The Brightest Star in a Constellation

46: Every Hotel Needs a Vending Machine

☽ Peter ☽

I've been playing a lot of Currently Untitled lately. Unlocking the first few endings was a breeze once I mastered the logic behind interacting with the characters.

I can't, on the other hand, figure out what to do with Neva. I'm starting to think Nicole put this character in the game to teach me a lesson. (Perhaps his dialogue leads to another ending, but I don't know for sure.)

In the early hours of the morning, as the sun hangs low in the clouds, I turn up the sound of the game's soundtrack so that it combats with the unbearable noise of drills whirring.

The first floor has been teeming with activity ever since the hotel got a new investor. From what I've gathered, this woman has been running the Croix Hotel in Montréal with success for years. Her only request was that we needed to have a vending machine.

Of course, my father complied. I know he's been trying to renegotiate for a while, especially after he initially wanted me to inherit the hotel.

For his sake, I bear through the noise. (I don't want to be responsible for making two of his deals fall through. And beyond even that, I need it to work. Maybe Evan McKenna is rubbing off on me, but maybe I am looking forward to going to university.)

I lower my headphones when the elevator doors open, revealing my mom.

"How are you, Pierre? If the noise is too much, I can take over for you."

I gesture to my headphones and give her a tight-lipped smile to indicate that I'm fine. She continues, "We have a guest who was supposed to be here by now, don't we?"

"A guest who's late by two hours," I reply.

A crash echoes from above my head. My mother peers at the flat ceiling. "Karim!" she shouts at it, like Dad can hear her through the walls. "Of course. Je pars une minute et du coup... tout est ruiné." (I leave for one minute, and suddenly, everything is ruined.)

She hurries back in the direction she came, and my mind wanders back to its previous position. As much as I care about Nicole's game, I'm not focused on that. I'm trying to parse how I feel about the past few months. I await my next meeting with Suzanna, so she can tell me I'm dissecting it like a specimen in biology class.

Outside, a taxi pulls into view. It unloads a man with blond, tousled hair and wide shoulders. He's dressed for warmer weather than it is today, as his jeans are cuffed above his ankles, and his crew neck sweater looks like it came straight from an airport gift shop. He wrestles his suitcase onto the ground and tosses a backpack over his shoulder.

The blond approaches the desk, and I get halfway through asking him for his name before he interrupts me by saying, "The reservation should be under Noah."

I type it out, letter by letter. He says, "Noah Fields."

I blink. It takes me a second to catch up, and my brain floods with thoughts like particles revved by kinetic energy. My sentences are currently colliding at the recesses of my head, and my mouth forms words without consulting me. I end up blurting out, "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, sorry, F-I-E-L—"

"I know how to spell it," I say. "What I meant was, uh, is there any relation to Sam Fields?"