And we talk. I tell her about all the irritating things my brothers have done this week, about Thomas and Rusty, about preparations for Levi’s wedding, and she laughs.
She tells me that Javier is doing well in rehab, that he’s making ceramics in arts and crafts class, that he’s painting again, that he’s made friends with a barn kitten named Eustace, that he’s seeing a PTSD specialist every day.
Thalia tells me that Margaret was the one sending the emails to me. She tells me about the huge fight they got into in the middle of the night, and even though I think she downplays it, I can tell she’s rattled by the whole thing.
Then she heaps more sticky rice on her plate and scoops ginger stir fry on top, and pauses.
And she says, “My dad reported us.”
“I saw the pictures,” I say, and Thalia just nods.
“It was probably stupid of me to introduce you,” she says, shaking her head. “Not that I’ve ever introduced him to a boyfriend before, but I didn’t need a crystal ball to know how he’d react. Or that he’d find out you weren’t a grad student with a one-second Google.”
“You had other things on your mind,” I point out, eating one more spoonful of soup.
“I should have known,” she says.
“You should have done no such thing,” I tell her, and I reach out, across the table, capture her hand in mine again.
“I can’t believe he didn’t even talk to me first,” she says, and a pang of guilt works its way between my ribs, but then it’s gone. “He didn’t even ask what was going on. No, ‘Are you okay with this? No, ‘Are you happy?’ Because yes, and I am, and that’s not what mattered to him.”
“We can’t choose our parents and we can’t account for what they do,” I tell her, running my thumb over her knuckles.
She watches my hand for a long moment, then looks up at me.
“We’re no longer speaking,” she says. “I called him when I found out and told him he wasn’t welcome in my life any more.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, and she just nods, pushing her hair out of her face.
“Yeah,” she says, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m very okay.”* * *“The movie theater’s downtown?” Thalia asks, looking around Main Street, her hand in mine. “It must be a really small theater.”
“It is,” I confirm, trying to hide a smile. “One more block.”
We cross a street, pass two antique stores, and then I stop, open a door, hold it for her.
“This is a movie theater?” she says, frowning, reading the sign. “It says it’s the Martha Johnson Inn and —”
The moment she says it out loud, she stops and gives me an I see what you did there look, like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Seth’s sofa bed squeaks,” I murmur into her ear as we walk for the front desk.
“What, when you sleep on it?” she teases.
“Well, it squeaks every time I roll over, so I can only imagine the symphony it’s capable of producing when people fuck on it,” I tell her.
She’s faintly pink from the cold, but I swear the look she gives me glows.
“And here I was hoping for a dark parking lot and the back seat of your car,” she says.
“Never say never,” I tell her, and she laughs.
Check in feels like it takes hours. I went to high school with the owner’s daughters, of course, so I have to get updates on what Amanda and Bethany are doing these days while all I want is to take Thalia upstairs and listen to the way she says my name when I’m inside her.
After all, it’s one of my very favorite sounds.
At last, I’ve got the key to the Lafayette room, and when I turn, Thalia stands from her overstuffed armchair, tosses Rural Equestrienne onto the coffee table, and saunters over to me.
“After you,” I tell her, and nod at the stairs.
I’ve never been inside the Martha Johnson Inn before, but it’s pretty clear that it caters to the ten tourists that Sprucevale gets every year, most of whom are drawn by some obscure point of early American history.
Fittingly, the Inn looks like it was plucked straight out of Monticello or Mount Vernon — everything is hand-turned wood and thick, lushly patterned carpet, including the stairs. The place has a severe, buttoned-up feeling, as if someone in a waistcoat is about to bid me good day and maybe also refer to me as a rake.
After all, I’m about to be rakish as fuck.
Just for fun, I grab Thalia’s ass as she mounts the stairs. I’m pretty sure that my hand is in full view of everyone and anyone in the lobby, and I couldn’t care less.
“Don’t you know half the people watching us right now?” Thalia asks, looking at me over her shoulder.