Page 41 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“For a little, yeah.” They pull apart, and Quinn hikes his feetup onto the couch. His socks have green dinosaurs on them. “Did Lou tell you about the other people who are living with her, too?”
“Mom saidstrangers,” Quinn says, leaning closer to her like it’s a secret. When he darts a glance at Goldie, she raises her eyebrows.
“They aren’t strangers,” I say, giving Goldie a look of my own. “Quinn, remember when we went to visit Grandma in Ohio and we stayed at the hotel?”
“With the pool,” Quinn confirms. He was three and just learning to swim; his duck-patterned water wings were a bright spot in that interminable weekend.
“It’s like that,” I tell him. “My house is like a hotel, but small. And there are a few people staying here with Mei and me.”
“Will I meet them?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“How long will you stay?” Goldie asks Mei, finally taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. She’s presenting at the conference this week—some kind of immigration law summit—but right now she just looks like my sister: tired, familiar, an unidentifiable stain on the knee of her overalls.
“I don’t know,” Mei says, glancing over at me. “It’s been almost two months. And work said I could have two, but it’s been so nice being here—I’m not sure I’ll be ready to go back to Denver anytime soon.”
“Then you shouldn’t,” I say. When I drop onto the couch next to Mei, Quinn clamors over her lap to sandwich himself in between us. “Ask for more time. You know they’ll give it to you.”
“Yeah,” she says, tapping her head against mine. We’ve beenhaving this conversation for weeks already—and the truth is I’m not ready for Mei to leave. I’m not sure I can do all this without her. “It’s just, like, I have to get back to my life eventually, right? How long do I wait before ripping off the Band-Aid?”
“A little longer,” I say. “And maybe a little longer after that.”
“You’ll stay while I’m here?” Quinn asks, and Mei gasps like she’s offended.
“Duh.You’re not getting rid of me.”
“Did you break your lease?” Goldie asks. She has her hands folded over her stomach, leaned back in the armchair. “Or are you paying rent in Denver on top of the room rate here?”
Mei glances at me. She isn’t paying anything to stay here, of course. But Mei knows our dynamic well enough to know what Goldie’s really asking:Is Louisa making enough money to sustain herself here? Is she safe?
“I didn’t break my lease,” Mei says. “So there’s that to get back to, too.”
“Eventually,” I insist, putting my hand on her knee. Quinn places his on top of mine and echoes, “Eventually.”
“I’m worried about Mark.”
I blink across the kitchen at my sister, surprised she’s talked to our mother recently enough to know about Mark. It’s only five o’clock on the day she arrived. Quinn’s watching TV in the living room. Goldie’s peeling baby potatoes over the sink, and she doesn’t look up at me when she adds, “What do you know about him?”
“Basically nothing.” It’s been a week since my phone call withour mother, and I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t know if she and Mark went to Miami. I don’t know if they’re even together anymore. “When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday,” Goldie says. There are a few silent beats. “She texted me because she didn’t want toburdenyou after your breakup.” The way she says it makes it clear that she doesn’t think my situation warrants this degree of consideration. “She needed help with their tickets back from Florida.”
I stop chopping the carrot in front of me, swallowing the sting of her tone. “Did you pay for the tickets?”
“No,” Goldie says, not looking up from her potatoes. “I have a son to provide for. I don’t pay for Mom’s recklessness anymore.”
It’s pointed, a dig. I send Mom money often enough to have a line item for it in my budget. It’s usually something more practical: she needs groceries to bridge to her next paycheck, or help with her heating bill during an especially frigid February. Goldie always says no—as far as I know, these tickets are the first thing Mom’s asked her for in years.
“Then how will she get home?” I ask, hearing the fear in my own voice. “She didn’t even ask me—”
“Because I told her not to,” Goldie says, finally putting down the vegetable peeler and looking at me. “It’s got to stop, Lou. She’s an adult.”
Of course she’s an adult. But she’s also our mom. The one who lifted up that blanket in the darkness all those years, tucked my body in against hers. “So she’ll be stuck in Florida?”
“No, she put it on a credit card, just like I told her to.”
I swallow. Mom’s credit score is so bad she can barely lease an apartment. I would never tell her to put something on a credit card. “Why didn’t Mark buy the tickets?”
