfie’s head. “Why’s she so mad about it?”

I exhale—Shani’s not bothered. No one else needs to be, either.

“That,” I say slowly, “is such a good question.”

But still, Goldie’s words echo: You do this, Lou. You take care of other people to avoid taking care of yourself.

I think of Mei, of my mom, of Henry.

You do this.