He blushes in my gaze. His hand goes to his cheek. Self-conscious about his freckles. That’s why I stare at them. I guessed right.
“So where are you from?” he asks after several minutes watching Justin whisper arguments into the phone.
“Western New York,” I say brightly, as if I’m thrilled to chat with him. This is not a problem. If I act like it’s not a problem, it won’t be.
“Staten Island?”
“Outside Buffalo.”
He nods. Everyone seems to forget New York is more than a city, that there’s a world beyond the boroughs and the people who live there are real. But I don’t want to sound snotty and I’m worried maybe I did. I’m about to say more, and then Justin hangs up the phone and waves me over. I smile at Brian. “？’Scuse me for a sec.”
Justin tries to whisper in my ear when I sit next to him. “No,” I say quietly. “Smile. Talk softly, but smile.”
“My dad’s pissed that I didn’t come home for my internship interviews and he’s not going to pay for my dalliance.” He uses finger quotes. “But he won’t press charges.”
I feel my hands loosen up. I hadn’t noticed I’d clenched them into fists.
“He’s not going to take the hold off the card, though,” Justin says. “And if the hotel decides to arrest me, he won’t help. There’s nothing I can do. I have like ten bucks left.” He sobs and buries his head in my shoulder. I want to ask if his dad would pay if I just turned right around and drove him to Rochester, but I don’t feel like I can with how hard he’s crying. The terms are so completely different, but the disappointment is familiar.
“I’ll pay for it,” I say. “I have cash. I’ll fix it.”
His relief is instant and beautiful and being able to give that to someone else feels triumphant. I can do more than just survive. I can do more than take. He kisses me hard.
Brian is still watching. I give him a thumbs up. Cool as a cucumber. But there’s a slight scuffle when I tell Brian I have to go up to the room to get money to pay him. He insists on coming with me while Justin stays in the lobby.
“So, Buffalo,” Brian says in the elevator, his breath loud in the small space. He stands closer than he needs to and I wonder if his insistence on coming with me is about more than making sure we don’t bolt. “Good wings.”
“Of course,” I say, smiling.
He smiles back. “I like wings.”
I get the feeling there’s another way to solve this. He’s not so awful, just sad and spent. It wouldn’t be the worst way to get out of a bad spot.
The elevator doors open. We walk down the hall together and I think about Ray and the crunch of his foot bones under my tire. His black-framed glasses. How he rolled the flyer from my show in his hands and seemed so harmless and earnest. I try not to think about that burnt rubber smell, but then it’s like the air won’t fill my lungs anymore and the things that are real hide behind my thoughts.
I stop smiling at Brian. I swipe my room key. Rummage through my bag. I pretend I don’t notice the way he watches me from the doorway. He holds the door open with his back, and I’m relieved to feel like I could scream and be heard. That he understands the need for that courtesy.
“Here,” I say, handing Brian a hundred and forty dollars. “Can you tell Justin I’ll meet him in the car?” He looks like he doesn’t want to leave me in the room.
“I just want to pack up and use the restroom,” I say.
He shifts his weight and the door swings shut. I gasp. I don’t mean to. He’s shocked. It was an accident. He’s scared that he scared me. Worried what I think. He reaches for the door handle.
“Sure,” he says. “Give him the change?”
“Keep it.” I don’t know if I’m supposed to tip. I don’t stay in places this nice. If a tip is expected, it’s a terrible one.
“Have a nice trip,” he says. “I’m sorry about… all the confusion.”
He shuts the door and the tears come fast. I run into the bathroom and splash cold water, but it feels like drowning. I cough and sputter and cry like there’s something inside me trying to escape.
Deep breaths and I sit on the bed and put my head between my knees. In. Out. Dig my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my opposite hand. I get it under control. Choke it down. Banished to the very bottom of my lungs. But still there.
* * *
When I get to the car, Justin is sitting on the trunk, with his duffle bag in his lap, swinging his legs. He smiles and waves when he sees me. I expected him to be upset about his dad, but relief has made him perky.