Public Relations

Chapter 19: Mia

We get out into the drizzle. She opens the trunk as I throw my bag over my shoulder. I try not to stare - the woman is enormous, like, could-fight-a-bear-and-win strong. She hands me my carry-on like it weighs nothing.

"Listen," she says firmly, her gaze unwavering on mine. I stand erect, feeling slightly like a child about to be scolded by their teacher. "You will have to figure it out with man. Even if it does not work. Must be sorted or you will suffer."

I nod vacantly, scared she'll snap me in half if I say the wrong thing. But she does the opposite - she embraces me in a hug I hadn't realized I needed. Then she's back in the car and pulling out into the road with liberal use of her horn, and I'm not convinced that moment was even real.

The hotel greets me with a warm lobby and a tired receptionist. Brett's already at the desk, checking in. I stand behind him, but he steps aside to make room for me.

"Ah, this is my partner," he says. "We're on the same reservation. She'll have the other room."

The woman taps some things into her keyboard, her acrylics clacking against the keys to create a sound that gave me goosebumps. She reaches over to hand us both two keys to our respective rooms.

I'm not sure what rom-com I thought I was living in, but I half-expected one room with just one bed. I'm thankful to not have to sort that out right now.

"Two each," she says. "Rooms 904 and 905. Call if you need anything. And grab a free cookie to your right."

Brett's head snaps to the plate of cookies, wrapped in cellophane and sealed with a THANK YOU sticker. He grabs two and leads us to the elevators.

We ride in silence to the ninth floor, then make it all the way to our doors.

We start to speak at the same time.

"Oh, you first," he says, almost bashfully.

His hair is fussed slightly to the right, and my fingers ache to fix it, knowing good and damn well it can't be fixed. It's just so soft, so homey. I think about how it felt in my hands when we were -

"I was just going to say we should each have one copy of keys to each room. I don't need a spare."

We exchange our extra keys, careful to avoid physical contact as we do.

"What were you going to say?"

Brett shifts his weight to his other foot. "I was going to ask if you've eaten."

I haven't, but I know if I tell him that he'll do something painfully kind, like ordering us a full spread of food to be delivered, or getting room service straight to the door. I can't stomach that kind of gesture right now, not when I just want to be mad at him, to push him back to the arm's length he used to be at.

"I had some food in the airport."

"Six hours ago?"

"It was a big meal."

Brett stares me down, a challenging look I almost shrink beneath. "Mia, be so for real."

"I'm so exhausted," I sigh. "I'm just going to bed."

He holds out the cookie. "At least eat this?"

I don't have enough fight in me to protest, so I take the cookie and mumble a thank you. We agree to meet first thing in the morning.

I amble through my room, unpacking my bag with a certain degree of neuropathy to lay out my outfits in the closet. I take a scalding hot shower and curse every person I've ever known, Olga included, though that one doesn't feel as good, and wrap myself into some clean pajamas.