"'Which is bigger,' he asks me, 'the ocean or sky,'
and I want to tell him the heart, which even today
has been practicing vastness, is learning to say yes
in new languages"
-talking to my son before sleep, rosemerry wahtola trimmer
She's viciously ashamed of herself by the time they've reached the front desk.
Teddy's being very kind - worse, professional - as he explains to the concierge what's happened.
He's never been anything but kind to her, so Lily's left reviewing her instinctive response to people treading too close to anything unprotected in her.
To Teddy, who's known her too long and too gentle to know what she needs to keep safe, treading too close to the softest parts of her.
She's not proud of it, and perfectly happy to stew in that pit of self reflection for a minute. Teddy's not touching her anymore - he'd had her hand for a few moments on their way down, but dropped it discreetly once they'd hit the first floor - meaning she's free to cross her arms and feel unsettled and wrongfooted while Teddy asks logical questions and does sensible things.
It's not fair he does this to her- no, that's not correct- it's not fair she does this to herself, when Teddy's here. Probably not fair she's catching Teddy with the sharp edge of it, either, but Lily's fundamentally selfish.
Not unpleasantly so, she thinks; she can be charming and interested and funny when it doesn't matter, but when it does, when it's not easy, it's always the worst of her that rises up to meet it: her defenses, her claws.
Cruel, snaps an eager, spiteful voice in her head, and now she has to deal with that as well.
Lucky that Teddy's voice distracts her then, interrupting her with a politely clinical request to describe what's missing.
"A- erm, box of my possessions," she says, turning to the woman at the front desk, "Some of my money that was in the wardrobe, and… they went through my suitcase, but I don't know if anything is missing... That's it," she finishes, a little surprised its not a longer list. The items taken don't seem to match the level of violation she feels; the raw and ugly feeling of a private space upended in public without her permission.
"The box has… sentimental value," she adds after a second, "I can deal with the rest, but that's very special to me. Please – if you can, that's the most important."
The concierge is deeply apologetic and distressed, making furious apologies, insisting they will do their best to find the culprit and will cooperate with the authorities to do so. Teddy takes up the mantle of civility again, and nods in all the right places, asking to be kept updated.
He touches her again once they're done, just a light touch to the back as he gestures to the door.
"I, uh, I'm going to head – actually, I think I'm going to get a drink," he finishes, "Do you…?" He looks at her inquisitively, and Lily really just doesn't want to go back upstairs, to that emptied out room that doesn't feel like hers anymore.
"Yeah, of course," she says, instead.
He nods. "Bar all right?"
"Anything is fine," she responds, listlessly.
She knows she's being unnaturally quiet on their walk by the way Teddy keeps darting looks at her, opening his mouth and then turning away. She tolerates four looks before she stops short and faces him, arms crossed.
Teddy shrinks immediately, the sheepishness almost instinctive. "Yeah, sorry," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I just – you seemed upset – you are upset. You should be, I just…" he takes a deep breath, turning his face away and shoving his hands further into his pockets.
"I just want you to know, it wasn't about you," Teddy says, as if he's wary of her reaction. "I mean," he corrects, shaking his head, "I didn't try to help because I thought you couldn't do it. I just – It was just-" he shakes his head again and sighs out a breath.
It was the right thing to do, Lily fills in, and is, bizarrely, reassured.
"Okay," Lily says, nodding, then: "…Thank you. That… means a lot, from you. That you know I could handle it."
"Yeah," Teddy says, and then says nothing else.
There's a ballooning silence, then Lily grudgingly murmurs, "And... I'm sorry." She meets his eyes. "I tend to – I was angry and I just, I just said things and it wasn't fair. To you, I mean... It wasn't about you," she echoes, smiling a little, returning the olive branch.
Teddy smiles back, and gestures forward with his hands still in his pockets. "So, drinks?"
"Whiskey," Lily sighs, already feeling lighter, somehow, "As long as you're paying."
Teddy shoots her a look and then says, "Yikes."
Lily loses it, and cackles into the dark air.
-x-
Lily does have to go back to the hotel room eventually. It seems there's been a shift change, as there's a different concierge at the front desk. She nods at him and makes her way up the stairs.
It's still ugly, inside, and she takes a minute to take proper stock of the mess before tossing out a couple spells to put what she can back to rights.
She plops down on the bed afterwards, still a little hollow, but better. More than she expected, somehow.
Not somehow. Better because of Teddy. She doesn't particularly want it to be, would feel enormously happier if it was, in fact, her own work, her own feelings that steadied her. But it's been Teddy this whole trip, hasn't it?
Suddenly restless, she stands up again, itching to move. She's always restless when she has to card through her own emotions like this; so much simpler to just move through it, to remain untouched by the flaw of her own need.
It just feels like less of a flaw around him. Which is stupid. Teddy's hardly perfect himself – he's too quick to cater to other people, likes opening up about himself about as much as she does, skims over discomfort and unpleasantness with a smile that's slightly too shallow.
But he's not flustered when she's not at her best. He makes room beside him, in his conversations, for her teeth, for her to be prickly, unpleasant, unsure. He makes it feel like there's always room, beside him.
Lily's liked loads of people before, some intensely, some catastrophically, some very, very briefly. This – this sunflower brightening around him isn't something new. It's just nice.
Lily stops pacing, as abruptly as she started. She sets herself down at the dresser, and closes her eyes on her reflection.
In that moment, she lets herself have something very simple. Lets herself sketch Teddy into the room – long shape half in the shadow by the door – draws in the shape of his hands and his eyes, laugh lines and all, the way he won't meet her gaze when he is serious or thinking.
She imagines turning to him with something worth saying, words beading up against his skin as she tries them out on her tongue, threads them onto a needle and weaves them into a skein strong enough to cast around them, a spell bright and fierce enough to close them off from everything outside.
She imagines having him there, in a place only the two of them fit, and telling him something she's been keeping in a dark and secret place within herself – not because it's a secret, but because it's hers – because she knows how to put it into words with him.
Lily sits very still and imagines the quirk of Teddy's smile after she says it out loud, feels the answering smile rise up within her, here.
She loosens the knot of her hands in her lap, looks at herself in the mirror, and wants him, wants him, wants him.