Page 42 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Apparently he only bought his own.” Goldie turns back to the potatoes. “Hence my concern.”
I look across the island, down the hall toward the front door. It’s shadowy and familiar: the woven runner I bought at a flea market with Mei, the gold-framed photo of Quinn as a baby, the turtle-shaped Tiffany lamp on the side table.Mom’s not here, I remind myself.I’m safe. But it does nothing to loosen the clench of my chest, the whisper that rushes through me:My fault, my fault, my fault.
If I told Goldie I felt this way, she’d roll her eyes. She has no patience for my bleeding heart, my inability to let Mom go. So I just tell her, “She wanted to stay at Nate’s place in Miami.”
“What?” Goldie looks up, peeler poised in one hand. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want to get into it.” What I mean is: I’m never able to get into it withyou. “And she basically acted like my life is over without him, so.”
Silence falls. When I hazard a glance up at Goldie, she’s looking out the window over the sink. The sun is lowering over the garden, where everything is hunching up for November: the petals dropping from the flowers, the green stalks browning as they cower into themselves.
I want Goldie to say:That’s awful, Lou. I want her to say:She shouldn’t treat you like that.
I want her to tell me that I won’t ever end up like our mother, dependent on men who discard her like damaged goods—again, and again, and again.
Goldie’s eyes flick to mine. She picks up the peeler.
“It isn’t,” she says. I turn back to my carrots. “You know that it isn’t.”
Eighteen
What didyouenjoy about“those things, dear?” Nan is leaning close to Kim on the couch, watching her intently. “The things you love don’t cease to exist because you can’t do them with him anymore. You can still do them.”
“I’m not going to go indoor rock climbing by myself,” Kim says, teary-eyed.
Nan throws her hands up. “Why on earth not?”
“I agree,” Bea says. She’s cross-legged in the armchair next to Mei’s, mug of coffee in her lap. “I think youshouldgo climbing by yourself, Kim. Like a totalfuck-you. You don’t need Peter to take you to the gym—you have just as much of a right to be there without him.”
“What if he’s there, though?”
“Then he sees you living your best life,” Mei says. Next to her, on a dining chair we’ve pulled in from the kitchen, Joss nods. We’re arranged in a haphazard sort of circle: Mei and Bea in armchairs by the fireplace, Joss on the dining chair, Kim andNan tucked in next to me on the couch. “And you get seeing him again for the first time over with. Win-win, right?”
Kim groans, dropping her head back into the couch cushions. “I guess so.”
It’s Monday afternoon, just after lunch. Nan, Bea, and Kim have forged such a special bond that I’m a little sad to have another booking coming in tomorrow. With Mei and Joss in the mix, it’s basically all of my favorite people in one room. Bea and Kim head back to Denver tomorrow, but Nan’s decided to stay for a while.What reason do I have to leave?she asked me. I’m hesitant to let the dynamic shift, especially since this group has been so open to my programming: hikes, breakfast together every morning, group sessions that usually result in one or all of us weeping into our coffee mugs.
Quinn charmed the pants off of everyone at breakfast, and Goldie’s satisfied with the absence of danger at the house (I refrained from telling her I have a new guest—female!—coming tomorrow). She leaves for Denver in an hour, and is upstairs putting Quinn down for a nap before she goes.
“Just because Peter introduced you to climbing doesn’t mean heownsit,” Bea says now. I think of Polliwog’s, of Elk Poop ice cream, of Henry.I understand. “Even if he thinks he does, that pompous ass.”
“Well said,” Nan agrees. “Hobbies are for everyone. If being in that gym brings you joy, you need to get back there as soon as you can.”
“Plus, endorphins,” Mei says. “Exercise is irritatingly effective at making you feel better.”
“It’s true,” Bea says. “And since I can never get you to go to Pilates with me…”
Kim rolls her eyes. “Joss,” she says, pointedly changing the subject. “Let’s discuss your trauma, please.”
Joss laughs, chin tipping back. She’s cross-legged in the chair with a mug of coffee in both hands—she came in for a warm drink before starting on fall cleanup in the yard, and we convinced her to stay.
“Or something else,” I say quickly. “Anything at all.”
She nods her head back and forth, like she’s deciding what to say. “I’ve been processing a loss for a bit—a heartbreak.” She glances at me, and I give her a sad smile. She’s never told me, but then again, I haven’t asked. “The garden helps.”
“Doesn’t it?” Nan asks, and Joss nods.
“I guess what I’ve been struggling with most,” she says, “is everyone else’s reactions to it. And managing those, when I’m still trying to manage myownpain.”
