Page 61 of As the Years Pass
“Of course, sir.”
She finishes up on the computer, slides me a paper to sign, then hands us each a key card.
“You’re in room 612. Once you get off the elevator, you’ll go right and then left at the end of the hall.” Her smile is bright and practiced.
“Thank you,” Emmet says kindly.
My temper is still flaring, so I say nothing. I grab my suitcase and head toward the elevator, pulling my cell from my pocket. I open my email as we get into the car and Emmet presses the button for the sixth floor.
“What are you doing?” he asks..
“Checking my email. I booked two rooms.”
He nods, standing beside me and staring ahead at the doors.
I find the email buried in my confirmation folder and scroll to the bottom.
“No way,” I say as I stare at the number of rooms listed. “I hit two rooms, Emmet. I swear I did.”
“Adam, it’s not a problem. We used to have sleepovers all the time.”
“When we were kids.”
“What are adults but big kids?” he says with a smile.
And that right there makes everything okay.
The tension leaves my shoulders.
The air releases from my lungs.
I smile and put my phone away.
Because he’s right.
“You’re right. It’s not even a big deal.”
“It’s not,” he says. “It’s just a place to sleep for a few days. No big deal.”
We get off on our floor and head down the hall, going where the staff told us to go. We find the room, and he swipes his key first, pushing the door open.
It’s spacious, everything shiny and clean, decorated in yellow and cream with splashes of black. The sitting area has a large mirror across from the couch with a long table beneath it, topped with a coffee pot, plastic cups, and a tub for ice. On the opposite end of the room are sliding glass doors that lead onto a terrace. There’s hardly much space between them and the king-sized bed. The TV across from it is large and mounted to the wall, a long dresser beneath it. There’s a closet with sliding doors, and a bathroom of course, that’s all white with a shower/tub combo.
Emmet drops his bag by the couch, that in no way is going to fit his large body.
“You can sleep in the bed, Emmet,” I say as I head to the dresser to put my bag down.
“I’m not making you sleep on the couch,” he says.
I turn to face him. “I meant we could share the bed.” I swear his cheeks turn pink, but maybe it’s the lighting. I gesture to the bed. “It’s a king. We’ll have plenty of space, and we’ve done it plenty of times before.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind the couch.”
“You aren’t going to fit on that, Emmet. Don’t be crazy.” I walk over to him and grab his arm. “Come on.”
I bring him toward the bed, turn him, and grab both of his arms to make him sit on the bed.
“See? Isn’t it comfy?” I ask.
