"Living in Hotels" by Eva Konstantopoulos
“Maybe,” her shoulders hunch into a half-hazard shrug, “Your tea, Captain Starbucks, is done.”
She places the hot water on the bed, substituting a flimsy magazine as a table, only she’s used plastic cups and between us they begin to soften into themselves, the water bloating the magazine and seeping through the sheets.
Anna laughs, “Guess I should fix that.”
“Whatever happened to the maid that made your bed?” As soon as I’ve said it I wish I hadn’t.
She clears her throat, “Making beds is overrated. If I ever come visit, promise you won’t clean up for me either, okay?”
“It’s your home, too.”
“Do you want another cup of tea?”
“You mean crap warm water?”
She rolls her eyes and disappears into the bathroom.
“So, when was the last time you ate something?”
“Food is overrated,” she reappears and begins patting the bed with an already damp towel.
“And accepting reality, is that overrated too?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“You know what I think?”
“I don’t really care what you think.”
“I think you want love under glass.”
“Really?”
“An exhibit in a museum. That’s what you’d like.”
“You might be on to something, Detective Starbucks.”
“Well, you can’t. There’s hair in the sink, you know why? Someone lives here, and it’s you, whether you want to see it or not.”
Anna sits on the bed, “Whatever you say.”
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