14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
“Hand me those glasses.” Kevin gestures to the stack to my right. “I’ll take them to the back.”
I slide him the glasses. Champagne flutes, tumblers, and crumpled cocktail napkins are scattered on the bar top. The Cerulean last hosted the Gerald Grant Society five years ago, and I haven’t missed it. As much as I root for any nonprofit charity organization, I have my doubts about this one. Maybe it is all in the name of raising money for the African Forest Elephant, or maybe it’s just an excuse for the wealthy to grease each other’s palms. But I’ll never know. That knowledge is above my pay grade.
The floor-to-ceiling windows bathe the room in a soft glow from the waning afternoon sunlight. Precious gold fabrics and six massive chandeliers dangle from the ceiling. The mess left behind tarnishes a normally enchanting room.
I weave through the chaos, collecting dessert plates and cutlery. My eyes drift to Laryssa, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during our clean-up. I hurry to her and get there in just a few strides, with a grey dish tub on my hip.
“Good to know that even the rich are slobs,” I say, nodding toward the messy table in front of us.
Laryssa sighs while she strips the silverware from it. “Yeah. It humanizes them a little.”
She’s been subdued all day, and it makes me wonder if it has anything to do with the call from her mother she got the day after her birthday. My hunch is that Aiko Matsui is the reason Laryssa is so quiet these days, even though she hasn’t brought it up. I’ve known Laryssa for a while now, and only when she speaks to her mother does she retreat into herself like this.
My fingers graze her arm. “Hey… are you okay?”
She only nods when she drops the cutlery into the grey tub I’m holding.
We’re quiet for a bit until I can’t handle it anymore. She unloads a pile of dessert plates and wipes her hands on the back of her jeans.
“Come on. Talk to me, L.” Laryssa stops and looks at me. “Is it your mom? Did you call her back?”
Her shoulders are tense, and her eyes are watery. My heart starts racing, and my mind grabs on to the worst possible scenario. What did her mom say to her? And would Laryssa mind if I kicked her mom’s ass for making her this upset? From my limited interaction with the woman, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything Laryssa tells me.
“I called her back. Which was a huge mistake.” Her voice is devoid of any emotion.
“What happened?” I urge.
She tips her head back and shakes it. There’s a second where I think she’ll break down right in front of me, but Laryssa only takes a breath and composes herself.
“She let me have it. Like she does every year on my birthday.” She sighs, and I can hear the exhaustion in it. “I thought it would go differently this year. My fault for thinking that.”
“What did she say?”
“Just the same crap… That I’m not living up to my potential and that I’m her worst disappointment. Something along those lines. But it doesn’t matter; I didn’t listen to it for long. The beauty of cellphones is that I can hang up whenever I want.”
The pain in Laryssa’s eyes makes my stomach wobble because I understand that defence mechanism all too well. We make jokes about our pain so that it doesn’t penetrate. We laugh because if we let it sink in, we’ll cry. I can’t blame her for avoiding thinking or talking about how much her mother affects her. I do the same. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t force her to, but she needs to know I understand.
“Shit… I’m sorry.” I grab her hand. “I’m the one who suggested you call her back.”
“It was my decision, Monroe. And you know what? I’m glad I called her. We hadn’t spoken in more than a year, and I was feeling guilty for not reaching out. But this was the final straw. She doesn’t get to tell me how to live my life while simultaneously tearing me down.”
I’ve never been prouder of my best friend than at this moment. Laryssa’s strength is amazing. She doesn’t just talk about setting boundaries; she sticks to them. It’s something I can learn from. It’s something I’m trying to work on with Harriet.
“I’m here if you want to talk about it some more.”
“I know.” Laryssa smiles warmly. “Let’s finish up here and grab a drink. Or three. I think I need it.”
The two of us are quiet as we work, each taking a side of the massive ballroom, until every inch of the place is spotless. By the time we finish, sweat prickles on my forehead. Loose hairs keep getting in my eyes, so I brush them away.
I can’t stop replaying my conversation with Harriet from last week in my head, analyzing it until, eventually, I give in and apologize. Because for as much as I know her routine down to a science, she knows mine. And she knows I can’t stand to be at odds with her, even when she’s the one who is in the wrong. She’s waiting for the apology to come from me so we can move past our little tiff without ever addressing it properly. That’s how it always goes.
Like an old habit I just can’t kick, I pace back and forth in the parking lot of Motel 8. I’m getting ready to make things right with Harriet after our fight. I sigh and rub my face. Will it always be this way? Seems like it today.
I don’t know which room she’s staying in, but seeing as there is only one room with their door open, I take a chance. For a motel in Florida, it’s fine. But honestly, who am I kidding? It looks like someone doused the whole place in gasoline and let it burn for a week straight. Sheet siding accompanies the splintering concrete. I keep my eyes down as I walk past a few dodgy characters, not feeling like getting stabbed today.
The chipped paint on the green door welcomes me as I rap lightly, not spying anyone in the room. Harriet suddenly appears from the bathroom, and she stops towel-drying her wet hair when she sees me, her smile lines flattening.
“Hi,” I say, remaining outside. “Sorry I didn’t come by sooner. Been busy with work.”
