It’s all I can do to not tell him that he can get another room. But even I know that is a bad idea to say in a hotel hallway where we haven’t ascertained how thick the walls might be and who precisely is on this floor.
We stop at the doorway. “Well, that’s it!” I give a bright smile. “That was a short distance.”
“Yes.”
I glance at the two bags that Florian is carrying. “It probably felt longer foryou.”
He blinks.
“Since you were carrying something,” I add, lest I accidentally offend him or something.
I open the door, and he holds the door open for me. I hesitate, then realize he is still carrying all sorts of things and rush into the fancy room.
“Well, I’m strong. It felt short to me too,” he says.
I roll my eyes.
He chuckles.
A loud noise sounds, and we glance behind us.
The door slammed shut.
We are alone in a hotel room together.
Florian
Mateo’s face has frozen in something between a smile or a grimace.
“How are you feeling?” I ask carefully.
“Fine!” He beams. “Fine! Fine!” Then he blinks, and he’s probably going to apologize because he thinks I can only hear the word ‘fine’ so many times before I combust.
“Good.” I walk further into the room. It’s nice. American hotel rooms are large, and this is no exception. A palm tree waves in front of the balcony.
I open the door of the balcony and step into the thick muggy air.
Insects hum. The pool shimmers below. Children scream, and some of the guys on our team are chatting to some women in bikinis. Somehow the women’s hair is perfect, even though there is a pool beside them.
“Is this like Puerto Rico?” I ask Mateo.
He joins me on the balcony. “Sort of. I like the hot weather.”
“When did you leave?”
“When I was twelve. My parents divorced, and my mother moved to Worcester. Some of her friends had moved there.”
“And you liked Worcester?”
“Well…” He frowns.
“It must have been cold.”
“Yeah, it was. But that wasn’t the problem. I mean, snow is fun, right? Snow days at unexpected times.” He gives a bright smile. “And it’s close to Boston. Not that we went. Well, a few times on the commuter rail. But we could have gone. But it’s…”
“Were people homophobic?”
He looks alarmed. “No. People were great. But it’s where—” And even though Mateo is a much better talker than I am, even though English is both of our second languages, he’s suddenly silent.
