Page 82 of Happy After All

I lie down on top of the covers beside him, and I put my hand on his chest. I feel his heart beating.

And now I know it’s broken, like mine.

Chapter Nineteen

When I wake up, I’m cold, lying on top of the covers in his bed. Though, I suppose it’s my bed, no matter how I look at it, since the motel is mine.

I don’t know why, but that thought amuses me and gives me some measure of levity. Enough that I manage to sit up. If I didn’t let myself think absurd things, I might get dragged back down, through the mattress, through the floor, into the darkness.

I look over at him. He’s sleeping, but not peacefully. He’s going to have a murderous hangover when he wakes up.

It’s barely five in the morning, and I decide I’m going to go have a shower and get the day started.

I open the door to his room cautiously and slip outside. The sun isn’t up, and none of my residents are outside.

I realize they will have seen me go into his room and not reappear. I didn’t even bring my phone.

I left everything sitting out in the courtyard.

I cautiously tiptoe back to my room, which is unlocked, so stupid.

I push the door open and see my purse, my phone, and my keys sitting on the table. I pick my phone up and see I have a text from Elise.

I collected all your things. I assume something happened. I hope it was good. Text me when you get in so I know you’re okay.

I send a text back.

I’m okay. He wasn’t in a good space. I didn’t feel like I should leave him. I’ll explain everything later.

Even as I send the text, I’m not sure I can explain everything. I’m not sure I can explain his pain or mine. I’m not sure if I even should.

What he told me is clearly something he has a difficult time with, even all these years later. He chooses not to talk about it for a reason, and it feels wrong to do it for him.

I also don’t want to lie to my friend.

I am gouged beneath the ribs for a moment by the realization that I haven’t been honest with Elise. I’ve never really thought of it that way.

I thought of it as editing. Leaving my backstory out of it.

It seems reasonable, in many ways.

It’s beginning to feel less reasonable.

I strip my clothes off and make my way into the bathroom, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower until I’m satisfied that I won’t be able to wash away everything that happened last night.

I won’t be able to find that place again. Where Rancho Encanto doesn’t contain my past and I’m not carrying it with me.

There’s so much more I want to know. About him.

My brain is spinning with the implications of everything.

I get out of the shower and slowly get dressed. I look at myself in the mirror and feel horrified by the face staring back at me. That woman, with her limp dark hair and wide brown eyes, looks exhausted. The circles beneath her eyes are a new feature.

I suddenly feel every one of my years and then some.

I know I’m only thirty-two. It feels old right now.

I go back into the living area of my room and stare at my tree. It’s half-decorated. I haven’t worked on my book for a couple of days.

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