Page 22 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Oh,hellno,” Mei says. She turns my phone face-down on the counter. “Why would Goldie send that to you?”
I shake my head. “I think she thinks she’s helping—or, like, commiserating, or something.”
“Well, she’s not.” Mei reaches for the wine bottle at the edge of the counter and splits its remaining contents between our glasses. Then she thrusts my glass toward me, meeting my eyes. “Let’s get drunk.”
It’s only nine when thepower goes out. Between the two of us, we’re a bottle of wine and two margaritas deep. Mei has a revenge playlist blasting from the living room TV, and we’re dancing like wet noodles in the kitchen—flailing, sweatshirt sleeves flopping, heads tipped back as we sing along. Mei wriggles over to the blender with a cup full of ice. Halfway through its whir—tequilachurning at warp speed—the lights go out. The music stops; the microwave clock blinks off; we’re left in sudden, total stillness. I can barely see Mei when she turns around to gasp at me.
“It’s probably a breaker,” I say, reaching for my phone flashlight. My cheeks are very, very warm. “They’re in the basement.”
“The creepy murder basement?” Mei stumbles forward to grab my arm. She giggles out a hiccup. “Are we going down there?”
“Yes,” I say, dragging her across the kitchen toward the basement door. “We’re strong women. We’re full of tequila. We’re powerful.”
“I only wish I had another margarita in my hand to power me through this visit to the murder basement.” Mei freezes, jerking me to a stop. “Should we do a shot?”
Standing there, clutching each other in my pitch-black kitchen, it sounds inspired. It sounds like the smartest thing she’s ever said to me.
And the tequila does, somehow, make the murder basement feel less murdery. We trip over each other down the wooden stairs, our phone flashlights bouncing like lasers at a rave. The basement is damp and ancient, like a root cellar or an apocalypse bunker. There’s nothing down here but the breakers and a few storage boxes.
“Hurry up!” Mei says, nudging me forward when we hit the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to need another shot if we spend more than ninety seconds down here.”
“Calm thineself,” I say, cutting across the cement floor toward the breaker box.
Mei cackles, her voice filling the room. “Okay, Shakespeare.”
“It felt right coming out.”
“That’s what she said.” Mei careens into me as I open the breaker panel. We train our flashlights to the rows of switches, scanning. They’re all labeled in neat block print that goes a little blurry the harder I try to bring it into focus.First Fl. Bath, Kitchen Appl., Disposal.
“What’s kitchen apple?” Mei says, and a laugh bubbles from me like carbonation.
“Appliances, genius.”
“This is theapple power supply, madame, and you shall not disrespect its gravitas.”
I find the switch labeledMain, but when I throw it, nothing happens. Mei and I look up at the ceiling, like the universe herself might intervene. I try every other breaker in rapid succession. Clicks fill the basement. But nothing happens—no light coming through the open basement door from upstairs, no music coming from the TV, nothing at all.
“Well, shit,” I say. “Now what?”
Mei sighs. “I’m not too big to admit that I usually call my dad in these situations.”
“I guess I could call Nate,” I say, unlocking my phone and scrolling through my recent texts. He’s a ways down—we haven’t spoken since he picked up his things.
“Did you sustain a brain injury I don’t know about?” Mei plucks the phone out of my hand and keeps scrolling. “Absolutely not.”
When she starts tapping out a text, I wriggle around to read over her shoulder—and when I see who she’s texting, I let out a strangled noise and try to swipe my phone back. But she’s too quick, spinning away from me. “We need his help!”
“But he’s mad at me! He’s super mad at me for that article in the—”
“Here.” Mei hands the phone back to me, the smug look on her face barely visible in the dark. When I look down at the text to Henry, my eyes struggle to focus—but even I can tell half the words are misspelled.
“Mei,” I wail, and she throws her arms up.
“What else are we going to do, Lou? Get murdered in the basement? Let’s go upstairs while we wait for him to respond.”
She tugs me back up to the kitchen, and she’s reaching for the bottle of tequila on the counter when my phone buzzes. Henry’s text says only,What?
“Mei!” I cry again, thrusting it at her. “He’s going to think I’m a sloppy mess.”
