What the serious fuck is going on and why isn’t Brady jumping out of the seat? Did what happened in Barcelona mean nothing to him? I know I’ve been distant but I was trying to figure out what to do with what I know. But now Brady is the one acting weird. He has to know that it fucking kills me to see this dickwad flirting so aggressively, but Brady is eating it up. I get in the car and squeeze next to him. I want to put my arm around Brady’s waist but Otto already has that space occupied and Brady doesn’t seem to mind. I can feel my throat tighten and a vein in my neck pulse.
“Be careful with that door,” Otto scolds. “The handle iskaputI am afraid. We don’t want you flying out of the car, I guess.” I’m sure Otto would like nothing more than to arrive in Berlin alone with Brady after dumping my body on the autobahn. For a second I think Brady is trying to wriggle out from Otto’s arm. I swear if Otto is coming on to Brady without Brady wanting the attention I will punch him in the face. But I take a deep breath and try to release myself from the toxic masculinity I learned growing up where I did. Brady hates it when I get “foolishly macho,” as he once said when I punched a wall.
Brady can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me to protect him from anything, and that realization is even more painful than realizing fun-loving, zany Otto might be a better fit for Brady than I ever could be. Otto has no problem showing Brady exactly what he wants. He lives in the moment the way Brady does. They are both so confident and sure of whatever feeling they’re having.
I grab the door; I have to keep one hand on it to keep it shut. We fly down the highway toward the city center with wind so intense it makes it impossible to hear anything Otto is saying, and that’s fine by me. It’s going to take all my strength and concentration to make sure the door of the car stays shut.
Otto revs the car’s engine unnecessarily and I pull the brake on my decision to tell Brady what I heard in Barcelona and how I might be feeling. It’s too complicated. I thought I was changing in a way that I could handle all this but I should stick to anatomy books and test tubes.
Brady deserves someone who can match his ability to connect and feel. Every feeling I have has to go through some bizarre ten-point inspection plan my mind has created before I even think of letting it out. My logical brain tells me that if our night in Barcelona meant anything to Brady, he wouldn’t be in this situation with Otto right now. If Brady wants us to go back to where we were at the beginning of the summer, then fine. But a small voice tells me I’m intimidated by Otto’s bravado and not examining the evidence objectively. Maybe Otto is a better match for Brady. Or maybe I’m just a coward afraid to tell Brady the truth about everything.
Chapter 25
Berlin
Brady
After dealing with the shadows and fog of Hayes’ moods in sunny Barcelona it’s nice to be in Berlin where motivations are clearer, even if there are more literal shadows and fog. When Otto wants something, he tells you. He charges ahead and isn’t afraid of showing his feelings. If Hayes is uncomfortable with Otto’s arm around my waist, he’s going to have to find a way to “use his words,” as I tell Gemma.
Pine forests line the modern highway on our way out of the airport but it doesn’t take long until we are on the surface roads where each block contains a chaotic mixture of elegant cafes with white tablecloths and striped awnings neighbor doner kebab shops with open windows and customers standing around eating over-stuffed sandwiches and drinking beer. None of the other cities have had as much graffiti, and it seems elevated here. I see political, artistic and commercial pieces and some combine all three elements, like a neon yellow and purple image of two world leaders kissing under a Nike swoosh.
Barcelona was sunshine and sand but Berlin is greener, with tree-lined streets and small parks with playgrounds and plenty of shade. Every so often I catch a glimpse of the Spree river that runs through the city.
“Let me take a little detour so I can show you just some of what I know about Berlin,” Otto says, and we make a turn so sharp it pushes my body against Otto and pulls me further away from Hayes. “Very few straight lines in Berlin. It isn’t one of those cities with rigid grids of blocks and numbered avenues.” Otto has one eye on the road and one eye on me. “Berlin grew organically, even chaotically at times over centuries. That’s one of the reasons I love it.” Otto holds me more tightly and I can feel Hayes’ leg tense.
“Don’t we have a call scheduled with Aisha?” Hayes shouts in my ear so I can hear him over the wind.
“Yes, but I think we’ll make it,” I say, trying to keep everyone happy.
“We won’t. He’s driving in the wrong direction.” I can feel how annoyed Hayes is even though most of his body is turned toward the door, his hand pulling it toward him so it doesn’t fly open.
As we make our approach to the city center, Otto explains the history of the gleaming dome of the Reichstag building and the way the Brandenburg Gate has been a center for protest. “You might see what look like holes on the surface of some of the older buildings,” he says as we drive by a dark stone structure with an orange tile roof. A stream of marks is scattered between two windows.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Bullet marks from World War II. Berlin is a place where history is very heavy, but that means it is also a place where new things can take hold.”
I feel Hayes squirm in his seat. I’m sure he’s thinking about the serious history of this place, but also being reminded of the pact we made on the beach about our new friendship, which failed as soon as it was tested.
The Berlin location of For Us is on the edge of a bustling shopping district in Prenzlauer Berg, down a quiet street in a former East German chocolate factory that was closed once the wall came down. Otto pulls up to a severe-looking geometric concrete building with industrial windows that repeat across the facade. The words For Us are displayed in bright emerald script over the original sign readingschokoladein a sleek Bauhaus-influenced font.
“Sonia sent me a text I need to ask her about. Hayes, I can send out a porter if you can’t handle the luggage.” Otto says and then runs into the hotel.
“I got it,” Hayes shouts.
“I didn’t know he was going to pick us up from the airport,” I say as soon as Otto is inside. Hayes doesn’t respond. We get out of the car and a woman with blond hair in a short bob wheels down the ramp at the hotel entrance. This must be the concierge, Sonia.
“Hello, I’m Brady and this is Hayes. You must be Sonia.”
She stops her chair abruptly. “Yes, hello. We had a video conference set up for you in the business center but I am afraid you missed it. There was some important news. But Aisha had another meeting she had to attend. She could not accommodate your lateness.” I can feel Hayes telepathically communicatingI told you so.“Aisha said she will be in touch.” I can’t tell if her tone is severe or if it’s a cultural thing.
“Great,” Hayes says, folding his arms. “I told you he would makes us late.” He almost grunts the words.
Otto returns. “Is everything okay?” He bends down and kisses Sonia on both cheeks.
“Yes, thanks to you, Otto,” Sonia says, smiling brightly for the first time, any sign of severity vanished. “I was about to explain the little problem and the wonderful solution.”
“Thanks to Otto?” Hayes asks. I can tell he doesn’t like the sound of this, and neither do I.
