by Mariah Dietz
“How did things go with your dad?”
“Chloe, I need to talk to you about something,” he says, licking his lips.
I wish I’d turned down that champagne or that my thoughts weren’t all tangled around the fact I have so few secrets and just this one lie, and somehow everything is combusting at once, distracting me from being able to focus on this moment and this expression that is so unfamiliar and for some reason hauntingly painful. I blow out a shallow breath and nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
His jaw flexes. “First.” He leans forward and kisses me. It’s gentle and sweet and has me leaning into him, wanting more. He brings his forehead against mine for a moment and then takes a step back. “My dad wants me to be his successor. He wants me to train with him and my grandad and prepare to take over the company, possibly as soon as five years from now.” He scoffs, then proceeds to shake his head. “I know it won’t be five years. It probably won’t be for ten years, maybe longer.”
My brows furrow with his apparent annoyance. “Ty, that’s great.”
His jaw flexes again, his eyes boring into mine. “He wants me to learn in London. In England.”
It feels like an earthquake has just hit, and the tectonic plates below us are separating, creating a massive void as I work to understand what this means. “When?”
“Now.”
Tears cloud my eyes as I roll my lips together, recalling this trip and previous conversations of Ty professing his admiration and love for the hotel and his aspirations to one day lead it.
“Wait, now as in … now?”
He nods. “Tell me not to go.”
“What?”
“I will tell him no.”
“You can’t. This is your dream—what you’ve worked so hard for. What you want.”
He closes his eyes, pain tugging at his lips. “I want you.”
I set the gift bag down and lace my hands around his neck. “I am so proud of you, and I care so much about you, but I can’t ask you to give up your future, your dreams. You have to go, Ty.”
His forehead rests against mine again. “We can figure this out.”
I bring my arms down around his waist, holding him so close I think about cold welding again and how, regardless of distance, I know a part of me will be wherever he is.
A car horn blares, and Tyler takes a step back. His eyes rove over my face again, and I realize that he’s working on memorizing me just as I am him.
“I’ll have travel arranged, and if you need anything—anything at all—call me.” His eyes fill with tears, which only makes my tears multiply.
He kisses me again, and it’s too fast and too hard. And then he turns around and heads to the black car idling at the curb.
Behind me, someone says something, but I can’t make out their words because the sound of my heart shattering is echoing in my ears.
30
Chloe
Regardless of the knowledge that he’s gone, I still step into the hotel suite, expecting to find Tyler. Instead, it isn’t only him that’s missing, but all of his things as well. Every stitch of his clothes, his laptop, his cologne, shoes—they’re all gone, and in their place is an envelope with my name scrawled across in his handwriting.
I trace over my name, my nose and eyes burning with more tears. I don’t want to be in here where I can still smell him, still remember our morning in the shower, still feel his touch. At the same point, I want to roll in the bed and soak it all up because the idea of leaving it behind makes my chest ache.
The envelope is thick, too thick to be just a note. A tear slips down my cheek as I open it, finding a stack of hundreds with a paperclip holding a note to the top bill.
These are your winnings. I know you don’t want them, but I thought we’d take them to donate to a shelter or charity tomorrow. I’m sorry I can’t be there to do it with you.
-Ty
A tear splatters across the note, and then another as I realize he made his decision before he requested me to ask him to stay.
I feel so much—too much. My stomach is churning, and my eyes are hot with a flood of tears that has my nose running and my chest aching.
“Chloe,” Nessie says from the doorway. “Where’s Tyler?”
I turn to face her, my throat so constricted I can’t catch a breath to reply. Apparently, she doesn’t need one because she crosses the room and wraps her arms around me, holding me so tight it feels like she’s keeping me from losing everything once again. Her lips brush my cheek, and when a guttural and foreign sound climbs out of my throat, she holds me tighter.
“What happened?” she asks.
“He left.”
Her grip tightens still, and my tears turn into cries, which grow into sobs.
She holds me until sleep finally shows mercy on me and pulls me under its embrace.
The next morning, breakfast is delivered on carts that are filled with an assortment of foods including an entire mountain of chocolate filled croissants. I don’t touch any of them.
A man dressed in a suit stands at the door as they wheel the carts back into the elevator, and it takes me a moment to recognize him as the one who’d told Tyler his dad was here to speak with him yesterday. He struggles to make eye contact with me as he clears his throat. “Mr. Banks has a flight booked this afternoon for you all to fly to SeaTac, where a car will drive you home.” He withdraws a letter from his jacket. “The details for your flight are all included here. We’ll have someone up to pack for you all shortly.”
I head back to the bedroom before the elevator doors can close behind him. My hope that this was a mistake and that Tyler’s going to walk through the elevator is fading. I know he’s already on the other side of the Atlantic—I can feel his loss everywhere.
I glance at the clock, realizing I only have a few hours left in the city. I change quickly and grab the stack of money Tyler left and head back out to the living room.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I tell them.
