“Okay,” he says. “Bedtime.”
Grace spreads out like a starfish and gets as far as unbuttoning her shorts before passing out again. Freddie turns her on her side, and when he sees my questioning look, he explains, “Don’t want her to choke on her own puke or something.”
“Sure, don’t want that,” I murmur sarcastically as I lock the door—three deadbolts and a chain.
“I can sleep in the Jacuzzi,” he volunteers.
“That thing looks like a giant bowl of herpes.” I shake my head. “Besides, if I’m getting bedbugs, so are you.”
He cracks a smile, but just for a second.
I take the bathroom first, but the grimy floors and rusting sink have me moving quicker than normal. I hover above the toilet to pee and am careful not to swallow any water when I brush my teeth. I bet people might walk into my trailer and be as grossed out as I am by this hotel room, but I guess at home at least I know whose butt has beenwhere. If anything, this gross room is a distraction from the elephant in the room. The very drunk elephant.
While Freddie takes his turn in the bathroom, I slip into a pair of old boxer shorts and one of Dad’s old undershirts. I take one last look at Grace and pull the blanket at the foot of her bed up to her chest.
This is not how I expected tonight to go. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Grace leaving me there at that pool. Her voice rings in my ears, telling me I’m just a phase. I try to block it all out, but even when I force my head to bite back the memories of tonight, I can hear her breathing. Right here. Less than three feet away from me. I force myself to breathe through the tears.
By the time Freddie comes out, I’ve turned off all the lights and have decided to play Russian roulette with the bedbugs by sleeping underneath the covers.
“Fuck,” whispers Freddie as he stubs his toe on the corner of the bed.
“Are you okay?” I whisper back. “Sorry, I should have waited to turn the lights off.”
“It’s fine.”
“Follow my voice.”
His silhouette shuffles along the side of the bed, careful of his other nine toes. “I can sleep on top of the blankets if you want.”
“Scared you’re gonna get me pregnant or something? Come on. Get in.”
He does, and I immediately realize how small a doublebed actually is. And how weird it is to sleep next to someone with hairy legs.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
“Okay.” His voice is slow with hesitation.
“I’ve never dated a black guy either.”
“Har, har,” he says.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” I tell him.
His breath is warm and minty. “Yeah, I guess we both had high hopes.”
I feel tears rolling down my face and onto the pillow. But it’s so dark that I don’t care, and I hope that Freddie feels like he can cry, too. I can feel the pain we both share like a cloud hovering over us.
I wonder, for a moment, what it would be like if we could take these feelings we have for other people and pour them into each other, like that could in some way fill the empty space eating the both of us up. It’s not that easy, though.
It’s in that moment, in that moldy, decrepit motel room, that I realize how much we have in common. We are both so much in love... or lust or infatuation—whatever you want to call it. And it doesn’t matter how much either of us wants to make it work. We have to be wanted back, because this shit is a two-way street.
Sleeping in the same room with Grace but not in the same bed is a stark realization. It’s like hearing someone has passed away, but not being able to believe it until you see their body for yourself. This is the moment when I know once and for all that I’m searching forsomething—something I can’t even articulate. The only thing I can say without a doubt is that whatever I need, it’s nothing Grace Scott can give me.
I fall asleep with my knees tucked into my chest and Freddie only inches away.
FOURTEEN
In the morning it’s not an alarm that wakes me, but the sound of Grace puking.
