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“But?” I asked, hoping I didn’t come off as impatient or arrogant.
“But,” she finished, “I’ve never left Minnesota, and I promised my parents I’d be extra careful. They worry about me. Not that there’s anything about you that—”
I raised a hand. I understood. “No need to explain. I get it.”
She nodded graciously, as if relieved I hadn’t pressed her further.
The plane began its descent, and as it did Natalie and I engaged in some idle chit chat: she was an artist, lived with her parents, had a brother who was married with a kid. I was stingier with what I shared, allowing only that I was raised in New York and was involved in the family business, the specifics of which I withheld—not out of any particular shame or humility, but our time together seemed so limited, and I didn’t want to waste it discussing business models.
Before long, the plane had landed, and Natalie and I stood from our seats and shuffled into the aisle. I reached up to grab my carry-on, which was stuck and required more than a little effort to dislodge.
“Alright, which one is yours?” I asked, turning around, but she was gone.
I felt heavy, not in my heart or stomach or any organ in particular, but as if my entire body had been filled with sludgy water—the runoff from a carwash, or a New York City downpour. I made my way down the aisle, alone, sludge-water sloshing vehemently within me.
I made it well past the terminal and was on the verge of exiting the airport when I heard somewhere to my near right, “Are you kidding me!?”
I turned and saw Natalie, her brows furrowed, her gaze directed at an increasingly impatient concierge.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but there simply aren’t any rooms left. This storm affected a lot of people, not just you.”
“Excuse me? I havenever—”
But I quickly intervened. “Is there a problem?” I asked, resting my arm on her shoulder. I felt her tense up beneath my grip, but when she turned her head and saw it was me, she relaxed.
The concierge sighed, almost imperceptibly. “Sir… I was explaining to her that there aren’t any rooms left for the night.”
“Ah, then. What’s done is done!”
Natalie turned to me, bewildered; this was clearly not the response she’d expected. I admit I was a bit more severe with the man in front of me on the plane—assuring him that if he continued to sit irresponsibly the privilege of sitting would be taken from him, and I’d be the one to take it. But this was an opportunity—she had nowhere to go, and I had somewhere to offer.
“Thank you for understanding,” the concierge said, and before Natalie could get another word in, he yelled, “Next!”
Once Natalie and I had stepped out of line, she faced me with an ambiguous expression. “What the hell!”Oh… not so ambiguous.
“Natalie,” I began—this was the first time I’d said her name aloud, and it felt so correct as it formed in my mouth— “If they’re out of rooms, then that’s that. Come, you’ll stay with me.”You can sleep in the bed and I’ll take the couch,I almost said, but I didn’t.
I wasn’t sure what it was I was expecting in response: obstinate refusal, apprehension, anxious silence. But whatever it was I’d been expecting, I’d been wrong.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah?” I smiled.
“Yeah.” She smiled back.
I turned my gaze to the exit, and she followed. Then, we left the airport together.
3
A Night to Remember
Natalie
If I’d had any lingering hesitations about this man, and whether he was who he said he was, they were put to rest the moment we approached his building.
It was sleek, no doubt constructed within the last few years, and improbably tall—easily fifty floors, maybe more. A doorman greeted us silently as we entered, and the concierge waved us over to the front desk, but then Lucas pulled out a key card which glimmered as if coated in diamonds, and the concierge dropped his hand and nodded in understanding. The exchange felt so seamless I could’ve sworn I was on a movie set. Or dreaming.
Once in the elevator, Lucas said, “53rdfloor.” I made to push the button before realizing it wasn’t me he’d been addressing but another man, whose sole job was to push the buttons. I almost laughed, but stopped myself.
