MONDAY
Silence is deafening. That's the only thought I can muster as I sit by the window in the empty apartment, watching the movers pack up the last of my belongings in a shabby cargo truck. Around me the walls echo every tiny sound I make, the drumming of fingers against the window sill, water running in the pipes, an old ceiling fan that creaks with every turn. All of it sounds so vivid now that there's no one to share it with.
I thought six months would seem like an eternity and I would have plenty of time to get over him. But I feel as empty as ever. After all, we've been together since college. I thought I was going to marry him. Everyone did. So when my boyfriend decided out of the blue that we weren't right for each other my whole world fell apart. I buried myself in work, pretending I was okay, and patiently waited out the end of my lease, paying double what I can afford, before packing up my life into neat little boxes.
And that's how I ended up here, crying into my shirt sleeve and reminiscing on a lie. That's what it was after all. Seven years of my life down the toilet. Every memory, obstacle, and rite of passage in my life is tainted by his presence. I fucking hate him.
"Honey!'
I jerk my head up at the sound of my mom's voice. Even in my darkest moment, the mere thought of her is a comfort. I wipe the tears on the hem of my shirt and inhale sharply to give the appearance I'm not entirely falling apart. Not that I can ever get something passed Ashley Marin.
"Hey Mom," I say, opening the door.
"Hanna," her voice is soft and comforting and it takes everything in me not to implode all over again.
She takes me into her arms, silencing my cries as she rubs soothing circles along my shoulders. Her voice murmurs soft words in my ear and I slowly feel the worries fall away. After all the tears, I really just needed to be held by the only person who's ever truly loved me.
"You ready?" she asks after a long while.
"Yeah," I reply softly. "Let me grab my bags."
My mom hushes me and points to the car before grabbing the bags herself. I sit down in the front seat feeling very small. It's been a long time since I sat in the passenger seat, twiddling my thumbs and sinking back in the lumpy seat. I watch as my mom pops the trunk and lugs the two suitcases in the back before getting in next to me.
It's a long drive back to Rosewood and it feels foreign as we drive past the once familiar streets. Neither of us says much, mostly just listening to the radio playing in the background. The whole time I replay our relationship, wondering when he decided he was just sick of us...sick of me.
I don't even remember falling asleep when I wake up as we pull in front of the hotel my mom manages. It's a majestic building with an art deco exterior and a regal wrought iron gate guarding the entrance. It would be beautiful except that I will always remember it as a sanitarium. There's no doubt in my mind it's haunted and I think that's the appeal for a lot of the guests. I still don't understand how my mom spends every day here.
"What are we doing?" I ask sleepily.
"I put the house on the market," she explains. "We're staying here for now."
I'm so shocked I can't even muster a response. I thought I was coming home and now I'm trapped in a mad house with my mother and about a hundred ghost hunters. Not to mention I'm so single it hurts. But my exhaustion outweighs my anger and nothing can get between me and a freshly made bed. So we grab the bags from the trunk and my mom takes me up to the top floor and hands me a key to the corner suite.
"I gave you the bigger room," she says kindly. "I'm just on the other side of the adjoining door. Try not to go overboard charging stuff to the room, okay?"
"Thanks Mom," I say sincerely.
She hugs me tightly, pressing a soft kiss into my hair. I'm exhausted from crying so much, but mainly from the realization that I haven't been happy for the last year. It's more than just the breakup. It slowly sets in that neither of us was making an effort toward the end. We got complacent and I guess I took him for granted when I started working more and more. We both did. By the end we barely spoke to each other and I can't even remember the last time we had sex. I guess we'd become more like roommates than lovers. But I never thought he'd just leave me.
"You should get some sleep," my mom says, gently guiding me into the room.
It's a corner suite with a balcony off the small sitting room. Light pours in through the sheer lilac curtains illuminating the sleek, modern furnishings. I crawl into the bed, diving deep beneath the covers, while my mom starts unpacking my bags. My legs curl up against my chest and I watch idly as my mom hangs everything up in the closet. Eventually sleep takes over and I wake up contorted with a crick in my neck.
The next few days are unbearably silent. My mom spends most of her time running around the hotel attending to the guests and I stay cooped up in the room for fear of running into someone from high school. It was hard enough switching my profile to "single" on social media. I don't need to encounter the sympathy messages in person.
Most days I order in room service, which I barely eat, and sit at the desk with my laptop pretending everything is totally fine. Work is a welcome distraction and they have been so supportive of allowing me to move to back to Rosewood and work from home. And luckily the calls and emails roll in at all hours to keep me from thinking too much about the terrible slump I'm in. Until finally the day comes and my mom knocks on the door with a home cooked meal.
