Not Perfect(67)

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean now.”

She looked at the clock on the wall, but its batteries had died, so it had stopped at seven o’clock, and she knew it was not seven o’clock. She glanced at the clock on the oven. It was just before two thirty. Both kids had clubs after school, so she wouldn’t have to get them until five thirty, even later if she pushed it. She could go right at six o’clock, just as the doors were closing for the night, and get them then—reclaim them, as the case may be.

“I have about three hours,” she said.

“Okay, this might sound crazy, and if it does, please don’t let it ruin things, just say—‘that is crazy’—okay?”

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word.

“Let’s go to a hotel.”

“What?” she said, letting out an awkward guffaw, which she wished she could take back. It was the least sexy noise she had ever made. Well, that wasn’t true, but it was not an attractive noise. “That’s crazy!”

“I told you it was.”

“Which hotel?”

“I don’t know, the Rittenhouse?”

“No, I can’t do that. Someone will see me. Also, do you mean, like, for the night?”

“Okay, so here’s my idea,” he said, sounding like a little kid. “We take one hour, one hour away from everything, and we pretend it’s separate from everything else. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be with you.”

She closed her eyes, because she wanted to be with him. She wanted it so much.

“Well, I can’t just walk out of my apartment building, across the Square, and into a hotel room. That just isn’t done.”

“How about the Kimpton on Seventeenth? There’s a restaurant there. Walk into the restaurant like that’s where you’re going and, if you don’t run into anyone, walk through to the lobby and take the elevator to the room. I’ll go right now. I’ll text you the room number.”

“Toby, I can’t do this,” she said, thinking of Fern and Levi at school. “I just can’t.”

“You can,” Toby said gently. “I think you can.”

She didn’t say anything.

“How about this? I’ll head over there and see if this is even possible. Then I’ll text you. What do you say?”

She still didn’t say anything.

“We can just sit and talk if you want,” he said. “Or, can I come there?”

“Fine, go to the hotel, see what they say.”

“I’ll text you soon,” he said quickly, and hung up. She laughed out loud; he so clearly didn’t want her to change her mind. She put her computer into sleep mode, though the information about abandonment might be particularly useful right now, and went into the bathroom. She thought about a shower, then she thought about powder and makeup, then she thought about putting on nicer underwear. In the end, she brushed her teeth and went into the foyer to wait. Her heart was beating so fast it made her feel a little sick. Five minutes went by. Seven minutes went by. Her phone binged. It was Levi.

Drums are canceled, can I just come home?

Before she had a chance to answer another text came through. Room 336 was all it said.

To Levi she texted back Just go to the afterschool program and do homework. I’ll be there at the usual time. Normally, she would ask if that was okay or let him negotiate a little, but she waited, and there was no response. All she could do was hope he followed her directions.

She didn’t text Toby back. She put on a coat and headed out the door, feeling like everyone in the lobby was looking at her, which was ridiculous, of course. She walked up to Locust and over to Seventeenth, and finally north to the Kimpton. She didn’t do as Toby suggested but instead walked right into the small lobby, where she didn’t see anyone she knew, but she didn’t look too hard, walked to the elevator, and pushed “3.” She still thought she might not do this. She might take the elevator back down, or she might get off and walk to the stairs to go down. There were many things she could do that didn’t involve a hotel room with a man and a bed. The doors opened, she got out and turned right and there it was—room 336. She did not walk by it. She did not ignore it. She knocked on the door and waited. Toby answered right away. As soon as she saw him, she didn’t care about any of it—what people would think, what her legal rights were as an abandoned person, what her kids would think. None of it. She was reminded of that scene in thirtysomething, toward the end of the series, when Michael almost had an affair. He was with the other woman, were they in a hotel room? They were so drawn to each other, but they knew it wasn’t the right thing, or at least he knew. He wanted this other woman, but he didn’t want to cheat on Hope; he knew he didn’t want to. It looked like actual work to not touch, to remain separate. Tabitha was so mesmerized by that scene because, while she believed it, she had never felt anything like that, never not been able to resist someone. But now, now she understood.

She followed Toby into the nice room. There was a big king-size bed and he sat on the edge of the crisp white cover, smiling.

“I considered putting on the robe that’s in the closet. They have very nice robes here. But I thought I might scare you off.”

“Good thinking,” she said. She took off her coat and let it drop to the floor. Then stepped out of her shoes. She eased off her pants. He was watching her. “But I doubt you could scare me off at this point.” She wanted to say other things, like she meant this exact point. Five minutes ago, she was still in danger of being scared off, but not now. She wanted to make sure that he meant what he said, that this hour was apart from everything else, and when did the hour begin and end? But she didn’t say any of it.