Page 89 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Henry’s gone,” Pauline says, from the living room. All three of us turn to look at her.
“Gone?” I say.
“Gone,” Nan confirms. Her hand, small and warm, lands on the crook of my elbow. “To Ohio, Lou. Just a few hours ago. To find you.”
Thirty-Six
The story unfolds in bitsand pieces, all four of my guests—Nan and Pauline, new arrivals Daria and Leigh—talking over each other to deliver the details.Sad puppy, Pauline says.He was moping, Nan adds. And then, from Daria, the simplest description of them all:Heartbroken.
“So we sat him down,” Nan tells us, sipping from her mug of tea, “and said—look, Henry. There’s nothing stopping you from going over there to Ohio and getting her.”
“It’s agesture,” Pauline says, nodding.
“But he was nervous,” Nan says. “Thought maybe you needed space from him. But I said: If I know our Lou, what she needs is a hug.”
My eyes fill with tears, hot and blurry.
“I said: Our Lou’s not the type to want space.”
“It’s true,” Mei says, gathering me into a squishy embrace.
“So we spring into action.” Pauline gestures between the four of them. “Leigh’s booking a flight, Daria’s packing some snacks, Nan’s figuring out what hotel you went to.”
I shake my head, rubbing at my eyes. What thehelldid I do to deserve these people? Maybe they never needed me at all. Maybe it wasn’t me helping anyone heal, but the space we created together, here—the simple fact of our connectedness, of sharing our pain. Maybe all healing requires is a taking of turns. Leaning on whoever has the strength in each fleeting moment.
“And then Henry leaves,” Nan says now. “Just after noon. Nervous wreck. Very charming.” She looks at her watch. “His flight was at four o’clock. Should be landed by now.”
I pull out my phone, snapping a selfie on the living room couch—huddled in a blanket, hair limp from flying, eyes wet with tears. Smiling in spite of myself. I send it to Henry, and add:Come home? Nan filled me in.
His reply comes through minutes later. A selfie of his own: Henry’s dark eyebrows, his unbelievable eyes. His smile, soft and exhausted and relieved. He’s standing in front of a giant sign dotted in snowflake decals that saysWelcome to Columbus!
And just two words:Hold still.
But I don’t. Henry takesa six a.m. flight out of Ohio, and I drive straight back to the Denver airport to meet him. There’s no way I’m sleeping anyway—and I refuse to wait one minute longer than I need to. I park in the short-term lot this time and hightail it to Arrivals, huddled in my coat. A week into December, and it’s decidedly winter.
I wait for Henry at the center of the sprawling terminal. Waves of people come up from the airport trams, one escalator load after another after another. I’m rising onto my tiptoes andlowering back down, rhythmic, like if I can just keep moving, my nerves will stay at bay. But then Henry ascends up the escalator, and his eyes lock on mine, and my heart drops entirely out of my body onto the scuffed tile floor.
I wave to him.Wave. Like a preschooler in a dance recital. Like he hasn’t already seen me, like that secret smile isn’t spreading over his face, like every step he closes between us doesn’t nudge me closer to certain death. I’ve been holding my breath for too long. When he gets to me, I gasp for air and say, “How was Ohio?”
Henry says, “Lonelier than anticipated.”
He’s a foot away from me, black suitcase parked next to his feet. In his wool coat and marled sweater he looks like a Christmas card, like a goddamn dream, like I made him up.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and he takes a half step closer.
“I’msorry.”
I shake my head. “I’ve been so stupid, Henry. I’m sorry I lied about my license. I’m sorry I disappeared after Thanksgiving—I got scared and it was silly of me; I’d told you about my mom and I could feel you holding back about Molly and I got completely in my head about it.”
Henry’s eyes track back and forth over mine, taking this in. The crowd parts around us, a break in the current, but I know that if I stop talking now, I’ll never get the rest of this out.
“I got scared that I was doing what I always do,” I say. “Give all of myself, and take care of everyone around me, even if I don’t get it back. I’m always disappearing in my relationships because I take care of the other person and I forget—I mean, Ilovetaking care of people, and I want to do it, but I have atendency to just—to let it be unbalanced? And Goldie was giving me such a hard time, and I just—” I break off, sucking in an open-mouthed breath that makes Henry smile. It touches his eyes in the most exquisite way, so they go iridescent under the overhead lights. “I was so wrong, Henry. I want you to share everything with me because I want to share everything with you—but it doesn’t have to be now. You can take all the time you need about Molly.” I swallow, heat radiating from my face. “You’ve taken care of me so well, and so often, and in every way I’ve asked and even ones I haven’t. The past couple days with my mom were so tough and they made me think so much about you, and about everything, and how it’s okay to care for people if they care for you back. It’s good.You’regood. I want to do this with you. I want”—my eyes flicker over his—“I want to hold your hand at every crosswalk.” I draw a long, shaking breath. “If you’ll let me.”
Henry closes the distance between us, hands framing my face, and murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now,” right against my mouth. I sink into him like an exhale, like something trapped let free. His lips are soft and warm, his arms dropping to wrap around my waist. When he lifts me off my feet I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe him in.I could stay here, I think. I could live at the Denver International Airport if it meant being somewhere with Henry.
“I don’t want you to disappear,” he says, lowering me to the floor. My arms tuck in against his chest. “Not ever, for any reason, and especially not in our relationship. You couldn’t. You’re the brightest thing—” Henry stops, swallowing. That line appears between his brows, there and gone, like he’s workingthrough the words but then, finally, finds them. “That first night, when I couldn’t sleep at the house, I thought I’d ruined this before it could even begin. But then you found me, and you didn’t try to fix me.”
“Fix you?” I push my hands up his chest, bracket his jaw between my fingers.