"How'd you manage that?" I ask.
"Asked nicely," she tells me. "And I let the kitchen have extra long smoke breaks."
I cross my arms over my chest, eyeing her suspiciously as she steps inside and goes straight for the plush sofa near the window. She places the porcelain dish on the coffee table, steam rising through the holes in the slatted lid. The scent is intoxicating, especially compared to the half eaten plate of room service next to the bed. But even though my mom makes amazing food, she never cooks unless it's to break the bad news.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing's wrong," she says with a smile. "It's actually good news this time. Now sit."
I begrudgingly sit down opposite her as she loads up two plates with roasted vegetables and soft, pink salmon dripping with lemon. The first bite tastes like heaven. It's the perfect food to coax me out of my misery and it sure beats the limp salads and grilled cheese I've been living off of.
"We're building a new hotel," my mom says calmly. "I have to oversee things there for a couple weeks."
"Okay," I breathe.
"Hanna," she says with a sigh, "promise me you'll live this room at some point? Maybe call your old friends and go out for a drink...or many? Make some bad decisions."
"I can't believe my own mother is encouraging bad decisions," I say, rolling my eyes.
"Well, Hanna," her mom voice shines through, "it's a hell of a lot better than hiding out here."
"Fine," I reply. "I will put on clothes and go outside...once a week."
"I'll take it," she says triumphantly. "Don't lie to me. I can see everything on the cameras."
"You wouldn't," I retort, mouth dropping open wide.
"Don't test me," she teases. "Now finish your veggies."
I stifle a laugh as I finish eating and my mom shoots a quick wink. She's pulling out the tough love but we both know she really just wants me to be happy. If only I could muster up the energy to feel the same. But a home cooked dinner is a start and I practically lick the plate clean before she cleans up and puts everything away, saving the leftovers in a container for me.
"You'll be good when I'm gone?" she asks before leaving.
"Angelic," I promise.
"Good girl," she says, kissing my forehead.
She leaves first thing in the morning. The sound of her door locking shut echoes through the hall, waking me up at the break of dawn. I watch the sun rise, flooding the room with light, and when I can no longer stand it anymore I finally wrench myself from bed. For the first time I take a shower and wash my hair, relishing the hot water that rolls down my back finally putting to use the luxurious boutique bath products. By the time I turn the water off, my fingers are pruney and the shower is coated in a thin film of bubbles.
I wrap myself up in a plush towel and spend nearly an hour deciding on an outfit before I pick a slinky gold dress to wear under a blue blazer. It almost looks like something from my mom's closet so I channel her with some nude pumps, the kind with red patent soles. Making do with the few cosmetics I packed, I fix my face up and sweep my hair into an intricate braid so it dries wavy.
When I finally muster up the courage to face the world, I cling to my sketchbook as I head out into the lobby. My first thought is coffee, rich, freshly ground and plenty of it. But the Brew is not an option, too many memories. Instead I try a new place. It's a bakery with cases full of pastry and the scent of burnt sugar in the air. I order a vanilla latte and a savory croissant that's reminiscent of the week I spent in Paris with the man I thought I was going to marry. Suddenly it tastes like dirt and I spit it out in the nearest trash can.
Feeling disillusioned by reality, I choke down the coffee before tossing the empty cup. My first instinct is to head back to The Radley and crawl back into bed, but I make a pit stop down our old street. The house still sits behind a white picket fence, the red door pops against the simple paint job. The for sale sign looks like a foreign entity propped up in the front yard.
It makes sense to sell. It's just my mom on her own now and most of the time she's at the hotel anyway. But it feels odd knowing another family will be living there, replacing my memories with theirs.
I pull myself away from the house before I do something irrational and head back to the hotel. My sketchbook still glued to my hand as I step into the busy lobby. A large tour group seems to be gathering near the elevators and a frantic looking event planner knocks into me while I'm distracted. The book goes flying from my hands only to end up at the feet of a dark-haired stranger.
He tucks the hard drive he's holding into his pocket and smirks as he picks it up off the ground. I catch his eye before he starts snooping through my designs and snap at him to hand it over.
"Thanks," I say curtly, "I'll be taking that back now."
"Not so fast," he says. "How do I know it's yours?"
"It literally just fell out of my hands two seconds ago," I snap at him. "Besides, who's trying to steal designs?"
"They're not bad," he says, skimming the pages. "This could be worth millions. What's it worth to you?'
