“Why can’t you share a room with Nora?” Cap asks. “Then me and Farrah can be next door? It’s one of those rooms like at your work, right? With a door we can open so it’s like we’re all in the same room?”
I grimace. “Yeah, it’s going to be like that. It’s complicated, Cap, but Nora needs her own space. I think it’s because…”
“Because you snore, isn’t it?”
My lips tug up. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Dad, Farrah and I are gonna be fine, okay? We’ll see you like, all the time. We can have breakfast and lunch and dinner together.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I reach the desk. When I turn back, I see Nora and Farrah have given us a good amount of space. I also see they’re chatting amiably, like friends.
I don’t know whether I like that. And because I don’t know, I feel like a dick about it. I feel like a dick about all this stuff.
“Okay,” I say softly, kneeling down beside Cap. “I’ll do the rooms like your mom wants, okay?”
Cap grins, then looks back before leaning in again. “I call her Farrah, too, Dad. I told you she’s not my mom.”
“Right.”
“Nora’s going to be my mom.”
For a moment I’m not sure I heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?” I croak.
“Nora and you are going to get married. She’s going to be my mom.”
Holy shit. “Cap, dude—”
“Next, please!” the person at the counter says, smiling warmly like my son hasn’t just lobbed a grenade at my feet.
I look back to see Nora coming up behind me, and God help me I get the sudden image of her riding me just like she did in the train. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Jesus Christ,” I whisper under my breath.
“Dad, are you okay?” Cap asks.
“Sir? Are you ready to check in?”
“No.”
“Oh?” the woman at the desk says.
“I mean, yes. No, I’m not. Goddammit.”
“Here,” Nora says, stepping up. “Hi!” she says, smiling sweetly. “We have several reservations.”
CHAPTER15
Jude
Cap insists that both Nora and I come to their room first, so we know exactly where it is. So the completely awkward four of us—three, really, given Cap’s so happy he’s practically whistling—head there first. Cap runs around the two-bedroom suite, opening and closing all the doors and drawers, while I grill Farrah on all the same stuff I grilled her on yesterday ahead of their sleepover.
I can tell she’s getting annoyed, but hiding it for Cap, and finally Nora tells Cap it’s time for us to go, rescuing both of us. After copious hugs and kisses, I promise to pick him up right here at his door for breakfast tomorrow morning, where we’ll discuss all our plans over the next week.
On the walk to Farrah and Cap’s room, which is on the third floor in the west wing, while ours is on the fourth on the east wing, the bellhop was quiet as he followed behind us, clearly trying to figure out our dynamic. One bouncy kid and three adults who could barely look at each other.
Now, with just Nora and me, he chatters in heavily accented English about the activities happening at the hotel this week. There is some kind of dance lesson happening tomorrow, plus sleigh rides, and champagne on the cable car up the mountain. “And that is not even talking about the skiing!” the eager boy says in careful English. His nameplate says his name is Gunther, and he’s chipper enough that for a moment I don’t feel the awkward twisting in my gut when I looked at Nora, who stiffly faces the door of the elevator.
Our rooms are gorgeous, of course, and Nora would be agog if she were actually looking around at everything Gunther’s pointing out. But she’s looking around without seeing, and not meeting my eye, either. Our rooms are indeed adjoined by two thick doors. They’re mirror images of each other, each with a lush king bed, giant TV, a modern black leather love seat, and at the end of the room, a wall of glass with a freestanding tub in a glass alcove next to it. The toilet and bidet are the only thing behind a closed door. Outside, there’s a sleek wood deck with a hot tub, and beyond that, thick, dark trees. To the right, the slopes are lit up for night skiing. They’re kind of like the rooms in the Rolling Hills, only slightly more Scandinavian inspired, and perched on a ski hill.
“Do not worry about the bathing,” Gunther says, indicating the tub. “The glass is a mirror on the other side for the privates.”