Page 76 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Sure did,” she says. “Jeremy—my brother—couldn’t wait to get out of here, but I’ve never wanted to leave Colorado.”
“Can’t imagine why,” I say, smiling. Joss props her elbows on the island and I lean against the counter.
“How was it with your family?” I venture. “With what you said, about your breakup—how they took it hard?”
Joss’s eyebrows tic, like maybe she’s surprised that I remember. “Oh, better,” she says. But something in her voice is breezy, and I know even before she does it that she’s going to change the subject. “How was your holiday?”
I hesitate for a beat too long—do I tell her I spent it withHenry, her boss? Also kind ofmyboss? Do I lie? There’s no real reason to keep it from her, but her dismissive response about her own holiday makes me feel like I shouldn’t get into mine. Plus, after spending the entire day rotting on my couch, I’m not even sure I have the strength. So I only force a smile and say, “Fine.”
She tilts her head. “Only fine?”
The teakettle whines, saving me. I bat a hand in Joss’s direction as I move toward it and tell her, “My mom’s kind of intense. There was a whole drama.”
“Ah,” she says. “The holidays always bring it out.”
“Yeah,” I say on a sigh, sliding the mug toward her over the counter.
She accepts it with a smile, steam rising into the space between us. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I tilt my head back and forth, making an exaggerated show of considering. Joss is kind and warm and honest—I know I could share this with her. We’ve known each other for four years. But the reality is we don’t reallyknoweach other. I didn’t know until so recently that Joss had separated from a partner; I hardly know anything about her personal life at all. I don’t know if she has a good relationship with her own mother, or what she does when she isn’t in the garden. And my mom feels like a lot to get into—with Joss, or with anyone.
“I don’t think I have the energy,” I tell her, honestly. “But thank you for asking.”
“Fair,” Joss says. She takes a sip of her tea. “Family’s hard.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Thirty
I spend the next dayand a half at the desk in my bedroom, scrolling through licensing exam study guides and writing notes longhand. Through the bay window, I see Joss come and then go on Saturday. She puts Christmas lights on every tree except the new one—the baby pine that Henry hates. Thinking about him makes my stomach go tight, and I force myself to stop.
The day ticks by, the sun lowering. When I get to section three in my practice exam, Helping Relationships, Goldie’s voice whispers through the room—so vivid it’s like she’s breathing up through my floorboards.You do this, Lou. You do this. Helping everyone else.
I press my pencil so firmly into my notepad that the lead snaps. I need to center myself in my own life. Helpmyselffor once. When Henry texts me at five to ask if I want to meet for dinner, I tell him that I can’t.
It isn’t true; I don’t even eat dinner that night. But when I think of Henry—his low voice in my ear,You’re so beautiful—ittugs so hard and so deep inside of me that I know I’m ruined. That being near Henry is a danger, a vast hole opening up, a void I’m desperate to fall into. I want him so violently that I can’t see myself clearly. I know that if I meet him—if I touch him, if I catch even the shallowest scrape of the sadness I’m frantic to fix—I’ll turn myself inside out trying to be a balm. I’ll break every promise I’ve made to myself in the last twenty-four hours.
I need him, my body screams.
And my brain, in a stern voice that sounds a lot like my sister’s, replies:You need space.
“Home sweet home,” Nan says,stepping through the threshold and opening her arms for a hug. Her perfume, floral and familiar, fills the foyer. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I take her suitcase and start up the stairs toward her room. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Superb,” she says, following me. “I have new twin grandsons and they’re just perfection. Cherubic. Too small to cause much trouble.”
“Congratulations.” I set her suitcase on the foot of her bed. “What does your family think of you staying here?”
“They’re always bugging me to take a vacation,” Nan says. “This is just one long one.”
I smile, twisting my watch around my wrist. “I’m glad it feels that way.”
Nan lowers to the edge of the bed, patting the mattress beside her. When I sit, she asks, “How was your Thanksgiving?”
I tilt my head back and forth, trying to decide how honest I should be. “Mixed bag.”
“You stayed here?”
