Chapter Eight
Bernie
I’m drunk. Twelve thirty in the morning, and I am sitting in a hotel lobby cradling my stupid glass award, drunk. To Uber or not to Uber? It’s only a half mile. But it’s late. And I’m debating whether I want to sleep right here on this rock-hard sofa…covered in—what is that? Geometric shapes?
Drunk . Bill with a mustache got me drunk.
I giggle at my not-joke as I watch my phone power on, buzzing furiously to life. Text after text comes in, and I raise my eyebrows slowly. Unfortunately, drunk Bernadette lacks the willpower or executive function to not read stupid shit that will make her heart hurt. Sober Bernadette is going to be so pissed, I muse, poking at my screen.
So many unread messages. I click on Pru’s name first.
Pru: B, you okay? Was it him?
Pru: A little worried. Call me okay? I’m up late tonight.
Pru: Call me or I won’t pick you up from the airport.
I’m pretty sure she’s lying. I tap out and see message after message from an unknown number. I open them.
617-495-3087: Bernie, it’s Ashish, I’m on my brother’s phone. Please call me. I’m sorry.
617-495-3087: I promise this is just a misunderstanding. It’s not what you think. I just wanted to get to know you. Things got a little out of hand yesterday. I know we shouldn’t have slept together without you knowing more about me. I’m so sorry. Please call me. It doesn’t matter what time. I’m sorry.
617-495-3087: I’m at your hotel. I’m going to wait for you here.
617-495-3087: Bernadette, I’m worried, can you tell me if you’re here and just ignoring me?
Well, that’s enough of that.
Worried? Worried? Why is he worried ? What right does he have to be worried ? Why am I even upset? Sure, it was probably the best sex of my freaking life, but I barely know the guy, I don’t have feelings for him, I don’t know him. I’m fine . This is fine . I’m not meant for this…for possibilities. I can love my friend, my work, my bike. I don’t need whatever the hell this was. I’m too broken. And apparently, I’m only attracted to men who want to manipulate me.
Sniffling with emotions I cannot possibly be expected to recognize or process, I rock my stupid glass trophy and stare at Ash’s texts.
I save his brother’s number in my contacts as ‘Ash-hole’ and feel a little better. Pulling up Uber, I order a ride and push slowly to my feet. I feel tired . I’m going to sleep until check-out, then drag myself to the airport, pay to have my shift checked, pick a podcast, and walk laps in the airport before my flight.
Bernie: I’m okay, P. A little drunk. You were right. It was him.
Pru: Jesus Bernie, where the hell have you been? Why are you drunk?
Bernie: I tried to outdrink a grandpa. I definitely lost. Going to my hotel now. See you tomorrow?
Pru: Do you need anything?
My heart aches heavily in my chest. If I didn’t exercise so much, I’d think I was having a heart attack.
Bernie: No. I love you.
Pru: Holy shit, you must be super drunk. I love you too. Text me when you’re in your room.
I mean to send her a thumbs up emoji, but think I send a flex instead. I mean, happy accidents am I right?
“You okay, miss?” the doorman asks as I step outside.
“Yep, just waiting for a ride.”
“Would you like me to call you a cab?”
I wave my phone and smile. “I got it. Thanks.”
Shortly after, my Uber pulls up, and I confirm with the driver, then scramble into the backseat. For three blissful minutes, I rest my eyes, holding my forehead to the cold window.
“Thanks,” I murmur to the driver and drag myself out of the backseat into the hotel lobby. I think my body is shutting down. I hardly remember the elevator ride or stumbling to my room across the creaky floor. Why I didn’t notice the thick legs stretched out across the hallway, I don’t know, but now I’m staring stupidly at Ash’s prone form. He’s sleeping.
What kind of hotel is this? Letting some random dude sleep outside of hotel rooms?
If I step over him into my room, he’ll fall in when I open the door. I could call the front desk. Maybe go get another room? Run, like I did with Stephen. That’s not really working out for me either.
It’s hard to know what’s the next right thing. It’s hard to know how much of the anger I’m feeling at Ash is for him or for Stephen.
Or myself.
A weird gurgle escapes me at that thought. I am so mad at myself for dreaming. Who knew my heart was so hungry for the idea of someone being this into me, that it just gobbled up some stranger’s bullshit like it didn’t have any calories.
I nudge Ash’s hip with the tip of my toe. His hand reaches out blindly and circles my ankle. I watch glumly as his eyes blink open slowly and he looks up my body, focusing on my face. A sweet smile spreads across his sleepy face until the memory of today snaps into place and he pushes quickly to his feet.
Serious, so serious looking.
