Chapter 32
Poznań
Brady
The island of Capri is one of the most beautiful spots on the entire planet. Lemon groves cling to cliffs where a blue sea stretches across the horizon and melts into a hazy sunset.
However, we are not there.
Hayes and I are in Poland. Poznań, to be exact, which I am told is part of Wielkopolska, in west-central Poland, which under normal circumstances may be interesting.
Chopin was Polish, but I only know that because I had a Polish piano teacher.
After an emergency landing at the Poznań–?awica Henryk Wieniawski Airport due to extreme weather and walking across the tarmac in rain so intense we might have been wading across a swamp, I’m sitting in the lobby of a rundown Soviet-era hotel hoping a room for the night might be available soon.
All airports in the area are closed until tomorrow at the earliest. Which means we are stuck in the middle of Poland for the next twenty-four hours, at the Royal Poznań Boutique Hotel.
Which is as far from royal as you can get and a stretch of any definition of the term boutique.
That said, it is a hotel, and it is in Poznań.
Hayes has gone out in the rain to find us something to eat and I’m swiping through screens and entering luggage claim numbers trying to locate our bags in the airline’s app.
The diversion from our itinerary has helped melt the ice that was growing by the second in Berlin.
We’ve had to work together to make it through the detour and deal with the situation in front of us before anything else.
When Hayes walks in the door of the lobby, he pauses to shake off as much water as he can before coming over to me. Even though he took a jacket and an umbrella, he’s still soaking wet when he returns.
“Did they say when the room might be ready?” he asks, using his hand to wipe water off his nose and cheek. I’m sure he wants to go upstairs and change. I’m only a bit drier than he is at the moment but I can’t wait to get out of these clothes. Hopefully our bags will arrive soon.
“They said twenty minutes. Again. Like they’ve been saying for the past two hours.” I look over at the woman behind the front desk on her cell phone, giggling and painting her nails. She wiggles her finger at me. I wiggle mine back.
Hayes digs under his jacket and reveals a mostly dry paper bag.
He sits down in the bright green plastic chair next to me.
The lobby is clean and straightforward. Some dated but comfortable office furniture in lime and royal.
Two elevators. A grey tiled floor. Dead ficus plants next to dusty fake plants.
A decrepit coffee maker with a sign that says, “Brokin.” I saw worse on our road trip in college.
I actually find it strangely charming. It’s a stark contrast to the elegantly designed repurposed buildings where we’ve been staying.
“You know what this hotel used to be?” I ask Hayes. He looks around, trying to figure it out, and then shrugs. “A hotel,” I say, and he chuckles, and I feel better about the fact we are on a detour neither of us expected. At least he still has a sense of humor.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask.
“It’s something called zapiekanki. The woman at the shop spoke a little English and she said it’s like a Polish pizza.”
“Ugh. Don’t rub it in.” I lean my head back and try not to let the image of real Italian wood-burning stove pizza with its savory tomato sauce and stretchy cheese make my mouth water. “We are supposed to be on a terrace in Capri right now, eating real pizza.”
“Let’s see how this compares.” Hayes pulls out a half baguette sliced open lengthwise with red and white layers and small grey flecks. “She said it has cheese, canned mushrooms and…”
“Don’t tell me” I hold up my hand. “Ketchup?”
“I’m afraid so.” He looks down and then moves his nose closer to see if the aroma is as unpromising as the description.
“I don’t care,” I say, letting my head droop.
“I’m so hungry right now I might eat the paper bag for dessert.
” I take one of the napkins and put it down on the chair across between us.
He picks up his zapiekanka and I pick up mine.
I bite down on the crusty bread and can taste the tang of the ketchup and sweetness of the cheese.
It’s not fresh from a wood stove but it’s its own thing.
More like a grilled cheese with a little something extra than pizza.
“Wow,” Hayes says, nodding his head and chewing slowly. “Am I just so hungry it doesn’t matter, or is this amazingly and surprisingly delicious?”
