The Haverfords’ wealth has always seemed like a freeing agent to me, slapping down a credit card whenever you want and not having to worry, but maybe all that money is the kryptonite Mr. Haverford uses to keep his sons in line. To fast-track them on his predetermined routes to success.
I’d take my weird family over that any day.
“I’m just so tired, Wren,” Derick says.
I hold him then. Tight and close. Hoping he feels my rapidly beating heart that’s working overtime to soothe him. He’s emotionally shown up for me so many times this summer. Anything he needs from me in this moment, I’ll give it to him.
“Would sleep help?” I ask. He nods into my shoulder, so I take his hand and lead him out into the crosswalk. Away from the site of the phone conversation that stuck a knife into our evening. Sometimes, you only need a change of scenery to reset.
Upon our return to the hotel, the lobby is quiet and empty. A lone security guard sits playing solitaire on his phone. He tips his hat to us as we pass.
On the eighth floor, Derick rummages around for the key cards. A swipe, a green light, and a lengthy beep later, we’re inside the room. It’s fancy. There are two bedside tables, two huge windows looking out onto the rooftop garden, two suitcases set beside the dark wooded wardrobe, two of us standing in the doorway, but there’s one problem: there’s only one bed.
A single California king sits up against the chestnut accent wall.
“Shit.” Derick’s face falls. “When I called to book under my parents’ account, they asked if I wanted to request their usual room, and I didn’t really think about what that meant. I just assumed they asked for something nice.”
“It’s okay.” We endured a platonic couch cuddle. This isn’t that different. At least we’ll be comfier.
“No, it’s not. I messed this up. Jesus, I can’t even disobey my parents right.” He clasps his hands behind his neck. The strain in his arm muscles is enough to let me know that the earlier feelings are resurfacing tenfold. “I can call down to see if they have a cot. That’s what I’ll do.” He surveys the room as he moves to the phone. There’s no way a cot would fit in this slender space even if they did have one. He must realize this too because he says, “You know what? I can sleep in the desk chair. I’m sure they can send up an extra blanket.”
“That sounds unnecessarily uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be fine. No worries. I don’t want to crowd you.” In frustration, he unzips his suitcase to find his shaving bag, only it’s buried under a bunch of shirts. He digs until I gently catch his hand. I stroke the back of it. Once. Twice. His fingers uncurl.
“Can you look at me for a sec?” He meets my eyes. “You won’t crowd me. There’s more than enough room for both of us.” His strained expression softens into gratitude.
“You’re sure?” he asks with sweet hesitation that sends my soul to outer space and back.
“I’m more than sure.”
We brush our teeth side by side at the sink. He spits. I spit. I break him off a piece of floss. It’s choreography we already know by heart. How? I haven’t figured that out yet. But the comfort of it seems to do wonders for his state of mind.
He lets me change in the bedroom, while he remains in the bathroom. I draw back the velvety duvet and sink myself into the softest sheets I’ve ever slept on. I take a moment to check my inpouring of texts from earlier.
The 3Bee Gees group chain blew up to ask for my input on their going-out outfits, and I missed them. They must’ve been getting ready to head to the club since they weren’t on shift. The most recent texts read:
WREN! Avery asked Stacia about the stamps FINALLY and is now buying her a drink.
WREN!! Avery is dancing with Stacia to Robyn
WREN!!! AVERY AND STACIA ARE KISSING.
WITH THEIR MOUTHS.
YOU ARE MISSING THIS.
The thread stopped until Avery wrote:
Hope you enjoyed the show
Mateo types:
@Wren what’s the status in NYC?
I write:
It’s had its ups and downs, but overall, it’s…kind of perfect???
