Andy nodded. “There’s a gym on the ground floor,” he said. “There’s a treadmill and yoga mats and stuff like that. No one’s in there. I checked. I know it’s not—not great,” he said, stammering, “but it’s quiet, and there’s a TV, and I can bring you more blankets, and…”
“That’s a good idea,” Morgan said. “Will you stay with me?”
Andy swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
Morgan followed him down the stairs. She was thinking about her mother, and how Lily would feel when she woke up and saw Morgan’s bed empty, and Morgan’s phone on the bed. She knew she should have left a note or sent a text. Too late for that now, though.
“Follow me.” Andy led her down a hallway on the hotel’s first floor and used his room key to open the door marked FITNESS CENTER, which turned out to be a small room with a mirrored wall and a padded, wipeable rubber floor. Lined up in front of the mirrors were a single treadmill, an elliptical machine, a pyramid of hand weights, and a stack of yoga mats. A television hung on the wall in the corner, and below it, there was a table with a miniature refrigerator full of pint-size bottles of water, a stack of hand towels, and a bowl of oranges and waxy-looking apples.
Andy piled the yoga mats against the wall, arranging the pillow and the blanket on top. Morgan sat down, cross-legged, and after a minute, Andy sat beside her.
“Do you want some water?” he asked. “Or—or tea, maybe? They put out tea and coffee in the lobby.”
She nodded. “Tea, please,” she said. Andy went to get it, and Morgan watched him go, wondering why she couldn’t have dated a nice guy like Andy. His attention made her feel soft inside, sweet and gooey, like when she and her mom used to make candy, and the hot sugar would change from individual grains to a soft ball of caramel on the stove.
Morgan didn’t want to think about her mother. She did not want to remember the way her mom had showed her how to use the back of a spoon to stretch the caramel, or how they’d watched together as its color went from amber to glossy dark brown. She didn’t want to think about how the smell of sugar mixed with the scent of the pine needles from the Christmas tree in the living room, or sitting next to her mom on the couch, using needle and thread to make popcorn and cranberry garlands, while her dad sang carols and built a fire in the living-room fireplace. There would be no more Christmases like that if her mother knew what she’d done. Morgan probably wouldn’t even be allowed to come home.
She groaned and collapsed on her side, her head on the pillow, the blanket pulled up to her chin. When Andy came back, she pretended to be asleep, listening as he set the cup down on the floor, then sat at the foot of her makeshift bed. At some point, feigned sleep became real, because, when she opened her eyes again, an hour had passed, and Andy was looking down at her, biting his lip.
“My mom keeps texting,” he said, holding his phone. Morgan saw that it was after eight o’clock. “Your mom—I think she’s really worried. She doesn’t know where you are, and she wants to call the police.”
Morgan gulped. “Did you tell your mom where you are?” she asked, her voice very small.
Andy shook his head. “I didn’t answer any of her texts.”
“Okay.”
“But I think you need to talk to her. Or one of us does. She needs to know that you’re okay.”
Morgan stared up at him. “I can’t.”
Andy’s throat jerked, and he rubbed his hands on his shorts. “You can’t avoid her for the rest of the trip. You were going to say you had cramps, right?” His face got a little red.
Morgan nodded. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the bottle, read the directions she’d already committed to memory: Place 4 misoprostol pills （200 mcg each） between your cheeks and gums and hold them there for 30 minutes as they dissolve. You should not speak or eat for these 30 minutes, so it is good to be someplace quiet where you will not be disturbed. After 30 minutes, drink some water and swallow everything that is left of the pills. This is also a good time to take a painkiller like ibuprofen, as the cramping should start within three hours.
“Wait,” she said. Before Andy could say anything, before she could second-guess herself, she opened the bottle, shook the pills into her hand, and tucked them between her cheeks and gums, two on each side, wincing at the bitter taste as the medication began to dissolve, watching the clock until thirty minutes had passed. It’s done, she thought. Her heart was pounding with elation and terror, shame and regret, and relief. More than anything else, relief that she’d done it and that, soon, it would all be over.