Hotel Ruby (8 page)

“The staff's not invited,” she answers quickly. “Which is okay with me, since I hate most of the guests here.” She laughs. “Believe me, the roof is better. We go at sundown. You'll be there?”

I don't really have to give it much thought—I'm not invited to the fancy party either. “Count me in. Sounds fun.”

Lourdes smiles broadly, standing from the chair. “See you tonight,” she tells me. She runs a long gaze over Daniel and then waves before turning to walk back across the lawn.

“She doesn't like me.” Daniel pulls his face into an exaggerated
How is that possible?
expression. “I thought everyone liked me.”

“They do,” I say. “Except for me, right now, because you're being obnoxious.”

Daniel laughs and whips me with his towel. “Oh, stop. I'm joking. Mostly.” He shrugs. “She liked me.”

“I'm going inside,” I say, rolling up my magazine and tying my towel around my waist. Daniel joins me on the walk back, and just when we get to the patio doors, the sky starts to clear. “It's going to be a beautiful night,” I say, looking up. “Are you coming to the roof with me?”

“Don't think I was invited,” Daniel says, not sounding terribly upset by it. The air of the Ruby is chilly on my skin, and Daniel shivers and brings his towel around his shoulders. “I'm going to explore other options.” He pauses and points ahead. “Such as . . .”

Across the lobby Catherine waves, pageant-princess style, and starts toward us. She's no longer in a gown, but she's still too fancy for midafternoon. A bright white blouse with layers of necklaces glittering in the window-filtered sunlight. Short cigarette pants with spiked black heels, ornate silver bracelets. I sigh and swing my head toward my brother.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask him. She's over the top, even for his taste. He laughs, fully aware.

“Dan,” Catherine says, out of breath when she reaches us. She places her palm on my brother's cheek, dramatic and entirely too affectionate. “I was so worried,” she murmurs, letting her hand fall away. “I thought you'd left.”

“No,” he tells her. “Just found out we're staying until Friday. Isn't that awesome?” She casts an annoyed glance in my direction, speculating what part of “we” I fit into. “Oh, Cathy,” Daniel says quickly. “This is my sister, Audrey.”

She smiles politely. “Nice to see you,” she says disingenuously, and immediately turns back to Daniel.

“Likewise,” I say closemouthed.

Catherine runs her gaze over Daniel and then touches the towel at his neck. “The pool is gorgeous,” she says. “Were you swimming?” I resist the urge to answer, “Duh.”

“Yeah,” Daniel responds, a little prideful. “I was practicing my dives, but my sister was entirely unimpressed.” He knocks his elbow into my side, and I groan and take a step away. I'd rather be spared their idea of small talk.

“I can't even swim,” Catherine says. “I would have been impressed.”

“I'll teach you,” Daniel says, puffed up and self-important. When Catherine excitedly tells him she'd like nothing more, he pulls her into a playful hug, pinning her under his arm in a way that might suit a campus girl but is out of place in high society.

Catherine turns up her face and they both smile, and I know exactly what my brother sees in her: Adoration. Attention. Catherine's feeding his inner boy, giving him the validation he craves. The idea that he's still so desperate for attention sends me into another guilt spiral, proving once again that I'm not living up to what my family needs. It makes me hate Catherine a tiny bit more . . . although I already summed up how terrible she was within two minutes of meeting her.

Catherine glances behind us and her expression falters. She pulls away from my brother with a longing sigh. “I've got to run.” She tilts her head like she hates the idea of leaving him. “Promise me you'll come see me before tonight's party,” she says.

“Promise,” Daniel responds. Catherine doesn't acknowledge me before walking purposefully toward the garden
doors, shooting a quick glance at the front desk. My brother watches her until she's out of sight, and when she's gone, he turns to me with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Gorgeous, right?” he asks.

I shrug. “For a murderous doll, sure.”

“Wish I hadn't given you that description,” Daniel mutters.

I shake my head in mock sympathy. “You really didn't think that through.”