I nod, take another bite and he does the same. We are looking at each other and nodding in unison.
“Almost as good as… Dominic’s,” Hayes says. A sly smile stretches across his face.
“How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?” He’s starting the debate that kept Clarkson students entertained throughout the year. “Everyone knows that Angelo’s has the best pizza. Dominic’s wishes it could compare.”
“You Angelo’s people. You have it all wrong.
Who puts pineapple on a pizza? Dominic’s is where it’s at.
” I remember one night we were smack talking each other’s favorite pizza on campus, as everyone loved to do, and we started wrestling.
Of course, Hayes was on the team in high school so I didn’t stand a chance, but I did like the way his legs would intertwine with mine and we’d roll around on top of each other until there wasn’t a shred of resistance between us.
My phone buzzes and I look to see a text from the airline. “Looks like our bag is arriving here to the hotel.”
“Did you say bag as in singular?” he asks.
“Apparently the other bags made it to sunny Capri on an earlier flight, but they’re bringing the one that was left behind to the hotel. It should be here in a few minutes.”
“I hope it’s yours. I’m fine with the hotel soap and buying a clean pair of underwear. I know you need your moisturizers and stuff.”
It’s sweet of him to say that he hopes it’s mine.
Especially since our last night in Berlin was awkward at best. It’s very on brand for Hayes to be willing to make a sacrifice for someone else’s comfort.
That’s one of the reasons I know he will make an excellent doctor.
“Thanks, but I don’t need all that stuff.
I mean, I like it. It makes me feel… I guess better about myself.
Like I’m taking care of my skin, and that means I’m looking my best.” I chew the zapia-whatever-it-is, enjoying the feeling of my blood sugar returning to normal.
Hayes is enjoying his too, but he keeps looking at me. Something is on his mind.
“Brady, you know when you look your best?” He puts down his food.
I shake my head, continuing to chew.
“When you’re asleep.” His eyes are gentle. His voice tentative.
“What?” I ask, and I can feel my face flush over the thought of Hayes watching me sleep.
“I don’t mean to sound creepy or anything but when we were together, I’d get up before you.” He shifts in his seat. “Of course, there are nocturnal animals that get up before you.”
“Hey.” I slap him on the arm playfully.
“Anyway, your face would twist, and your nose may have been running or you had sleep in your eyes…” He playfully describes the horrible details.
“Ugh, stop it. It sounds awful.” I hide my face with my hand. After the morning we had, I’m sure I don’t look much better right now.
“Not to me.”
I turn my head away but he guides my face toward him with his hand on my chin.
“I liked it because you didn’t know anyone was looking at you and I could see the real you that way.
Without all the moisturizers and stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I know how cute you look when you’re ready to go out dancing, but that’s different.
That’s a Brady for everyone to see, but I liked the Brady that was just for me. ”
The vulnerability I felt a few seconds ago transforms into something else.
Hayes sees through the pretty veil I try to keep firmly in place and it makes me feel truly seen.
But he doesn’t usually share his feelings without being asked.
Repeatedly sometimes. What happened on our last day in Berlin to create this shift?
I keep my eyes on him, allowing the connection we are feeling in this moment to linger until…
The sound of screeching brakes makes us both turn to look out the window.
The rain has finally stopped and the clouds are beginning to move off with rays of sun making their return on the cobblestone street.
A van is stopped in front of the hotel and we both watch the driver go to the back and pull out the one bag neither of us needs.
He brings it in with a big smile. He’s so proud to have delivered it to us that we both hide our reaction until he is back in the van and driving away.
We stare at the black shoulder bag with small, zippered pouches along the side.
“This is the bag that found its way to us?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
“Well, with the media kit here we could grab some content I guess?” He is trying to find a bright side when there is none.
“In Poland?” I ask.