She nods but then goes back to what she was doing and plops down on the bed. It groans under her weight, old bed springs coming to life.
“Doesn’t matter much to me.” The cold shoulder today. Fine.
I suck in a breath and try not to snap at her. “I’m here, okay? Doesn’t that mean something?”
She’s giving me a look like she’s not satisfied with my apology. My sneakers dig into the hideously green carpet as I step into the room.
“I’m sorry,” I concede.
“For?” she perks up, her teeth nipping at her fingernails.
“Yelling at you, saying you were a terrible mother.”
She nods, getting up from the bed. “We all have our bad days.” She grasps my shoulders. “Come ‘er.”
Harriet suffocates me in a crushing hug. My lungs feel like they’re about to collapse. But that might not be so much from the hug as it might just be from being around her. She pulls back, squeezing my arm.
“Are we okay?” I ask. My voice sounds shaky, not as confident as I want it to be.
“Sure.”
She turns around and throws her towel on the bed. Then, she grabs her pack of cigarettes from the small coffee table and takes one.
I raise my brows as she sticks it between her lips. “Are you really going to smoke in here?”
Harriet eyes the cigarette, then me, and shrugs. “Have you seen this place? Not like it could get much worse.”
I’ve seen crappy motels, but this place takes the cake. It’s cramped. Even having two people stay here would call for some special manoeuvring of some kind, the single bed looking as cheap and bedbug-ridden as one can get.
“Yeah, it’s not the best. Couldn’t you find a better place?”
She takes a puff from the cigarette, blows it out, and chuckles. “Not all of us can be rich like you.”
“Believe me, if I was rich, I wouldn’t be living where I am now.”
“At least you have a place. Unlike me, who’s just bouncing from one temporary home to the next.” My heart pinches, and guilt manifests. “But that’s life.”
Harriet leans over the table and dabs the cigarette into the ashtray, putting it out.
Nerves prick my skin, and I clear my throat. “What if you didn’t need to stay here?”
“Where would I go?”
I brace myself as I pitch her my idea. “What if you stayed with me?” When I see Harriet’s face brighten, I continue. “I have a couch. Even an extra set of sheets.”
“Oh, baby.” She runs to me and hugs me again. Her reaction is automatic, like she’s been trying to get me to this solution the whole time. It’s as if she intentionally made me feel bad because she’s here and I have this nice, crappy apartment all to myself. “Let me get my things, roomie.”
Fucking hell. What have I done?
About three hours later, Harriet is all settled in my apartment. Pulling out my wisdom teeth without local anesthesia would have been better than helping her rearrange my living room furniture. She claimed it wasn’t Feng Shui enough for her. I was surprised that she knew what that term meant. It was basically an hour of me attempting to move my couch alone from one side of the room to the other while Harriet simply pointed where I should move it next.
My mission now is to get us some food, using my always empty fridge as the excuse I need to get some air. I’ve spent less than a whole evening with her, and I’m already avoiding her in my own home. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting Harriet stay with me for an unforeseeable amount of time. We have nothing in common, we barely talk, and whatever we have is surface level at best.
I make a turn and head down the street. My apartment is close to some fancier restaurants and bars. I’m not sure what’s open at this hour, but I need to find something. I don’t even know what kind of food she likes.
With a laugh, I tilt my head up to the sky. The indigo night stares back at me. My mind is filled with a million different thoughts, all circling Harriet and what she wants from me.
“What am I doing?” I mumble to myself.
There’s a moment where it’s just me and my noisy thoughts until I hear someone call my name.
“Monroe!” the voice calls. “I thought that was you.”
Wendell comes up to me, a bright, friendly smile on his face. I look past him, eyeing the hanging sign just above his head. I’m right in front of Heron Lounge, an Indian spot near the beach.
I’ve never been, considering it would be in poor taste to only order naan the whole night—probably the only thing on the menu I can afford.
“Oh.” He catches me off guard. It feels odd seeing a guest off the resort premises. “Um, hey.”
“It’s funny running into you here. Are you getting a bite to eat?”
“Trying to find a place that’s open, at least,” I shrug.
Wendell gives me a mischievous look. “I don’t think many places are open this late.”
“Yeah, looks like convenience store ramen is on the menu tonight,” I agree and scratch my arm absentmindedly.
Wendell looks back at the restaurant and then at me with a smirk on his face.
“That won’t do. I can’t in good conscience let you do that, Monroe. Please, why don’t you join us?”
I know I’m asking for trouble, but I can’t help myself. “Us?”
He gives a sharp nod. “Alden and me. We were just about to order when I spotted you.”
I must look insane with how wildly I’m waving my arms. “No, no, that’s okay. I should really get—”
“I promise we don’t bite, and I’ll make sure Alden behaves.” My stomach growls. It gets louder and basically gives me up. Wendell glances at my stomach before his eyes find mine again. “I think that’s a sign you should take me up on my offer.”
I don’t want to share a meal or anything else with Alden, but I’m also famished. Hunger overrides any other good sense I have to turn Wendell down.
I let out a tired breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. “All right. But I can’t stay long. And I need samosas, or I’m out of here.”
Wendell laughs as he ushers me through the door. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”