He laughs, and we make our way toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby. Just when I think I've gotten used to the opulence of the Ruby, I'm dazzled again by a new bit of crystal or a painting I didn't notice.

“Mom would love this place,” I say to myself. The minute the words are out of my mouth, Daniel clears his throat, aggressively readjusting his towel.

“It's cold,” he says distantly. “I've got to change.” He starts ahead, leaving me behind in his silence. I want to yell to him that I miss her too. That it hurts me too. But Daniel hates when I talk about Mom, so I shut up and follow him.

We walk through the lobby, and the concierge is at his desk, typing on the computer. Daniel and I climb into the elevator and press our floor numbers, facing out. Kenneth looks up from the desk.

He's motionless as the doors close to block him out.

M
y father orders his steak rare, and I raise the corner of my lip in disgust as the blood flows from the cut in his meat to stain the white dinner plate. He bites a big piece off his knife and glances at Daniel.

“What are your plans for tonight?” he asks him, chasing his food with a sip of red wine. I'm still trying to get used to seeing my father like this. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair is tamed with gel or mousse, making it flat and old-fashioned. He's clean shaven, rosy cheeked. But strangest of all, he's interested in our lives again.

“Don't know,” Daniel says, picking up a drumstick of fried chicken. “Might meet Catherine later, but until then I'll probably work out. You?”

“I received an invitation to the party in the ballroom tonight.” Our father laughs and takes a sip of wine. “Can't remember the last time I attended a formal event. Probably my wedding.”

I divert my eyes to the white linen tablecloth. The way he said it—like his past with my mother was some casual memory—hurts. I wait for Daniel's reaction.

“You're going to the party?” he asks our father with
a strained voice. Daniel is clearly rattled by the mention of our mother, but in typical fashion he's ignoring it. If he doesn't acknowledge that she died, it can't hurt him. That's what he told me once, anyway.

“Yes, I thought I might have a drink or two,” Dad says. “You should come. I believe you received your invite?”

Daniel crinkles his nose. “Yeah, but it's not exactly my scene. A bunch of old people, isn't it?”

“Not all of them.” Dad laughs. “But I'll be doing my part for the senior citizens.”

He's funny. I forgot that about him. Daniel smiles, and suddenly I'm the odd one out of this family-bonding moment. “I didn't get an invitation to the party,” I say, feeling slighted.

Daniel smirks. “You must have pissed someone off, then.”

“Whatever,” I say. “I wasn't going to go anyway. I don't want to be stuck at some stuffy party all night. And that guy Kenneth at the front desk? What a tool. I'd rather find my own form of entertainment.”

My father's hand tightens around his glass, and he takes a sip of wine. “Then I should probably alert housekeeping,” he says through pursed lips. “Your idea of entertainment involves property damage.”

His words are a slap in the face, a harsh dose of reality in the dreamlike peace we've found in the hotel. I blink quickly, humiliated. Angry. My father starts to apologize,
but Daniel drops his food and starts to wipe his hands on his napkin, pushing back his chair like we're leaving.

Dad never did wait for an explanation about the house party that got Daniel and me sent away. I figured he didn't care enough for me to offer him one either. It was almost three weeks ago—a Saturday, the day after my birthday. Daniel had brought me home one of those Hostess mini apple pies, tossing it like a football to where I sat alone in the kitchen.

“Happy seventeenth,” he said with a smile, his arm around the stray he'd brought home. She snapped her gum, all blond curls and attitude, unimpressed with my existence. I thanked him, though, because Daniel had remembered my birthday and my father had not. He'd stayed at his office the last three nights, and I started to doubt he was coming home at all.

After my brother left, I went up to my parents' room and sat on the bed. My mother's memory had been scrubbed from the house, even her scent. All that was left were a few pictures that stood on the mantel in the family room. I waited on the bed until dark, but my father still didn't come home.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out to see Ryan was calling again. I still don't understand why he stayed with me. I had never come out and told him that I wasn't in love with him anymore, but he should have seen it. Instead he treated me like a sick child—his love a chicken soup for my lonely soul. But it seemed too cruel
to leave him now. I'd end up married to him someday, I figured. It was the only way to justify my mother's death.

