Page 38 of Total Dreamboat

Hope

I wake up face down on the scratchy, not-entirely-clean-smelling coverlet of the hotel bed.

My whole body is sore from last night. I think I rage-danced with every jazz musician, local fisherman, and vacationing frat boy in Nassau. It was fun, but not worth shin splints.

“Good morning,” Felix says from the windowsill, where he is perched because there is nowhere else to sit in the room except the bed I’m sprawled out on.

“Hungry?” he asks. “I got guava duffs.”

He holds out a pastry box. I take it and descend on a mouthful of tropical sugary goodness. It’s amazing. I eat another one.

“There’s also coffee,” he says, handing me a paper cup.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it and drinking it down so fast I burn my mouth.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asks.

He’s being awfully nice for a person I abandoned at a restaurant and spitefully made sleep on a cement floor last night.

“Yes,” I say.

“That’s great. What did you do?”

“You’re being weird,” I say suspiciously.

“What do you mean.”

“Like, pleasant? Solicitous? Not mean?”

He stands up and looks intensely into my eyes.

“That’s because I’m really, really sorry, Hope.”

This doesn’t compute.

“Can you clarify what you are talking about?” I ask.

“I’m sorry for jumping to an unfair conclusion about you when I saw Lauren’s posts, for refusing to believe you when you explained, and for generally hurting your feelings and misjudging you,” he says.

This feels like an insufficient accounting of what he did.

“Misjudging me?” I ask. “You insulted me more than anyone has in my entire life.”

He looks pained.

“I’m so sorry I jumped to conclusions,” he says. “I felt very hurt, and I was irrational.”

“Yeah, I was very hurt too,” I snap. “Because you know what? I am on a very tight budget. And I do want to find a partner. But I have supported myself since I was eighteen years old. I have made many sacrifices to make sure that I can do that. And it is degrading to be accused of manipulating someone for money.”

“I’m really sorry,” he says. “ Really sorry, Hope. I believe you.”

I can tell he means it. What I’m not sure about is why he has had this change of heart.

“Can you please tell me why you suddenly get it? What changed?”

“I looked at the posts again. Not the ones of you—she took them down. But the whole account. And it doesn’t seem serious. It seems like Lauren’s playing a character.”

“I told you that.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I know. But I couldn’t take it in before.”

I feel strangely numb to the idea that Felix is truly sorry. Like I’ve built up too much of an armor of resentment to give a shit about what he thinks of me.

“That doesn’t really cut it, Felix,” I say. “I shared a lot with you the past week. I was, forgive the therapy speak, vulnerable. And you dismissed every single thing you knew about me and decided I was a monster in four seconds.”

“Because I was falling for you,” he says. He doesn’t say this in a romantic moonlit confession kind of way. He says it guiltily. Like it just slipped out.

It is astounding.

“What?” I ask.

“I was falling for you,” he repeats. “You were—are—smart and beautiful and fucking hilarious, and in retrospect I started letting myself feel way too much way too quickly, which is never good but especially not when I’ve had myself on strict emotional probation for years.

So I was in too deep and when I saw those posts I got whiplash. I was mean, and I’m ashamed of myself.”

I’m trying not to get stuck on “I was falling for you.”

I’m trying not to lose myself in wondering if the past tense is good or bad.

“Is this how you are?” I ask him. “You lash out at people when you’re the slightest bit hurt?”

The question seems to throw him.

“I don’t know how I am,” he finally says.

“Not in relationships. I always used to be easygoing, a little numbed out. I didn’t feel anything very deeply.

I’m still navigating what it’s like to be conscious of my own emotions.

And it was irresponsible to let myself get so tangled up with you.

I know I’m not there yet. It’s why I don’t date.

I let my own bullshit burn you, and I feel absolutely dreadful about it. ”

I believe him. He looks like he does feel dreadful.

The question is whether I forgive him.

I’ve experienced too many emotions in the past eight days and I’m spent.

“I don’t know what to say, Felix,” I admit.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

“I accept the apology, I guess.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“But beyond that…” I shrug.

“I get it,” he says. “You don’t have to forgive me. I just need you to know that I was wrong and I know it.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for telling me.”

We’re both silent.

It’s excruciating. Part of me wants to decrease the awkardness by offering him some reassurance that everything is okay now. Or the opposite, to say I can’t get over it and will continue being hostile.

But I simply don’t know how I feel.

A question pops into my mind.

“Hey, how did you even see Lauren’s posts in the first place?” I ask. “Did you look her up?”

“No. Someone DM’d them to me,” he says.

“Who?”

He furrows his brow. “Yeah, I don’t know, actually. The account was called FYIFelix or something.”

I gape at him. “Wait. Some random burner account sent it?”

“I guess?”

“And that didn’t set off red flags?”

“It should have. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m really sorry, Hope.”

“But you must have some idea of who would send that to you.”

He shakes his head helplessly. “I assume someone I know saw me on Lauren’s account and wanted to make sure I was aware.”

Lauren does have a lot of followers, but this explanation seems off. If I saw that a friend was potentially being catfished, I’d just tell them. I wouldn’t create a whole false identity to freak them out even further.

Whatever. Maybe it’s a British thing.

My phone chimes with a new text message.

Lauren: I figured out the perfect apology present.

Lauren: You can’t be mad and you can’t say no.

Lauren: You are the proud new owner of a suite at Atlantis for the next two nights

Lauren: Check in at the Cove entrance with conf # 3761240.

Lauren: It’s already paid for and it’s my fault you’re trapped there so don’t argue and just go.

Lauren: Love you.

“Oh my God,” I say out loud.

“What is it?” Felix asks.

I laugh in disbelief. The last thing I want is for Lauren to be spending more money on me. But the gesture is so perfect that I can’t be annoyed at her.

“Hope?” Felix prods.

“Lauren booked me a room at Atlantis.”

“That hotel you were talking about?”

“She knows I used to be obsessed with it.”

A strange look passes over his face—like he’s sad to hear this.

“Well, that’s good, right?” he asks tentatively. “I can keep this room since we’re already checked in, and you can have your own space.”

“Yep,” I say. “I should pack up.”

“Need help?” he asks.

“I have like six things.”

“Right.” He sits down on the bed and turns his attention to his phone.

I move about the room assembling the small pile of possessions I’ve accrued and stuffing them into plastic shopping bags.

I take my time with it.

I feel a little bit anxious.

I did not feel comfortable getting around without internet access yesterday. As satisfying as it was to leave Felix at the restaurant, I spent most of the evening paranoid about getting home.

I like the security blanket of having Felix, or at least his phone, around for emergencies.

And after what he said… maybe I don’t want to end on this note. This tentative blankness.

Maybe I should work out my feelings before I say goodbye to him forever.

“Hey, Felix?” I say.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

“The idea of you rotting away in this dank room alone is depressing me.”

“No worries. I like Paradise Fun. Especially when I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“No, I feel guilty. Why don’t you come with me?”

He looks at me long and hard, like he’s not sure what to make of this.

“You really want to keep sharing a room?”

“No. But I really want access to an iPhone.”

“Ah, I see how it is.”

“Lauren said it’s a suite. I’m sure we can get one with two beds.”

He gives me a sad smile. “Look, Hope, you don’t have to be nice now. You don’t owe me anything. I’m fine.”

“I’d really be more comfortable if you came,” I say. “I kept getting lost yesterday and my phone doesn’t get very good signal. We don’t have to hang out, I’d just feel safer knowing you’re… around.”

He nods carefully, like he’s taking pains to maintain a neutral expression. “Okay. Sure. I’ll call a cab.”