Page 13 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Lou,” Mei wails. I sit up straighter immediately, swiping at my cheeks. “Andy’s breakingupwith me.”
“What?” The hallway seizes around me, closing in.No.Andy’s obsessed with Mei. Andy’s one of the good ones. Andy’s not supposed to go anywhere, especially this swiftly after Nate. “No, they’re not.”
“They are!” Mei yells. I have to hold my phone away from my face so she doesn’t burst my eardrum. “They’re moving to fuckingCosta Ricaand they don’t want me to come with them!”
“Costa Rica?” I repeat, and Mei bellows, “Costa!Rica!To build houses with their Habitat for Humanity friends! Because apparently, after more than a year spent dating me and not mentioning it even half of one single time, they’ve realized this is their passion!”
“Oh my god.” A wave of calm rises through me, starting at my feet and moving all the way up. I feel myself shifting out of my own misery and directly into Mei’s. “Okay, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m going to beokay? Lou, Andy was the best thing I—I mean, we had all these plans and—and I just—”
“I know,” I say. My voice has smoothed out, my own tears dried up. “Can you drive back up here? Can you come stay with me for a bit?”
“Yeah,” Mei mumbles. “I think so.”
“Good,” I say. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
And then I lay it all out for Mei: The email she’ll send to her boss, asking to work remote for a while. The bag she’ll pack with only her favorite, comfiest clothes. The Thai food we’ll order. The walks we’ll go on. The sunshine we’ll get.
By the time I’m done talking, her sobs have quieted to muted sniffles.
“Thanks, Lou,” she whispers. While we’ve been on the phone I’ve stood up. Pinned the nameplate in place. Screwed it in, perfectly level. “I’ll be there in a couple hours.”
“Drive safe.” I pull in a deep breath, settling into the role that I’m best at. Being needed. “I’ll see you soon.”
Eight
Mei is significantly taller thanme, but she’s pretzeled herself into the smallest possible surface area on my couch—head propped on a pillow in my lap, wad of tissues pressed to her nose that she whimpers into like a wounded animal at regular intervals. I lit every candle I could find in the house. PutTreasure Planet—Mei’s comfort movie—on the TV with the volume nearly muted. Set out a bowl of Sour Patch Kids, which have so far gone untouched. I run my fingers over Mei’s hair.
“It’s just such ashame,” she says for the thirteenth time. She’s in shock, still, repeating herself to get used to the ideas. A fire crackles in the fireplace; no matter the heat of the day, nighttime’s always cool. “Like, you love someone but then theyphysicallyneed to move theirhuman bodyaway from you and that’s why you break up? In this day and age? Technology has failed us, right? Why can’t we teleport?”
“I know,” I say quietly. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll figure out teleportation.”
She lets out a wet laugh that turns into a sob halfway through. “Fuck, and theirfamily? I love Andy’s family. Andy’smom?”
“Andy does have a great mom,” I say. “And you do, too. And so many other people who love you and will make sure your life still feels full.”
“But who will I text when I see a meme about Mexican hairless dogs?”
I hesitate. “Um, me. I would love to laugh with you about Mexican hairless dogs.”
“But they were Andy’sfavorite,” Mei says weakly, her voice dissolving into the tissues. I know what she’s doing: remembering. Even with the distance Nate and I had let grow between us, there’s a version of me—younger, buried—that feels it like a fresh cut every time. Nate’s voice when he was halfway to sleep. The Jack Skellington suit he wore every Halloween. The way he’d text me a photo anytime he saw someone walking a dog that looked like them.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask, and Mei whines, “Whocares, Lou?”
“I care,” I say. When I lean forward to pick up a Sour Patch Kid, she groans at the movement. I hold it to her mouth and she opens up like a baby bird. We sit in silence, candles flickering around us, as she chews.
“I guess those fluffy black ones,” she says finally. “With the white-and-brown faces? That save people from avalanches?”
I think of Henry, the rigid set of his jaw in my kitchen. “Bernese mountain dogs?”
“Yeah,” she says miserably. “Bernese mountain dogs.”
I pat her head. “Good choice. Much cuter than Mexican hairless, if you ask me.”
“Yeah,” she says again. For a while, she just breathes—steady, in and out. On-screen, the crew of 2D pirates crash-lands on an unfamiliar planet. The movie’s a stark contrast to the room around it, which is all wood paneling and carved finials and antiques I’ve spent the last four years collecting.
When Mei speaks again, she sounds clearer. More serious. Like after getting her jokes out of the way, we’ve finally arrived at the tender core of her hurt. “But it’s like, did I waste all that?”
