“Well, maybe we needed some private time,” Sean says. He’s joking but I can feel my face getting hot.
I look around the room, which is at least as big as the entire top floor of our condo, and probably bigger. It’s decorated in chocolate browns, crisp whites, and deep reds. There’s a seating area off to one side, a wood-and-glass coffee table surrounded by an enormous brown leather couch. In the center of the table is a thick glass bowl filled with perfect-looking dark red apples. There’s a giant flat screen mounted on one wall, and across from it is an enormous king-size bed covered in a pristine-looking white duvet and about fifty dark red and chocolate brown pillows. The air smells faintly of honey.
“Since it was so last minute, they didn’t have any rooms with two beds. Sorry about that. I’ll crash on the couch.”
And I just nod. An image of Sean and I in that bed together tries to work itself into my brain but I do not let it. There’s a little basket on top of each nightstand filled with beautiful things—a silk eye pillow, lavender-scented pillow spray, a little vial of something, a little jar of something else, and on top of it a card on thick card stock. With our compliments. I pick up the eye pillow.
“This place is amazing,” I say. I hold the eye pillow up against my cheek. The fabric is cool and smooth.
Sean turns toward me and taps his bottom lip. And then he grins. “Yeah, it’s nice. Sometimes these places can be a little ridiculous.” He reaches into the bowl and takes out an apple, wipes it off on his shirt, and takes a bite.
“We didn’t have to stay somewhere like this, though.”
“I know,” Sean says. “But it’s fun, right? I mean, I love me a shit-box as much as the next guy, but sometimes you just need to go deluxe.”
“But it’s crazy expensive…”
“Oh.” Sean waves his hand in front of his face. “That you don’t need to worry about. Like at all. My family is…comfortable.” He looks up at me and shrugs.
“How comfortable exactly?” I clamp my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, I take it back. That was rude.”
Sean laughs. “You can ask me anything you want.”
“Okay, then I take back my taking back. How rich are we talking here?”
“Let’s just say I once stayed in a hotel like this for six weeks straight, and I doubt my father ever even noticed when he got the bill.”
“Damn,” I say.
“Yeah,” Sean says. “It’s not even my dad’s money. It’s my mom’s money, but she’s not around, so I feel it’s like my duty to spend it before the stepbitch does.”
“Your mom is…” I stop. I feel a pain in my chest, an actual pain.
“Not dead,” Sean says. Shaking his head quickly. “Just not around.”
“Where is she?”
Sean shrugs. “She lives in a ‘therapeutic living community’ which is basically the rich-person’s version of a mental hospital.”
“Why is she in there?”
“Because she enjoys their healthful ‘spa cuisine.’ ” He grins. “Well, that and she’s batshit crazy.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I miss the idea of her,” Sean says. “Y’know, the idea of a mom. But I don’t remember her well enough to miss the actual her. She went there for a ‘break’ when I was about six, and then never came back. Less than a year after, my stepmom and my stepbrother moved in. My stepbrother is the one who…y’know. Anyway, even though he’s remarried now, my father still has power of attorney over her because she’s been deemed ‘unfit,’ which basically means he can spend as much of her money as he wants.”
“That’s crazy,” I say.
“Yeah,” Sean says. “All I need is an evil identical twin to come and toss me down a well and my family could star on daytime TV.” He walks over to the shiny mahogany desk. “But what are you gonna do? It’s why I don’t feel bad spending the money.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“Not really,” Sean says. “I went to visit her once when I was seven, the Thanksgiving after she left. It was just too weird, though. She didn’t recognize me at first because they had her on so many drugs.” He finishes the apple and tosses the core across the room into a black wood trash bin where it lands with a thunk.
“That’s horrible.”
“It is what it is, I guess.” Sean shakes his head and smiles. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a downer. I don’t usually talk about this stuff, to anyone, I just feel like I can with you, I guess, which is kind of a relief.”
“You can,” I say. And I feel a squeezing in my chest. It’s strange to be the listener for once, to be able to be there for someone else. “You can talk about anything.”
Sean sits down on the leather couch and looks up at me, “Well, let’s talk about room service then. I don’t know about you but spending a bunch of hours in the car listening to strangers have sex always puts me in the mood for cheeseburgers and champagne.”