from doing what you think you need to do,” he says. “But I’m also not going to sit by if I think you’re hurting yourself.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know if he’s agreeing to accept my decision or warning me that he’s not about to let this go. He signals to the waitress for the checks, and we pay for our food in silence.
I feel cold and empty as we walk back out to my car. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Deep down, I thought Ian would know exactly what to say, exactly how to make me feel better. Now I’m only more convinced that I’m a complete and utter mess.
“Is there a motel near here?” he asks as we climb into the car.
We hadn’t discussed where he was going to stay. But it’s probably not a good idea to invite him back to my room at Huntington Manor.
“There’s one near the highway,” I say. Neither of us says another word as I drive us over to the rundown little Barberville Inn just off the main interstate. Fortunately, Ian’s able to get a room without any trouble. I stand next to the driver’s side of my car while he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. I feel like I should apologize again—for letting him come here, for being awkward all evening. For everything in Thailand, too, because I can’t say it enough. But I’m tongue-tied. Or just scared, as usual.
Ian comes over to me, his suitcase in one hand. He rubs the back of his neck with the other.
“Would you…” His eyes, warm but uncertain, lift to mine. “Would you like to come upstairs for a little while? Maybe watch some TV or something?”
I could say no. I could get back in my car and drive back to Huntington Manor and pretend this never happened. But I don’t want things to end like this between us—all awkward, with so many things unspoken. And in spite of how things have gone this evening, I find that I’m not ready to leave him just yet.
I nod.
He smiles again, and there’s such genuine pleasure in the expression that I feel a little better. I follow him up the stairs to his room.
I’ve never been in a cheap motel before, but it looks exactly like all the movies led me to expect. The walls are a nondescript beige color (though there are a few strange stains of indeterminable origin). The only decor is a pastel beachscape over the bed—though if I’m being generous, the raggedy-looking fake tree in the far corner adds a few points to the ambiance as well. The colors of the bedspread match the painting, and the pillows are salmon pink. The whole place smells faintly of cigarette smoke.
I sink down on the edge of the bed, trying not to look too closely for unusual stains. Ian sets his suitcase by the closet and grabs the TV controller before sitting down beside me.
The room only gets four channels, and he settles on a game show. I stare at the screen, but I don’t really have the presence of mind to pay attention.
Neither does Ian, apparently. He shifts beside me, and I hear the long breath he takes before he speaks again.
“I just want you to be happy, Lou,” he says softly.
I turn and look at him. He’s staring back at me, and my heart swells. He was always too good for me. Too generous. Too giving.
“I’m trying,” I whisper. And then, “I’m happy to see you again.” Even if I’m bad for him, even if I can’t return his feelings, I want him to know that all those nights in Chiang Mai made a difference. That all those whispered comforts in the darkness helped me survive. That he means something to me—even if that something isn’t close to the something he wants.
But it’s enough for now.
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Me too.”
For a moment, we just keep looking at each other. And then his arm comes up around me. I should pull away, but then I remember the words from his email. It’s okay to need someone, Lou. It’s okay to need a friend. A gentle reassurance. I lean into him, and we’re nestled together once more.
His fingers move up and down my back. Once
I don’t respond. I don’t know if he’s agreeing to accept my decision or warning me that he’s not about to let this go. He signals to the waitress for the checks, and we pay for our food in silence.
I feel cold and empty as we walk back out to my car. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Deep down, I thought Ian would know exactly what to say, exactly how to make me feel better. Now I’m only more convinced that I’m a complete and utter mess.
“Is there a motel near here?” he asks as we climb into the car.
We hadn’t discussed where he was going to stay. But it’s probably not a good idea to invite him back to my room at Huntington Manor.
“There’s one near the highway,” I say. Neither of us says another word as I drive us over to the rundown little Barberville Inn just off the main interstate. Fortunately, Ian’s able to get a room without any trouble. I stand next to the driver’s side of my car while he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. I feel like I should apologize again—for letting him come here, for being awkward all evening. For everything in Thailand, too, because I can’t say it enough. But I’m tongue-tied. Or just scared, as usual.
Ian comes over to me, his suitcase in one hand. He rubs the back of his neck with the other.
“Would you…” His eyes, warm but uncertain, lift to mine. “Would you like to come upstairs for a little while? Maybe watch some TV or something?”
I could say no. I could get back in my car and drive back to Huntington Manor and pretend this never happened. But I don’t want things to end like this between us—all awkward, with so many things unspoken. And in spite of how things have gone this evening, I find that I’m not ready to leave him just yet.
I nod.
He smiles again, and there’s such genuine pleasure in the expression that I feel a little better. I follow him up the stairs to his room.
I’ve never been in a cheap motel before, but it looks exactly like all the movies led me to expect. The walls are a nondescript beige color (though there are a few strange stains of indeterminable origin). The only decor is a pastel beachscape over the bed—though if I’m being generous, the raggedy-looking fake tree in the far corner adds a few points to the ambiance as well. The colors of the bedspread match the painting, and the pillows are salmon pink. The whole place smells faintly of cigarette smoke.
I sink down on the edge of the bed, trying not to look too closely for unusual stains. Ian sets his suitcase by the closet and grabs the TV controller before sitting down beside me.
The room only gets four channels, and he settles on a game show. I stare at the screen, but I don’t really have the presence of mind to pay attention.
Neither does Ian, apparently. He shifts beside me, and I hear the long breath he takes before he speaks again.
“I just want you to be happy, Lou,” he says softly.
I turn and look at him. He’s staring back at me, and my heart swells. He was always too good for me. Too generous. Too giving.
“I’m trying,” I whisper. And then, “I’m happy to see you again.” Even if I’m bad for him, even if I can’t return his feelings, I want him to know that all those nights in Chiang Mai made a difference. That all those whispered comforts in the darkness helped me survive. That he means something to me—even if that something isn’t close to the something he wants.
But it’s enough for now.
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Me too.”
For a moment, we just keep looking at each other. And then his arm comes up around me. I should pull away, but then I remember the words from his email. It’s okay to need someone, Lou. It’s okay to need a friend. A gentle reassurance. I lean into him, and we’re nestled together once more.
His fingers move up and down my back. Once
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