Everywhere, Everything. ★ STURNIOLO TRIPLETS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I had to give it to the boys, they were exceptionally good at pretending as though nothing was wrong. There was no "do you want to talk about it?" or "it's okay to be upset," merely a welcomed silence as Matt pulled away from the curb. I watched the house in the side mirror until long after it was lost in the shadows.

The only exchange was between Matt and Chris, as Chris handed over his phone with the navigation set for our hotel.

For ten blissfully numb minutes, I stared vacantly through the windshield. Perhaps it was subconscious, my brain isolating itself so as not to replay the images of my father sitting happily across what I'm sure was an elegant dining table set properly with place mats and dinnerware they didn't have to buy second-hand, smiling from ear to ear with his picture-perfect wife and children. It was like watching an alternate universe unfold right before your eyes. Seeing the magnitude of their home in comparison to the run-down two-bedroom duplex mom and I survived in was enough to knock the wind out of me. But then to witness a moment so intimate from the outside? A moment so mundane - so trivial, yet one I'd fantasized about my entire existence - that was enough to make the whole world collapse.

The semi-circle drive that looped in front of Harborside Inn & Spa was backed up with cars. Four various-sized SUVs and hatchbacks were parked with their hazard lights flashing and trunks open while families precariously tossed their suitcases onto baggage trolleys and wheeled them into the busy lobby.

"Chris, why don't you go check us in." Matt added us to the assembly line of cars, pulling up behind a metallic blue Mazda.

"Sure," Chris agreed.

"I'll come with," I said, grabbing my tote and stepping out onto the sidewalk. If I didn't go, Nick would've, and being stuck in the car alone with Matt right now was the last thing I needed. Even if he didn't come right out and ask what happened back there, he would find a way to get it out of me. He always seemed to. At least in a crowded lobby there was less of a chance of going into full meltdown mode.

Matt smiled placidly. "We'll meet you two inside."

Chris moved for the sliding doors, glancing over his shoulder at me. I was staring at a young mother a few feet away. She had a toddler clinging to her hand, wearing a Toy Story backpack that nearly reached the backs of his knees, and a baby girl hooked around her hip. Her husband was unloading their bags. She stood there, backlit by the lobby lights, gazing fondly at her partner who would pause to make silly faces at their children between putting the bags on the ground.

The automatic doors opened and closed several times behind Chris as he waited for me to come back to my body. I could feel crescent moons form in the palms of my hand and I focused on the sensation.

I gave myself a moment to lock up the emotion coursing through me, then gathered all the strength I had left and plastered a sugarcane smile on my face.

"Sorry," I moved past him for the doors, "They have cute kids."

Without missing a beat, Chris fell in line with my steps. A gust of warm air enveloped us as soon as we stepped through the threshold of the lobby. Most hotels I'd stayed in over the years reeked of stale tobacco and bleach and often came with guests that were more than a bit questionable, but not this one. Harborside's foyer balanced between rustic and sleek and smelt clean, but not in the same chemical way I'd been accustomed to. Vanilla and suede perfumed the air just light enough to feel inviting instead of suffocating and was complemented by quiet, ambient music playing from several hidden speakers around the room.

"No wonder they charge six-hundred a night," Chris whistled faintly, tracing the Victorian wallpaper with his eyes. Gold sconces lined the beige-patterned walls looking like tiny floating lamps and omitted warm, amber light onto the woven area rugs. I plopped into a nearby parlor chair.