I WANT TO HAVE A PARTY TONIGHT
, I texted back, not wanting to actually talk.
CAN YOU MAKE THAT HAPPEN?

For my birthday Ryan had skipped school with me and made me breakfast at his house. I spent the day going through the motions with a hollow heart, as an empty vessel. Sometimes I wondered if Ryan's unconditional love could suffocate me.

WHO SHOULD I INVITE? HEY, ARE YOU OKAY?
he responded.

NO. AND INVITE EVERYONE.

I didn't wait for him to answer before heading to my room to grab clean clothes from my closet. The next forty minutes were a blur of shower steam and too much mascara. I wanted to forget tonight. Forget him. Forget me.

The party was in full swing, loud and smoky, when I was on the couch, laughing with a stranger. He had shaggy black hair and heavy cologne. He put his hand on my thigh. I told him to fuck off. And then Ryan was there, fighting. My head spun with a delicious mix of alcohol and danger, and I stood up and watched—not even telling them to stop.

The couch tipped back, taking the side table with it, lamp busted on the floor. Ryan had the guy by his collar, punching him in the face. I'd never seen him so angry—and in that moment I realized he was really angry at me. At my abandonment.

“Ryan?” I called weakly. All of my guilt, my pain, my
sorrow, cracked the surface. The tone of my voice must have scared him, because Ryan immediately turned toward me, his eyes fearful. The other guy took the distraction as an opportunity, blasting Ryan in the side of the head with his fist—knocking him out.

My entire body stilled as I watched him fall, first his large shoulder connecting with the floor, and then the top of his head with a
thunk
. The party quieted, all except the song playing in the background—what was that song? It was one of my mother's.

When Ryan didn't immediately move, people started to murmur their concern; some went for the door right away. The guy, just some random fucking guy, spit on my boyfriend. He wiped the blood that Ryan had drawn off his chin, shooting me a hateful glare.

“Slut,” he said, even though my refusal of his advance contradicted his statement. Then he swiped his hand along the mantel, sending the framed pictures crashing to the floor. Smashing them into tiny bits of sharp glass and paper. I moaned and fell to my knees, my mother's picture, broken.

It was all falling apart. I wanted my mother. I screamed it; I yelled it at the others as they stared at me, wide-eyed.

“
I want my mother!
” I shrieked uncontrollably, breaking the blood vessels in my eyes and tearing at my hair.

And then my father walked in. We never talked about what happened. He never asked if I was okay.

“Not cool, Dad,” Daniel says from across the restaurant table. He drops his napkin over his food and comes to take my arm to pull me up. When I blink, tears drip onto my cheeks.

“I didn't mean that,” my father says sincerely. “Audrey, please—”

“Enjoy your dinner,” I say in a shaky voice, and let Daniel lead me from the room. It isn't until we're in the lobby that my brother gathers me in a hug, squeezing the breath out of my lungs before he releases his grip.

“Ouch,” I say, and wipe the tears from my face. “And thanks.”

Daniel nods and glances around the lobby like he's not sure what to do with me now. “He didn't know,” he says quietly. “I try not to blame him because he didn't know that you were dying too.”

“He didn't ask.”

Old pain haunts my brother's features. Daniel is the one who saved me that night. He came home right after my dad and drove me and Ryan to the hospital to deal with his concussion. Ryan could barely look at me after that, like he had seen or heard some version of me that scared him. Eventually Daniel was the only person who looked at me at all.

My brother lowers his head. “Maybe one day you'll tell Dad all about it.”

I smile sadly and murmur, “Maybe.”

In the movies there are always these poignant moments when people work out their misunderstandings, their miscommunications. But that's not real life. In real life it's hard to tell someone you don't love them anymore. It's harder to tell your father you don't know how to live another day. My grief has stolen my voice.

Daniel glances over to the restaurant, probably thinking about his lost dinner. “You can go back,” I tell him. “You don't have to starve for my benefit.”