Page 75 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Louisa Arlene Walsh. I’mthrilled.”
“Thanks,” I say, then realize how flat it sounds. I try again. “Really.”
“What’s wrong?” Mei says. I hear a door close, and picture her walking into her childhood bedroom in Pasadena. “Was it bad?”
“No.” I pull at a loose thread on the blanket. “It was the best.” I swallow and tip my head backward, squeezing my eyes shut. “Like, dangerously good.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So what’s the problem?”
He’s in pain, I could tell her.He’s been married, he’s been afather, he’s had a whole life I know nothing about. I can already feel myself being pulled under, wanting to heal him.
“Mei, am I just, like—” I sigh, opening my eyes again to look straight up at the ceiling. It’s the least colorful part of the house, stark and white, and all at once that makes me devastatingly sad. “Everyone’s mom?”
She hesitates. “What?”
“Henry’s had this—bad stuff happen to him. In the past. And I’m already just, like, desperate to get to the bottom of it and make him talk about it and help him get past it and I just—” I groan, exasperated with myself. “Goldie said this thing to me, when she was here. That I’m always taking care of other people so I don’t have to take care of myself. With the Comeback Inn, and with my mom, and now, I don’t know, maybe that’s what I’m—”
“Did something happen with your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice going small. “She almost got evicted so we had to send her money today.” I don’t clarify who I mean bywe.
“Fuck,” Mei says. “I’m sorry, Lou. That’s so stressful.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I yank the loose thread so hard that it pulls open a pinhole in the blanket. Perfect. “It is.”
“It sucks you have to parent her. And it’s shitty Goldie said that to you,especiallybecause you being the way you are makes Goldie’s life way easier. Does she get that?” Mei’s voice crackles with an angry laugh. “I mean, she gets to have this arm’s-length, peaceful distance from your mom because she knowsyou’llhandle shit. She gets to create these boundaries as a direct result ofyoubeing so nurturing and kind—not to mention all you do for Quinn, like taking care of him when she has work shit? Hello? Are we operating on the same plane of existence, here?”
I blink up at the ceiling, clearing tears from my eyes. She’s right.
“She tells you not to answer when your mom calls,” Mei continues. “She tells you not to send her money. But then there’s a crisis and who does she expect to handle it?You. Because she knows you will, because you always have, and she’s lucky for it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I think that’s my point,” I whisper. “I think maybe I’m a doormat.”
“No,” Mei says emphatically. “How giving you are is one of the most special things about you.”
I know Mei’s just trying to make me feel better, but it pushes on the bruise already forming underneath my ribs. What makes me special is that I’m always willing to clean up after everyone else. I’m terrified my only worth is the role I’m so desperate to play for the people around me—and that if I don’t figure it out soon, I might disappear entirely.
A knock on the kitchen door breaks me out of this spiral, and I crane over the back of the couch to see Joss framed in the window. I throw a wave in her direction and swipe at my eyes. “Hey,” I say to Mei, “can I call you back?”
“Of course,” Mei says. “I’m here for you, yeah?”
“Thank you,” I say, and drop my phone onto the couch. Joss is pink-cheeked in the cold, her shoulders hunched up around her ears.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless, when I open the door. “Is it okay if I come in for a sec?”
“Of course.” I step backward, letting her dart around me before quickly closing the door against the chill. “You okay?”
“It isfreezingout there.” She lifts her hands to her mouth and huffs into them. “I’ve been trying to get the lights up, butmy hands are numb.” She always does Christmas lights in the garden immediately after Thanksgiving so we can enjoy them for the entirety of December. There’s nothing quite so beautiful as my pine trees dusted in snow, string lights glowing through the white. “Still haven’t fixed that squeaky door, huh?”
“I’m used to it.” I shrug, gesturing her into a seat at the kitchen island. “I didn’t even realize you were out there. I can make you some tea?”
“That would be great.” She smiles and rubs her hands together. “I think I’m done for today, but I probably shouldn’t drive until I regain feeling in my hands.”
“Wise.” I put the kettle on and reach into the cabinet next to the sink, rifling around for my tea box. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Calm,” she says. Unbidden, I think,Must be nice.“My parents are in Fort Collins. My brother and his partner always fly in with the kids, but it’s an easy commute for me.”
“Lucky.” I rip the foil on her tea bag, glancing back over one shoulder. “Did you grow up there?”