“It’s a beautiful country, and there’s an old town square. Stuff like that. We could check out some shops or see if there is a gay club.” Hayes looks out the window, but even though the weather is getting brighter by the minute, I can’t see content potential.
“Aisha only wants content connected to the resorts, and I don’t see anyone leaving one of the gorgeous, swanky For Us hotels to hop on a plane here.
Aisha knows we’re stuck here until the storm in the south clears.
I could hear her sighing in her texts. But think of this as a vacation from our vacation,” I say.
Something about being on this detour has created a new era of trust and ease between us although I’m not sure how long it will last.
Hayes sits down next to me and puts his hands behind his head, causing his jacket to open and shirt to ride up. I have to stop myself from sneaking a look at his exposed abs.
“This hasn’t been a vacation. I’ve seen how hard you work. I know you make it all look like we are having a great time and the camera happens to capture a lot of it but it’s more than that. You’ve taken it very seriously. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I know you hate all this.” I look away from him and out the window, remembering how I tricked him into taking the job.
“Not really. I don’t hate it. I enjoy seeing the new places. I loved the medical museum in Berlin. I just don’t like all the weird fakeness of the social media.”
“You mean like pretending we’re a couple? Pretending to be with me?” I ask, feeling particularly bold.
“I don’t think I’m saying it right.” He lowers his arms and shifts in the lime green chair.
“I hate the way everything is posed and pretend. I know that’s the way it has to be for the camera and for the content, but I want to just experience all of it without that.
” He pauses and touches his chin with his hand.
“I want to travel truthfully.” He says the words slowly and then stares at the bag.
“I wish the media kit got lost and we could have some time to explore without worrying about what it looked like or if we are getting the right shots or any of that stuff.”
It’s a lot of work to keep up with the itinerary, and all of it is manufactured. “Well, for the next twenty-four hours there is no checklist we have to follow. Nothing we have to pretend to be enjoying. We get to be in Wielkopolska unburdened by any of that.”
Hayes gets up and looks out the lobby window.
The streets are still wet but the sun is shining so the cobblestones look like glittering disco balls.
Hayes is hatching a plan. Finally, he turns away from the window and back to me.
“We’ve got twenty-four hours here. We don’t have to get any content.
So, let’s do it. Let’s just explore this town and see what’s out there, but do it honestly. ”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“We’ve been taking video of the best this or the greatest, funnest that.
What if we stopped doing that and we only told each other the truth about what we are experiencing, and also…
what we are feeling?” He’s sitting down next to me, his hand right next to mine.
I don’t know if my skin is buzzing because of the closeness or his provocative suggestion.
“You, Hayes,” I point at him, “are going to tell me,” I point at myself, “the honest truth about what you’re feeling? The man who keeps every emotion so bottled up I think he might explode?”
“Maybe that was the old me. Maybe my liver is not the same as a pig’s liver,” he says with a straight face. I thought he might have lost his mind but now I am sure of it.
“A pig’s liver? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind about that. What do you think?” He gestures like a magician’s assistant out the window. “Poland. The great land of Copernicus, kielbasa, and complete, one hundred percent honesty.”
I’m not sure what happened to him since I dropped him off at the museum but he’s been acting like someone updated his entire operating system. “Sure,” I say, suddenly uneasy about what I might be getting myself into. “I’ll do it if you do it. Let’s make a pact.”
I hold out my hand to shake and he grabs it.
I can feel the heat of his body connecting with mine through my palm.
“We’ll explore the town and see what’s around, and we’ll do it honestly.
One hundred percent, at all times.” He keeps his hand connected with mine and continues to shake. I do the same. “Deal?”
“Deal. One hundred percent honesty,” Hayes says.
The young woman from behind the counter approaches us holding out her fingernails so they continue to dry. “You are the men waiting for room?” she asks. We are the only people in the lobby and maybe the only people in the hotel. “Another twenty minutes,” she says and we both laugh.