Twenty
Griffin
In my defense, I’ve been living alone for years.
I’m out of practice at the art of cohabitation. Which is the only explanation for why, after I stepped out of the shower, I completely forgot for approximately two full minutes that I was sharing a motel room with a woman.
Two minutes. That’s all it took.
I pull on a T-shirt, track down my shoes, and head back outside. Mostly because she looked like she was trying to dissolve through the wall to escape, and also because I’m not going to let her sit in a dark parking lot with a four-foot stuffed bird and pretend like what just happened didn’t happen.
It takes me thirty seconds to find her.
She’s back on the low stone wall, Gerald the Penguin seated beside her. Her face is still a bright shade of pink.
When I sit down next to her, she doesn’t look at me. I give it four seconds of silence.
“So,” I say. “You saw my penis.”
She makes a choked sound.
“You’ve seen mine,” I continue. “It’s only fair you show me yours.”
Her head snaps toward me so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
I look her right in the eye. “I’m kidding, but at least you’re looking at me. Or at my face, anyway. This time.”
She immediately buries her face into Gerald’s neck.
“Oh my God,” comes a muffled, horrified groan from somewhere in the penguin’s torso.
I laugh. I can’t help it. She makes another sound—half-mortified, half-giggle—and her shoulders start to shake. Eventually, she surfaces, eyes bright with humiliation.
“It was an accident,” she says.
“Completely.”
“I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“Piper.” I hold up my hands. “I know. I forgot you existed for a second. That’s on me.”
She makes a face. “You forgot I existed?”
“For two minutes. In my defense, it’s been a while since I had a roommate.”
She shakes her head, still fighting the laughter. “I genuinely said penis out loud in that room.”
“Twice. I heard you say it twice.”
She pulls Gerald into her lap and hides behind her hands. I nudge her shoulder until she drops them and finally looks at me.
“Normal,” she says. “We’re going to be completely normal about this.”
“Completely normal,” I agree.
“Moving on.”
“Moving on.”
We sit there for a minute, watching a car pass on the street.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“About forty miles south of Fresno.”
“And tomorrow?”
“South,” I say. “I thought we’d hit the coast. There’s a stretch I’ve been meaning to drive.”
“You have an actual plan?”
“The rough shape of one.”
“Tell me.”
“How about you just relax and enjoy the ride? We’ve got two weeks.”
She goes still. I feel the shift before she even opens her mouth.
“Two weeks?” She’s looking at me now, her brain clearly running numbers she doesn’t like. “Griffin, that’s your entire vacation.”
“I’m aware of how calendars work, Piper.”
“I’m not—you can’t spend your whole—” She turns on the wall to face me.
The flush is gone, replaced by something urgent.
“I don’t want to be a burden. I didn’t plan this.
I know I basically hijacked your car without giving you a choice, and you’ve just been dealing with me this whole time.
I didn’t think about what that meant for you. ”
“Piper—”
“I’m serious. You don’t have to do this. I can get a bus. Noah could come get me. I can sort myself out so you can have your actual vacation.”
“Piper.”
She stops. She’s breathing fast, waiting for me to say something that makes sense of her sudden panic.
I sit with it for a second. The fact that her first instinct, when offered exactly what she wants, is to check if she’s too much to take.
Her default setting is: I don’t want to be a burden.
Who taught her that?
I already know the answer, and it makes my jaw tighten.
“Do you hear yourself?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Your first thought when someone offers you something is whether or not you deserve the space you’re taking up.”
She looks away.
“When did you start doing that?”
“I—I grew up with a mom who was sick. I’m not blaming her. She did her best, but I didn’t want to add to the weight. I learned not to take up too much room.”
I look at the line of her jaw. She’s still braced for an argument.
“And then Ezra—” She says the name like she’s testing a bruise. “I thought if I just didn’t need too much, if I kept things easy, things would be… God, I don’t know anymore.”
“He should have been the one to show you that you’re not a burden. That you’re worth the space. If a man who claimed to love you left you feeling like you were too much just by existing? That’s on him, Piper. All of it.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I know,” she says, her voice small.
“Do you?”
She runs her thumb over a seam on Gerald’s wing.
I think about the girl who used to disappear into the background of her own life.
The teenager who only contributed exactly as much as she thought was allowed.
The woman in that rehearsal dinner photo who looked like a frame for someone else’s masterpiece.
She’s always done this. I just didn’t understand the pattern until now.
“You know who wouldn’t do that?” I ask.
She looks up. “Who?”
I pick up the penguin and hold him up so he’s staring her in the face.
“Gerald?”
“Gerald would never make you feel like a burden. Gerald is ride-or-die. He came off that wall for you. You think he’s thinking about the effort? No. Gerald is fully committed.”
She starts laughing so hard her shoulders shake. “You’re insane.”
“Gerald would like you to accept the vacation.”
She shakes her head, still laughing. “Okay,” she says, catching her breath. “Okay. Two weeks.”
We sit there for a moment under the stars and enjoy the silence. I reach out and pat her bare thigh once. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”
She stands up and stretches her arms over her head. “I need a shower before bed.”
I pick up Gerald and hold him at eye level. “Hear that?” I tell the bird in a low, conspiratorial voice. “We’re getting a show.”
Her mouth falls open. “Griffin!”
She shoves me with both hands. I don’t budge, but I let her think she moved me an inch. She shoves me again, laughing as we walk back toward our room.
“Give me my penguin,” she says, reaching for him.
“Gerald is with me now.”
“That’s my penguin.”
“Gerald decides for himself. Ask him.”
She looks at Gerald. Gerald looks back with his far-apart eyes. She snatches him anyway.