Until I Met You

chapter nine

Nova

I don't know if you've ever flown across Canada and then been given news that you have to share a shoddy motel room with a guy you hate all in one day, but it's pretty much impossible to survive without snapping. Especially when you're tired and hungry.

Warren seems to notice my agitation because, even though it's almost midnight by the time we're on the road and heading to the motel room he booked, he stops at a twenty-four-hour convenience store to buy me food. There are few options for me, but I eventually find a vegetarian sandwich. Warren gets some kind of sandwich that reminds me of Thanksgiving dinner. After paying, the two of us eat outside on some rotting wooden picnic table. The air is warm from the leftover heat of a summer day, but the breeze has an oceanic chill to it.

We're on the road again as soon as we're finished.

But while my stomach is full and I'm feeling less agitated, by the time we make it to the motel I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to fall asleep. The four-hour time difference is getting to my head; I feel energized because while it's midnight here, it's only eight P.M. in Vancouver. Four hours isn't something I can instantly adapt to, but I'm going to have to find a way or else tomorrow is going to be a terrible day of overtiredness and way too many coffees.

The motel we're staying at adds an extra twenty minutes to our trip tomorrow, but for once I don't mind going off course. Adding extra minutes means more time away from his family. I shouldn't be nervous about meeting them – it's not like I'm actually Warren's girlfriend – but I am. First impressions are always important.

I don't know if Warren bothered to check the online reviews of the motel, but the look of disgust on his face when he unlocks the door and pushes it open tells me he didn't. He flicks the light on and curses.

The motel room is crowded with two twin beds and a small nightstand between them. An old-fashioned alarm clock sits beside the dusty lamp. Everything about this place is disgusting, worn-out. From the colour of the walls to the state the carpet is in, it all makes me wish we were back in our dorm room.

My skin itches uncomfortably as I look at the beds. All I can do is hope all the bedding has been washed.

For the next fifteen minutes, we get situated. I would rather exit the motel room and find a different place to stay. Warren, however, looks exhausted. And I can't blame him. After a long day of flying, dealing with the time changes, and then driving around, he needs to rest.

While Warren stares out at the illuminated forest that seems to stretch on forever until it reaches the Bay of Fundy, I get ready for bed. The bathroom is cramped and just as disgusting as the rest of the room, so I brush my teeth and wash my face as fast as I can. I'd prefer to not stare at the streaked mirror and the discoloured tiles.

When I exit the bathroom, nothing has changed except the clothes Warren is wearing. Instead of his shorts, muscle shirt, and sweater, he's wearing boxer shorts and a loose-fitting Vancouver Canucks T-shirt. I purse my lips. I wouldn't be surprised if Warren stripped right in front of the window.