Page 54 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Louisa,” Henry murmurs, and it sounds like goodbye. I feel the house holding us close. “I’ve been inside out, with wanting you.”
Twenty-Two
I wake up to thedoorbell. My face is hot, tingling like I’m on the verge of breaking a sweat. I blink up at the ceiling and register that I’m in the living room, flat-backed on the couch, streak of morning sun searing across my cheek. I swallow, and it dislodges the memory of what happened last night: Henry in his daughter’s bedroom, Henry’s warm body under my hands, Henry kissing me on the front porch and walking to his car under the silver moon.
I couldn’t share a bed with Quinn, after that. Couldn’t fall asleep with his little-kid breaths puffing into the space beside me, his small hands reaching for mine. Couldn’t fall asleep at all, really. My nervous system spent all night in overdrive—I felt like I’d run a marathon, like I was perched at the ledge of myself, poised to fall. My mind wouldn’t quiet. Henry’s daughter, Henry’s ex-wife, Henry’s house full of pain and memories that I’ve spent years walking past without knowing.Henry, Henry, Henry.The lines of his body, so different from Nate’s.I’ve been inside out, with wanting you.
The doorbell rings again, and I push myself up on the couch. The clock on the side table says that it’s 8:04. Another ring, and I yank my nest of throw blankets aside to hustle to the front door. I’m thinking it’s Mei, having forgotten her key. Nan, back from a morning walk holding coffee for both of us and unable to open the door.
But it’s an unfamiliar woman, wearing a full face of makeup and a BabyBjörn with a shih tzu inside.
“Uh,” I say, and her eyebrows rise. I squint against the sun. “Hi. Good morning.”
“I’m Shani?” She poses it like a question. “I’m supposed to be checking in?”
I pull a hand through the mess of my hair and try to regain my composure. I’m wearing an ancient pair of sweatpants and an enormous T-shirt, no bra. I summon a smile. “Hi, I’m so sorry—check-in is at four on weekdays.”
“Four,” Shani repeats, glancing at her watch. The dog tracks the movement before looking up at me. “There’s no way I can get in earlier?”
“I need to prep your room,” I tell her.And take a shower. And feed Quinn. And calm the fuck down.“But we could do, like, noon? There are some nice coffee shops in town, if you want to grab breakfast?”
“Um—”
“We also, uh—” I force myself to sound more authoritative. “We don’t take pets here. I’m so sorry. It’s in the rental listing.”
Shani blinks at me. Her makeup is immaculate, but I’ve been around enough sad people lately to clock the red at the corners of her eyes, the evidence of a night spent crying. “You don’t—” She breaks off again, looking down at the dog. It looks up at her.When Shani’s lip starts to tremble, my resolve evaporates in a puff of smoke.
“You know what, it’s fine.” I reach out and rub the dog’s head, then draw a deep breath. “If you can make noon work, I can make the dog work—as long as she’s potty-trained?”
“Oh, of course he is,” Shani says. Her eyes come to mine, shining with tears, and she takes a backward step down the front stairs. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I’ll come back at noon.”
“No need to apologize.” I smile again. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Lou?” Quinn calls from behind me, and I shoot Shani one last wave before shutting the door.
“Hey, bud,” I say, a little too loudly. If Goldie knew I was making out with Henry in my underwear instead of cuddling her son all night, she’d assassinate me. “How’d you sleep?”
Quinn’s standing halfway down the stairs, holding the railing in one hand and his favorite stuffed octopus in the other. His pajama set—pale yellow printed with gumdrops—has ridden up to expose the round swell of his belly.
“Okay,” he says, and when I hold out my arms he comes the rest of the way down the stairs so I can pick him up. He’s so soft, everything about him, and when I press a kiss to the top of his head I think of Molly—even smaller than Quinn, and sicker, and gone. Of the slope of Henry’s shoulders in the moonlight, the ripple of muscles pulled rigid and frantic along his spine. My eyes burn. “Where’d you go?”
“I was right here,” I say thickly. “I couldn’t sleep and I came down to the couch so I wouldn’t bother you.”
“Oh.” He’s extra delicious when he’s sleepy, and when his warm head drops onto my shoulder I feel his entire body melt into mine. “Can we have waffles?”
“Of course,” I say, swallowing back the tears. I turn on the TV for Quinn, and kiss him until he wriggles away from me, and head into the kitchen to unwrap a pack of Eggos.
We’re eating them on thecouch when Bea and Kim come downstairs. It’s nearly nine thirty and I’ve got overnight oatmeal warming in the oven, a farewell breakfast before they head back to Denver.
“Morning,” I say, rising from the couch. Quinn waves at them before turning back to his show.
“Hey,” Bea says, smiling. “We loved the Italian place last night. Thanks for the rec.”
“Of course.” I flip on Henry’s espresso machine and pull two bowls out of the cabinet. I wonder if he’s awake yet. If he ever fell asleep. “What did you order?”
“Shrimp scampi,” Kim says, pulling out a seat at the island. “And calamari.”
“And penne with vodka sauce,” Bea adds. “I fucking love vodka s—Oops.” She glances at Quinn, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
