Page 43 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Why does anyone else get an opinion?” Bea says, indignant. “It’syourbreakup.”
“It’s a little different, when you get old,” Joss says, nudging Bea’s knee with her own.
Mei says, “You’re notold,” and Joss waves her off before continuing.
“It’s a whole family affair.” Joss’s eyes flit to mine, and she takes a sip of her coffee. “Everyone has feelings, and you sort of have to navigate them.”
I tilt my head, wishing we’d talked about this before. Thinking of my mom’s reaction to my breakup. In all the years I’ve known her, Joss has never mentioned a partner.
“I think it’s like on airplanes,” I say, shifting in my armchair. “You have to put your own oxygen mask on first—even if other people are struggling around you.”
Bea lifts one arm in the air, snapping, and Joss breathes a laugh.
“Take care of yourself first,” I add. “Everyone else can wait until you’ve patched your own pain.”
“Agree,” Mei says, and Joss smiles at me. She’s opening her mouth to say something else when the back door pushes open, whining merrily, and suddenly Henry is standing in my house. His eyes flicker across the living room, lighting on one face after another, before landing on me. I think of us after the hike, his low voice telling me,Not necessarily, and swallow.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He looks startled, a little embarrassed to have walked into a house full of people. He’s in dark jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows.
I shake my head. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Henry says. He glances at Joss, and I follow his gaze. “I just—Joss asked me to stop by for something in the garden. I didn’t realize you’d be—” His eyes move back to mine.Doing therapy? Talking about our feelings?“Busy.”
“Not busy,” Joss says, standing. She doesn’t look at Henry as she steps around him, placing her mug on the kitchen counter. “Let’s talk outside.” She waves at me, then smiles across the group. “Thank you.”
“Oxygen mask!” Bea calls, and Henry shoots me a bemused look before following Joss outside. I watch them through the window, Joss leading Henry toward the back of the garden until they’re partially obstructed by a fringe of pine boughs. I’m not close enough to read his body language, to see if his shoulders tense up as they talk.
“Lou, you okay?”
I jump, turning to find Mei watching me from across the room. “What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Bea, Kim, and Nan have all turned to look at me. “Sorry, I just zoned out for a second.”
“It’s all right,” Mei says, eyeing me and then squinting out the window. A squirrel skitters down the porch railing, its mouth stuffed with bark. “What are they doing out there?”
“What’s who doing out where?” Goldie’s voice precedes her down the staircase, and Kim scoots over to make room for her on the couch. When she drops onto the cushion, Mei says, “Ask Lou.”
Fantastic.The last person I want to explain Henry to is Goldie, who’s eternally suspicious of men. I make the mistake of glancing out the window again—where Henry and Joss are still just within sight—and she cranes forward on the couch to look for herself.
“Who’s that?” she asks. She’s changed into her conference attire: black slacks, block heels, a herringbone blazer. With her hair in a sleek bun and her freckles hidden beneath a smooth layer of foundation, she looks like the Goldie that the rest of the world gets: Immigration lawyer Goldie. Professionally helpful Goldie.
“Joss,” I say. “The groundskeeper.”
“And who else?” She looks at me. “I thought there weren’t any men staying here.”
“There aren’t,” I say, resigning myself to it. “That’s my landlord.”
“Henry,” Bea adds, slow smile twisting her lips. “He’ssoooo—”
“What’s he doing here?” Goldie asks, her eyes narrowing.
I wish I knew, I think. But Goldie latches on to mysterieswith the tenacity of an Olympic marathoner, so I just say, “Talking with the groundskeeper.”
Bea’s standing up to catch a glimpse of Henry in the garden, but Kim yanks her back. Goldie levels me with her gaze but, blessedly, drops it.
“We were talking about Joss’s and Kim’s ex-beaus,” Nan says, looking at Goldie. “Do you have anything you’d like to bring to the group, dear?”
Goldie’s eyebrows hike up. “Oh, I’m not here for therapy.”
