14. Conrad

CHAPTER 14

CONRAD

V erity and Ken wanted to go out for dinner, but when the sun went down, Claire went down with it. She sagged against me and sighed deep and heavy. When Verity proposed dinner, she shook her head.

"I hope you won't mind if we take a raincheck. All this tropical sun, I've got quite the headache." She massaged her temples and hissed through her teeth.

"I have some aspirin," said Ken.

"No, that's all right. I just need some water and a good night's sleep."

We headed up to our suite and she stretched out on the bed. I sat down next to her.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, half-smiling. "It isn't that bad. I really just needed an excuse to skip dinner." She stretched her feet over the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. "Verity's lovely, and Ken is as well, but it's been a long day. I want to be me for a while, no games. No pretending.

I lay down beside her, our shoulders bumping. "Yeah, it gets tiring." I realized how that sounded and nudged her arm. "Not being with you, I mean. That isn't tiring. But having to screen every word from my mouth — does this match our story? Would that sound weird?"

She reached for the nightstand and felt about blindly, and pulled the room service menu into her lap. "I am hungry, though. You want something too?"

I took the other side of the menu and balanced it between us. Everything felt too complicated to think about eating, swordfish with a tangy mango reduction. Lobster-stuffed mushrooms with a creamy cheese sauce. I scanned through the appetizers, the dinners, desserts, all the way down to the kids' section. One item jumped out at me, and I let out a chuckle.

Claire frowned. "What's so funny?"

"They have hot dog mac and cheese."

She stared blankly at first, then it hit. Recognition. "Like from college, that diner. What was it called?"

"Moxie's or Roxy's. Something with an ‘oxy.' With the red menus, with the comfort food section."

Claire moaned. "Their food was so good late at night in the winter."

"After an all-nighter."

"With a hangover."

"Any time, really. Those burnt little hot dogs…" I swallowed. Licked my lips. "Why were they so good?"

"I don't know, but I'm getting some." Claire dragged the phone over. "How about you?"

"Make that two," I said. "And a couple of Cokes. Or, ooh. Do you think they would make us some root-beer floats?"

"Holy shit . I forgot the floats." Claire's eyelids fluttered. "I'm going to ask them. We can't not have floats."

Claire put our orders in and I kicked off my shoes. I dug through my suitcase and found my old college sweatshirt, and pulled it on over my polo. Claire laughed when she saw it.

"Why did you bring that?"

"To sleep in. Why else?"

"I sleep in mine too sometimes. When I'm feeling nostalgic." She swung her legs off the bed and sat watching the moon rise. "Remember when your roommate got that weird, giant lizard?"

"Oh, God, the monitor— or, no. No, what was it?"

"I don't know, huge?"

I groaned. "Huge and bitey. I was trying to study that time, and it broke out of her room."

"And we wound up at Moxie's drinking those floats, and got so high on sugar we couldn't sit down."

"And we walked around all night, then we had that midterm." I tutted my tongue at my younger self, so full of energy I could stay up all night, then write a midterm, then go out clubbing. If I tried that now, I'd crash so hard. I'd crash like a hard drive in a thunderstorm.

Our food came, and it wasn't like what they'd served at Moxie's. The hot dogs, for starters, weren't burnt round the edges. The cheese sauce was creamy, not thin and runny, and subtly spiced with basil and thyme. Still, I dug in, and Claire did the same, and then we both sipped on our root-beer floats. We both sighed as one, and flopped back on the couch. Claire flung out her arm to smack my knee.

"Oh my God. Oh my God ."

"Brain freeze. So good." I sipped on my float again and the years fell away. I closed my eyes and I was back on Claire's futon, my econ book between us, her notes in my lap. "I haven't had one of these since?—"

"Graduation?"

"The night before. Our last trip to Moxie's."

" Your last." She sucked on her straw again and ducked down, shamefaced. "I snuck back a year later. A craving, you know? But it wasn't the same without — without the whole context. Without our books on the table, and that sort of half-panic. That needing the sugar to get through the night."

I nudged her again, careful not to jog her float. "I thought you were going to say without me."

"What?"

"That it wasn't the same having floats without me."

"It wasn't," she said. "A lot of things weren't."

We were quiet a minute as we let that sink in. A lot had changed since college, most of it for the best. But we'd lost some things too, that we couldn't get back. I looked over at Claire and wondered about her life — not her work life, but if she had another. If she had a real social life, or if hers was like mine. She'd never mentioned one, but I hadn't asked.

I cleared my throat. "So, do you have, uh…"

"Do I have what?"

I took a bite of my creamy, non-burnt dinner. "A new place like Moxie's. An after-work hangout. Somewhere you go with your, uh, with whoever."

"With whoever?" She chuckled. "What are you asking?"

My neck felt warm and I pressed my hand to it, cold from my root beer and melting ice cream. "I guess I'm asking about your life outside work. We never talk about that, about if we…"

I left the thought hanging, but Claire was nodding. She set her dinner aside to sip on her float.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I have friends. Well, a friend. You'd know her, Sunny Ortega. Or you'd know of her. She's in ice cream."

"Ice cream, Sunny Ortega." Sure, I'd heard of Sunny. It made sense, I guessed, her and Claire being friends — two driven people without much spare time. But I wasn't really asking her about her friends. "How about, you ever meet someone? Someone you thought maybe could be your one?"

Claire stirred her float, thoughtful. "The one, huh? I don't know if I believe in that, soulmates or whatever. Everyone I know who's made it work, they've put the work into it. Like us with our jobs. I don't think it's so much about finding the one as it is about picking someone and committing."

She was avoiding my question. I kept on pressing. I had to know. "Have you ever tried that?"

"Tried to commit?" She shook her head, laughing. "I've met a few guys. Been on a few dates. But there's always a point around date number five when they start asking what happens next. And it's clear they're expecting I'll cut back on work. I'll carve out some space for them. Rearrange my life. And all I can think is, who are you to ask that? I barely know you, and you want me to change? This is me, all of me, and my business comes with that." Her expression softened, and she leaned back. "It would be one thing if I'd known them years. Then we'd both have to compromise. I get that. I do. But five dates in? And why is it just me?"

"I get that," I said, and I did, to the bone. I hadn't had anyone either, at least nobody serious. Work was always an issue, and what Claire said. It always came down to "why can't you cut back?" Never "how can we fix our schedules to meet in the middle?" Though, to be fair, I never did have much middle. My schedule was my schedule, and it didn't let up.

Claire laughed, half-bitter. "So, we've both struck out."

"Unlucky in love." I looked at her sideways, pretending I wasn't staring. We went back years. Could we compromise? Or would we try a while, then fall apart? We'd chosen our paths way back in college, but what if, what if?—

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Claire made a tch noise.

"You going to get that?"

I checked the screen. "I'd better."

I set my float on the table and hurried out to the lounge. While I'd been out exploring the island, Joe had harvested a new crop of problems, all of which required my urgent attention. I dealt with the day's woes as fast as I could, eager to get back to Claire and our what-ifs, but by the time I was finished, she'd fallen asleep. She was stretched on the bed nuzzled up to my pillow, and I lay down next to her, not quite touching her body.

Claire sighed, maybe sensing my weight on the bed, and she turned over and cuddled into my chest. I murmured her name, but she didn't wake. Maybe I should've eased myself free of her arms, pulled the covers up over her and left her to sleep. But her breath was warm on the side of my neck, her arm heavy and comforting across my back. She felt right in my arms, so I pulled her closer. I closed my eyes, too, and let myself drift. I let myself dream this was our life, this room, this resort, this embrace every night — and at least for this night, it all felt true.