“Where are you going?” Nessie asks.
I sniffle as I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
She stands from her seat beside Cooper on the couch. The piece of furniture elicits another memory that cuts me as I realize it wasn’t even a full twenty-four hours ago that Tyler and I were right here in this room, and I told him I loved him.
I swallow down the rush of emotions and meet Nessie’s gaze. “Tyler left all this money for me to donate to a shelter or a charity. I have no idea what to do with it. I want to buy everyone in need of a pair of shoes and socks and food and...” I shake my head. “I just want to help.”
Nessie places a hand on my shoulder but doesn’t hug me, and I’m so grateful because I know if she were to wrap her arms around me, I’d crumble right now. “Why don’t we go talk to the concierge? Maybe they can find some contacts since we have to leave soon.”
I nod, appreciating her clear and decisive thoughts that help me formulate a plan. I pull in a deep breath and work to make a list of what we need to do, items that will help the most.
Nessie and I head down to the lobby, finding the concierge who we relay our intentions to. He nods patiently and then shakes his head, telling us he has no contacts or ideas.
His response feels like a bludgeon, destroying the plan I so desperately need to carry out, not only for my sanity, but because I still see the numerous individuals we passed who were trying to sleep on the lit streets for safety, regardless of the loud noises, bright lights, and constant traffic.
“I might be able to help you,” an employee says as she smiles at me. “Mr. Banks had asked me to do some research on shelters and nonprofits in the area who help the homeless community, and I was planning to send it up to you this afternoon.” She smiles at the concierge behind the desk. “May I?”
He moves to the side, watching as she clicks and taps several times before returning her gaze to us. “Let me print this up, and then I’ll share with you my findings.” She moves to the printer and then ha
s us follow her into the lobby, where we sit at a small table, peering over the information as she explains the different services they each provide.
“If I leave some money with you, and how I want it allocated, are you able to send it to them?”
She nods. “Absolutely, Ms. Robinson.”
I take one of the hotel pens from my purse along with the stack of bills, carefully tearing off Tyler’s note and securing it in my wallet. I count through the cash twice before jotting down the increments and how I’d like them divided.
It’s a short plan, one that is too simple and too fast, but as we head back up to our hotel room, I feel a small sense of gratitude slip around the heartache that makes each of my breaths feel too shallow.
“What happened?” Nessie asks as we step into the suite. “Did you guys break up?”
I shake my head. I don’t think so. Maybe?
No. He said we’d figure it out.
Right?
My thoughts spin, and my heart clenches. It’s clear she knows Tyler’s gone. He would have run into Cooper yesterday when he came up to pack. Still, I understand her confusion. “His dad came and got him. They went back to London so he can start preparing to be his father’s successor.”
“Why didn’t you tell him to stay?”
“I couldn’t make him choose me any more than I could have asked you or Cooper to choose me. He loves this company. The history and legacy of it mean so much to him. I can’t take that from him.”
She shakes her head. “There has to be another way.
I brush away more tears. “We need to go. It’s time.”
Our seats on the flight bringing us back to Seattle are first class.
I’d prefer the noise and bustle from the economy seats because my thoughts are deafening as the past twenty-four hours and the past couple of weeks replay again and again. I’m desperate for something to drown them out.
The sensible side of me wants to contest my sadness, provide reason and fact for why I’m overreacting, reminding me that Tyler and I had only been together for a second in the grand scheme of things.
But each time the logical part of me tries to make this a neat and organized list, my emotions crash down, and memories rain on me like a hurricane, pulling two years of stolen glances and smirks and kind gestures that he worked so hard to camouflage behind a wall of confidence and strength.
I consider if I should try calling him as I work to figure out where he might be right now.
My thoughts run freely, all ending with the same realization—this was inevitable. He told me from the beginning that the hotel was his future and that included traveling all across the world, constant meetings and obligations to honor his role. I knew he loved the company and that eventually, this choice would have to be made. This pain would have been felt now or later.
When we land in Seattle, the skies are as overcast as my mood, but the realization we have a ton of things we need to do before school starts in a few weeks helps distract my thoughts as we find the car that was arranged for us.
“He knew we had all our stuff in storage,” Cooper says as the car pulls up to the Banks Hotel in downtown Seattle.
The reservation is for two suites, smaller than the ones we’ve stayed in during our trip, but equally nice. Only now, I’m alone in a room that feels too big and foreign.
I take a seat at the small dining room table and find my notebook and one of the dozens of hotel pens I’ve somehow collected and start making a list of everything we need to do:
Make arrangements to pick up the car
Make arrangements to pick up keys for the apartment
Arrange U-Haul
Unpack storage locker
Moving day—move in to apartment
Go grocery shopping
Submit job applications
Talk to Cooper
Talk to Nessie.
There’s a knock on my door, and hope floods my heart, making it feel like an overfilled washing machine again as I glance at the clock and then back to the door.
