Page 39 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Yeah?” He stifles a yawn behind one hand. “You want to talk about it?”
The kitchen fills with hissing as I steam the milk, saving me from responding. But when I slide Rashad’s mug over the counter, he raises his eyebrows pointedly.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Not really.”
He takes a sip of the coffee and then stands, tipping his head toward the living room. “Come on. It’s just you and me awake right now anyway.”
We sink into the couch, side by side. Outside, a breeze rustles the aspens and they send dancing shadows through the windows that reflect in the mirror over the fireplace.
“You’ve got a broken heart, too, huh?” He doesn’t ask it like a question, not really. He says it like something he already knows.
I wave a hand, vaguely, around the living room. “We all do, in this house.”
“Sure,” Rashad says. “But we’ve got you to listen to our drivel. Who’s listening to you?”
I smile at him. “I’m all right, Rashad.”
He snorts, taking a sip from his mug. “Oscar-worthy work, here, but you’re puttering around this house at five a.m. like a widow in mourning.”
I groan, leaning my head back on the couch. I close my eyes and leave them shut. “Can we talk about you instead? You said the sleep is getting better?”
“Itis,” he says. “But I leave soon. A week here isn’t going to solve my whole situation, right? I’ve got to keep doing the work.”
“That’s right,” I tell him. “But I’m glad this is helping, at least. And you can always stay longer, you know that.”
“It’s helping,” Rashad says. “But I’ve got to get back to my job one of these days.” There’s a moment of silence, and then his hand lands on my knee and jostles it. “I’m waiting, Miss Lou. What’s the workyou’redoing?”
My eyes break open and I cast a sidelong glance at him, not moving my head. “Persistent.”
He shrugs. “I do get what I want.”
I sigh, long and slow. “I went through a breakup, too, recently. A couple months ago. It was for the best, and I’ve been feeling okay about it, but now…” I trail off, stare up at the ceiling.But now.Why does it feel so hard, so suddenly?
“But now that beautiful chocolate brownie man is in the picture, making you all confused.”
I jerk my head around, and Rashad smirks. “You’re not so subtle, okay? We get it: you two have your panties all twisted up for each other.”
“That’snotthe situation,” I say, sitting up straight.
He mirrors me, putting his mug down on the coffee table. “Isn’t it? You don’t have to feel guilty, babe.” Rashad turns toface me. “There’s no requisite mourning period. You can move thefuckon.”
I blink at him, my throat suddenly tight. I didn’t realize how desperately I needed someone to give me permission to let go of this—of Nate, of who I was with him, of the idea I had for so long of what my life would be.
In the dark living room, the world feels hazy and half-real. Like Rashad and I aren’t in Estes Park, Colorado, but in a shared dream—a place where we could do anything, say anything. Where we could be honest.
“What if I’m not ready?” I ask.
Rashad tilts his head to one side. “How do you know you’re not?”
My sister shows up ona cloudy morning in a terry cloth onesie. She started wearing them when she was pregnant with Quinn and never stopped: spaghetti-strap overalls in soft fabrics that she hoisted on over bralettes in summer, skintight long sleeves in fall.It’s all fun and games until you have to go to the bathroom, she told me the first time I saw her in one. But they’re so clearly her comfort outfit—her go-to for any travel day or homebound weekend—that now, when I picture her, she’s always wearing one. The coziness outweighs the peeing issue, apparently.
When I open my front door Quinn has his hand buried in one of the slouchy overall pockets, digging for a snack.
“LOU-LOU!” he screeches at the sight of me, flinging his fingers from the pocket and sending a Werther’s Original flying across my driveway. He bolts up the steps and Goldie goes to collect it.
“We went on the airplane!” he shouts as he throws his arms around me. When I pick him up and spin him around, he giggles—the most perfect sound ever uttered on god’s green earth. Behind him, Goldie sifts through the browning aspen leaves on my driveway to pick up the candy.
“Did you see clouds?” I ask, peppering his face with kisses. “The moon? An alien?”
