Page 29 of The Heartbreak Hotel
Rashad sighs, long-suffering, and shoulders off his silver jacket. Underneath it, he wears a T-shirt printed in yellow-and-pink checkerboard. “Hardly even. It was what I’d call aconversation, but he acted like I was accusing him of first-degree homicide. We can’t talk through a difference of opinion without it turning into the end? That’s how little I’m worth to you? Where’s the investment?”
“Hmm.” I flip on the espresso machine, and Rashad leans toward me over the counter.
“What? Whathmm?”
I glance at him, reaching into the cabinet for two mugs. “It sounds to me like you know, somewhere in there, that it’s not really about whatyou’reworth.”
His eyebrows—perfectly groomed—hike up. Flatly, he says, “Do I.”
“Your partner turned a difference of opinion into a reason to run, whereas you were ready to talk it through.”
He just looks at me. I wait for him to pick up the thread on his own, the espresso machine humming. But then he waves his hand, like,And?
“You were ready to do the emotional labor it takes to create intimacy.” I slide a mug under the spout and, through the window over the sink, see Henry cross the garden. He’s in a button-down and a black peacoat, like he came from work. “Which, um—” I stumble. What’s he doing here? I force myself to turn back to Rashad. “Which goes to show you have a deeper understandingof what it takes to really be with someone. And maybe he didn’t. Is that really”—the back door pushes open, and I finish—“on you?”
We both turn to Henry. His cheeks are clean-shaven, pinked up from the October wind. He’s holding a reusable grocery bag.
“Are you staying here, too?” Rashad waves a hand from Henry to me. “Louisa was just making coffee and telling me I’m incredibly emotionally intelligent, if you want to join us.”
“Um, no.” Henry glances at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had someone coming today, I should’ve checked before—”
“It’s okay.” I think I lost my right to reasonable boundaries when I threw myself at him in the basement. I gesture at the espresso machine. “Do you want a coffee? I’m no expert, but I’m getting better.”
Before Henry can reply, Rashad says, “Is this your man?”
The laugh I let out is strangled and quavering, like I’m thirteen again. I look away from Henry immediately. “No, Henry just owns the house.”
Henry clears his throat before repeating, “I just own the house.”
“My bad,” Rashad says. “You had this sweet domestic look to you—like you were bringing her groceries or something. What’s in the bag?”
When I glance at Henry, he swallows. “The upstairs faucet was leaking when I came to fix the shower. I went to the hardware store—but I can come back at a better time.”
“My faucet?” Rashad asks, glancing between us.
“No.” I slide an espresso mug toward him. “A different bathroom, don’t worry.”
“He can stay.” Rashad sips from the mug and flicks his lashes toward Henry. “I don’t mind.”
I manage a smile in Henry’s direction. My skin feels like it’s vibrating. “Do you want a coffee first?”
His gaze tracks to the machine, just over my shoulder, and I think of him plucking my water glass out of my hand. Drinking it in one fluid movement. “Take your time,” he says, not exactly an answer, as he starts toward the staircase. “I’ll come back down for it in a bit.”
“Okay,” I say, busying myself with a second espresso and trying to pretend it’s taking up all my brain space. “Thanks for fixing the sink.”
In the silence Henry leaves behind, I can hear Rashad’s brain whirring. “You’re a loud thinker,” I say, and when I glance over my shoulder at him, he’s smirking.
“What?”
Rashad swirls his espresso. “He’s very pretty.”
I betray myself by doing the prepubescent laugh again.
“Is he single?”
I turn back to Rashad, lifting my own espresso to take a sip. “I’m not sure.” There’s a clunk from upstairs, and as I lean back into the counter we both glance at the ceiling—a bag of hardware store supplies hitting a tile bathroom floor, maybe. “He doesn’t wear a ring.”
“I noticed that, too,” Rashad says, which makes me realize that it’s something Ialsonoticed, enough to have brought it up without even thinking. “But some folks don’t wear them. Want me to ask when he comes back down? I have no shame. We can blame it on my breakup.”