Would he be able to fly back from England?
Did he leave?
I stand from the table and try to reel in my thoughts, knowing disappointment hurts nearly as much as regret, and I know because I’ve spent nearly twenty-four hours drowning in guilt for not admitting my feelings for Tyler two years sooner.
Nessie’s on the other side of the door, a pillow in her arms.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“I thought we could have a sleepover.”
My eyes begin to mist over. “Are you sure?”
She hugs me, the pillow pressing against my side, making me feel like we’re in a marshmallow. “You’ve been so quiet,” she says.
“I feel so silly,” I admit to her, taking several steps back as my chin begins to shake. “I knew this would happen eventually, and we were together for only days, so it seems like this would be the best situation because it causes the least pain—and yet it hurts so much.” I place a hand across my chest from where the pain seems to be radiating. “And I know you’re mad at me, and Cooper’s mad at me. I don’t know how everything just erupted all at once.” Tears blur my vision.
Nessie’s arms encircle me again, sans pillow. “I don’t think anyone could tell you how long it takes to fall for someone else. The heart doesn’t have a timer or a calendar or a set of rules. It wants what it wants. Loves who it loves.” Her voice is soft and gentle, an allowance for my tears and sadness that grow with her words.
I pull away from her again, my lips dry and my cheeks wet. I go in search of tissues and return to the living room where Nessie is sitting on the couch. She pats the space beside her, and I fill it, wiping more stray tears. “I don’t even know what to think or feel,” I tell her. “I mean, he just left. It’s like I haven’t even been able to register the reality of the situation because I don’t know what the reality is.”
Nessie’s eyes turn sorrowful. “I know. That has to hurt a lot.”
I nod, and the tears fall faster as she confirms what my mind has known and what my heart has been fighting. And then, as she has for the past twenty-one years, Nessie picks up the pieces as I shatter.
Tyler
It’s been the longest forty-eight hours of my life.
Every time a woman walks by with long brown hair, I turn. I know it’s not going to be Chloe, and yet, hope gets me every single damn time.
“Tyler, I’m going to have you sit with Phil and Lewis this morning. Let you guys cover what you both learned over this summer and see if there are any best practices you can exchange,” Dad says as we pull up to the Banks hotel in London—the second building my great-grandfather helped build and the first hotel site. The top floor is a presidential suite that is larger and grander than all those that we saw over the summer. It’s rumored my dad had intended to live in it at one time. Now, it’s rented a few times a year or donated for fundraisers. Below it is our corporate office. Two levels of private offices and conference rooms where I learned to sit on my hands with my back straight and not touch anything. I imagine what Chloe would say and how she’d react to seeing the lavish space. When we’d first arrived in New Orleans, her obvious shock as she openly stared and admired the hotel had bordered on uncomfortable. I didn’t know why it bothered me as it did, but after a few days I realized it was because her reactions were so pure. I was so used to people using me and being fake, that I assumed that’s what she was doing. But Chloe is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. She appreciates what others—what I—take for granted like the luxury of a hotel, the view from a bridge.
“How was your holiday?” Phil asks, as we head down a corridor. “Your dad was jumping mad when he found out about Ken Avery. What a snake that man was. He’d been so reluctant to hire a management company for so long, and now this.” He pulls his lips back in a pronounced frown and takes a sharp breath. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t see him trying to replace the management com
pany. This could prove to be quite the headache for you, in a few years.” He opens the door to a conference room.
I step inside and pause, my gaze traveling from the wall of windows and regal desk to the couch, and then back to Phil. “What’s this?”
He grins. “Your new office.”
Pride inflates my chest, allowing me to memorize the feeling and realization that my dream of running our family’s company is becoming a reality. “Could I have a moment?”
His grin turns into a smile, he knows how much this moment—the Banks Hotels—mean to me, after all, he’s been working for my dad for nearly twenty years. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll grab us some tea to celebrate.” He gives a brief nod and steps out.
I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s just after two a.m. in Seattle.
I unlock my cell phone to see Brighton’s academic calendar still there from stufying it this morning. Labor Day is only a few weeks away, and I’m planning to hold to my promise to Chloe about San Francisco. It’s going to be a gruesome weekend for me to fly that far in such a short period, but I’m determined to find creative ways to make this work. If that includes staying up late or waking up early to talk or stealing weekends or catching up on a thread of text messages we each send while the other is supposed to be sleeping.
Me: How was your job interview? I’ll bet they hired you on the spot.
The dots beside her name appear, and my chest constricts. We both try to blame beign used to a different time for why we can’t sleep, though we know time has nothing to do with it.
Chloe: I talked too much and too fast. But, I think it still went all right. They’re supposed to follow up with me next week.
I grin, remembering our walk to the Golden Gate Bridge as she explained the theory of white holes to me, and how her passion behind the subject led her to talking faster.