"About six bucks," I retort. "Can I have it back now?"
"You're uh...Hanna Marin?" he asks, reading the inscription on the front cover.
"That's me," I say, exhausted.
"Marin?" he asks again. "Like Ashley Marin?"
"You know my mom?" I ask confused.
His eyes narrow and he scans me up and down, suddenly making me feel extremely self-conscious. By then I realize, I don't care much about how he knows my mom or what he's doing here. Finally I yank the book out of his hands and whip around, ready to make a grand exit. Only my confidence comes crashing down at the sight of the hotel's wedding venue. A yelp escapes my lips and I quickly duck behind the nearest pillar.
I chance another look in that direction and my deepest fears are confirmed. Jordan Fucking Hobart. The same man who wasted nearly a decade of my life with his charming Australian accent and his perfectly coiffed hair only to shatter my heart in a million pieces. There he is, standing next to a life size engagement portrait of himself with his arms around a pretty brunette. I want to slap him across his beautiful fucking face.
"You alright, Princess?"
My head snaps in the other direction and I find the sketchbook snatcher towering over me. He cocks a smile and reaches a hand down to help me up but I scoff in his direction. Dusting myself off, I get back on my feet and glance at his silver plated name tag.
"Look...Caleb," I snap. "Not that it's any of your business, but the man I'm in love with is standing over there talking to a wedding planner so he can marry someone else. Happy? Now why don't you just get back to whatever it is you do here?"
"Okay," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.
Except it's not okay. Nothing is okay right now. My ex-boyfriend is about to get married to someone he barely knows and I'm stuck there because I live in a fucking hotel right now. None of that is okay. And it's made even worse when he notices me, locking eyes from across the room before he breaks into a smile.
"Hanna?" he calls out. I can feel my face growing redder with every step he takes toward me until he's standing so close I can feel his eyes boring into me. "Hanna, what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" I say suspiciously. "This is my mom's hotel. What are you doing here?"
"I'm getting married," he says softly. "I didn't expect to see you here though. You always said you hated this place."
"I'm renovating my condo," I say, lying through my teeth, "and I get free rooms here so...it just made sense."
He's about to say something else, no doubt poking holes in my lie, when Caleb comes strolling over with a goofy smile on his face. His hand falls at the small of my back and he laughs heartily as if the mere sight of me is hilarious.
"Babe, where did you run off to?" Caleb says with a laugh. He turns to Jordan. "I swear, I can never keep track of her. Hanna, sweetie."
I practically gag at his last pet name but swallow my pride and loop my hand around his waist as Jordan stares at us confused.
"You're...this is...the two of you?"
"Oh my manners!" I say quickly. "Jordan, this is Caleb. He...uh...works here with my mom…"
"I'm her boyfriend," Caleb cuts in, extending a hand. "Caleb Rivers."
"Uh Jordan," comes the reply. "Jordan Hobart."
"Nice to meet you," Caleb responds. "I hate to cut this short, but we better get going. We have to meet…"
"The decorator," I chime in quickly. "Better go!"
I push Caleb into the nearest hallways without a glance back at Jordan who must be dumbfounded, but nowhere near as confused as when I saw him in the lobby of my mother's hotel on the verge of getting married. I've nearly forgotten about the man I'm dragging by the arm.
"Are we gonna talk about that?" Caleb finally asks when we're safely in the next room.
"Uh, sure," I snap. "What the fuck was that? You came out of nowhere and now you're my boyfriend?"
"You didn't seem to hate it when you were flaunting me in front of you ex," he teases.
"Well, you started it," I say quickly. "I couldn't just say you're a liar. He'd know something's up."
"Really?" Caleb scoffs. "I thought I was saving you back there."
"I didn't need your help!" I snap at him.
"Okay then, message heard," he replies. "I'll keep my distance."
"No!" I say quickly. "You started this. Now we have to pretend to be together. At least whenever Jordan is-"
I stop short as Caleb's lips come crashing down on mine. His hand slides to the back of my head as I flail about in his arms, desperate to be set free. But then he snakes an arm around my waist and I brace my hands against his shoulders only to sink in the kiss. I hate myself for enjoying the way his lips dance across mine, tongue flicking across my teeth and then just when I think he's not all bad, he pulls away abruptly.
"Sorry," he says quickly. "Thought I saw Jordan walk by."
"Don't ever do that again," I snap at him before turning on my heel.
AN: I know the beginning starts a little slow but I promise it speeds up after this. Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying Haleb Week :)