“I need to get into my room,” I whisper, angling my body away from him. I eye him warily when he balls his fists in his pockets.
“Of course,” he watches me as he steps to the side, clearing the door. Just like that? I can’t help but think of another time I didn’t want to talk to a man. When he tried to stop me from leaving the house, tried to stop me from moving, tried to stop me at every step of dissolving what tied us together.
“Can we…can we talk before you go?”
“I don’t really know what there is to say.”
“Bernadette, I know this doesn’t look great, but it’s not what you think. I promise, I never wanted to–”
“Did you purposefully not tell me you worked at a university?”
He freezes, before nodding slowly.
“Did you…” God, I’m just realizing he probably knew exactly what conference I was attending. “Did you know about the research development conference? Were you there?”
Silence stretches between us and I rifle through my pockets looking for my room key—equal parts of me wanting to have something to do with my hands and to get the hell out of this conversation. I remind myself that I don’t owe this guy anything. I don’t need to do this.
“I did. I…um…I wasn’t there when you were attending the conference. But I…um…I was the keynote the first night.”
“So, when you were asking me if my conference started the next day you were…”
“I wasn’t sure if you recognized me,” he admits quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.
“You were testing me?” I consider throwing this stupid glass award at him. It would probably hurt; this thing is pretty damn solid.
“No, no. I–you said…” He rakes his hands in his hair and takes a deep breath. “You said you had a professor aversion and I really wanted to talk to you. That you don’t date people you work with. I just thought that if you got to know me, and then, well last night was not planned. I was going to tell you everything tonight.”
“How can you say it wasn’t planned? You literally had condoms in your wallet.” A new realization dawns on me. “Were you supposed to be at the conference? At tonight’s dinner?”
I juggle the glass. Should I throw it at his face or his dick?
Ash lets out a slow breath so I brace myself for impact.
“I was supposed to be there. I made an excuse to not participate. I didn’t want you to find out that way.”
“Because I’m some kind of secret? Are you married?” I’m done. I can’t do this again. I’m shaking my head and squeeze my left eye shut. I can prevent tears from exactly one eye.
I remind myself I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to hear him out. It was just meaningless sex, and now it’s over. My hands shake when I finally find my stupid keycard, quickly tapping it against the door sensor.
“Bernadette, no. No, you’re not. It’s not like that. I’m not married, I would never…I would never cheat. I just wanted you to know from me first, I didn’t want to surprise you in front of our colleagues.”
Our colleagues.
Oh my God. I am never going to be free of this fucking drama. The lock finally beeps and I open the door, rushing inside. Ash steps into the doorway, stopping it from closing, but he doesn’t come inside.
“Well, I know now. Sorry, I don’t want to fuck you anymore. Have a nice life I guess.” My back is to him and my throat is tight.
Why are you apologizing, Bernie?
“Bernie, please, can I come in?”
Something snaps inside me and I throw the stupid award on the floor. It breaks off the base with a satisfying thud. I turn towards Ash, and my body is shaking, rage as I’ve never felt before is consuming me, and I now understand why teenage boys punch walls. There’s nowhere for it to go. I want to hurt something, someone, as much as I’m hurting. I wrap my arms tightly around my waist so I don’t punch something.
“What I don’t understand is if you just wanted to fuck me, why make it seem like it was more? If you were just fucking with me, why try to make me like you?” I pinch the skin of my waist as hard as I can as I wait for him to answer.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he whispers. When Ash takes a step into my room, I shake my head sharply, stopping him in his tracks. I pinch my skin harder. I remind myself that I should have known better.
Happy endings don’t exist, Bernie. When will you fucking learn?
“I think you should go.” My face is starting to feel itchy. I need sleep. Or cry. Probably both. I pinch harder.
“Okay. Okay.” He pauses, raking his hands through his hair. “Look, there’s something you should know. It wasn’t announced in the Time article, and I don’t know how much you know about my work…” I hold up a hand shaking my head.
“Please, just go.”
He looks as lost as I feel. I don’t miss how shiny his eyes are or how he keeps clearing his throat. I’m not falling for this shit again, never fucking again.
“Okay, okay. You have my number. I’m, can I…can I call you in a couple of days?” I shake my head, and he nods slowly. “Okay. I’m sorry, I wish…I wish I could change things. Please remember that.”
I watch as he steps out and closes the door, the lock clicking into place. Muffled steps make their way slowly down the hall, and I hear the chime of the elevator.
When I lay in bed, I remember that alcohol is a depressant. That must be why I feel so damn sad. My side burns where I was pinching it and the anger drains away as it pulses. I pull the comforter up over my head and rub my face into the pillow.
It’s better to be alone. No one can lie to you if you don’t believe them in the first place.