CHAPTER FIVE

I glance toward my right, past the six beige chairs set at the dark chocolate dinner table with a bouquet of exotic white flowers, and at the closed white door, framed by dark chocolate moulding, that leads into Max's bedroom and bathroom. Behind his door, the splashing of a waterfall shower head tells me that Max is still going to be a few more minutes—I can't wait to spring my surprise.

On the white porcelain-like tabletop of the coffee and tea station in front of me, I turn off the electric kettle and finish steeping the bags of tea—English breakfast tea—as I specifically requested the hotel to stock in our rooms. Removing the spent tea bags from the two cups atop saucers—the entire tea set is of white ceramic with enough to serve five—I add a dash of milk to each from the mini fridge below the table, add one sugar for myself, and two for Harvey, with an additional three cubes of sugar beside his teaspoon, atop the side of his saucer.

Behind me, wearing his typical white shirt and red shorts, Harvey sits on the beige tweed couch facing my direction, but staring down at the screen of my laptop that sits atop the circular coffee table of opaque white glass before him. While he talks to his parents—Paul and Sara—on a video call, Harvey seems perfectly unaware of my plans. Behind him, flanked by dark chocolate curtains, the sliding glass door frames the twelfth-floor balcony overlooking the sunny, clear skies of the Manila Bay.

"Two sugars," I say as I hand him his cup of tea. The splash-fall of water from Max's shower shuts off from behind his door.

"Thank you," Harvey says as he accepts his tea from me. I wave to Paul and Sara on the screen before taking a seat on an adjacent beige tweed couch that divides the dining area from the living area of Max's suite.

"Avery, so nice of you to serve Harvey tea on your day off," his mom's voice says as I set my cup and saucer on the coffee table and several inches away from the back of my laptop.

"Avery never stops working," Harvey says toward the direction of my laptop as I retrieve my phone from my pocket.

"Well, I wouldn't know what to do with myself, otherwise." I sip my tea.

As Harvey continues to talk to his parents on the screen, I zone out while looking at my laptop bag, the black leather satchel sitting on the taupe carpet leaning up against the end of the couch. Inside my bag, my surprise presents for Max and Harvey wait for their chance. Two gift-wrapped little boxes, each with an adjustable-length, bolo-style bracelet with sterling silver fittings and an engraved sterling silver band—the leather braid for Harvey's bracelet is crimson, while the one for Max is navy blue. I agonized for weeks thinking about what I should have done for the engraving, thinking along the lines that having my initials would be a little too ridiculous even if it was alongside theirs, and having just their initials or their full name would be too commonplace, so I hunted down a place that could engrave something more artistic—I eventually settled on choosing the outline of two ducks spreading their wings towards one another as if they were two people holding hands. My guts twist, uncertain about if they will even like the gifts at all—much less, wear them.

Muffled shuffling noises behind Max's door remind me to text Dalton. I message him with my phone, 'he's almost out.' I take a sip of my tea and set it back down onto its saucer just as my phone vibrates. Dalton's return message reads, 'I'm outside.' As Harvey laughs wildly at something said but unheard, I glance at him, but he doesn't seem to notice me—the surprise should still be on my side. Max's door finally opens, revealing the other birthday boy wearing his usual white shirt and black shorts as he hangs his white towel on an unseen fixture. We share a smile as I stand and walk toward him—secretly aiming to be nearer to the vestibule of the door to the hallway, where Dalton awaits just outside.

"Care for a cup of tea?" I ask, hoping to hide my intentions under the most mundane of questions, seeing as I'm approaching the tea station that's also adjacent to the vestibule.

"Yes, please," Max replies as Harvey waves him over to join him.

"Max is out of the shower," Harvey announces to his screen as I make a new cup of tea. "Come on, Max."

Waiting for the kettle with a new batch of water to boil becomes agony as I think about Dalton waiting behind the door. Waiting for the tea bag to steep adds extra insult to injury—perhaps, it's better this way—waiting for the twins to fully immerse their attention towards their family before letting Dalton in. With my back still toward the twins, I remove my phone from my pocket and text Dalton, 'light it.' After I sneak my phone back into my pocket, I remove the tea bag from the cup, add the dash of milk, then one sugar, and take the cup of tea on a saucer with a teaspoon over to Max.

"One sugar," I say, flatly, as I hand over his cup of tea—hiding any trace of my excitement as well as my anxiety.

"Thank you," Max says as he takes his cup of tea from my hands. We share a smile and he quickly returns his attention to the screen of my laptop as he stirs his tea.

I casually disappear into the vestibule and sneakily open the door of the suite as quietly as possible. In the hallway, wearing a white polo and dark gray shorts, Dalton stands with a black serving tray in his hands. Atop the tray and atop a white ceramic plate, a black cake with brown icing that reads, 'Happy Birthday,' over the second line underneath that reads, 'Max and Harvey'—a single red candle sits over the 'r' of 'Harvey,' while a single blue candle sits over the 'a' of 'Max,' both burning high and bright. Besides the cake, next to a knife, some polished steel forks, and a stack of small white plates of ceramic, I'm surprised to see two small boxes, neatly wrapped. One of the boxes is wrapped in shiny crimson, while the other is wrapped in shiny royal blue—Dalton didn't tell me anything about his own set of presents for the twins. I hold the door as Dalton sneaks past me. He starts to sing a birthday song as I let the door close behind us. Joining in on the song, we round the corner from the vestibule to the surprised faces of Max and Harvey still behind the screen of my laptop.

"Oh, guys. You shouldn't have," Harvey says over our singing, eyes wide and brows high.

"Didn't we just celebrate yesterday?" Max asks as we finish our singing, wearing pretty much the mirror expression as Harvey is.

"That was less a party—more like a promotional event," Dalton says as he places the tray onto the dinner table, waving for the two to come over and blow out their candles.

"Happy birthday!" The voices of Paul and Sara mixes in with the familiar voices of the twins' younger siblings—their brother, Leo, and their sister, Tilly—as they ring out almost in unison from the speakers of my laptop.

"You guys' we're in on this, weren't you?" Harvey asks, seeming rhetorical.

After the two come over to the table and blow out each of their respective candles, Dalton presents them with their gifts. Harvey unwraps the crimson box, while Max unwraps the royal blue one. As they tear away the wrapping, beige boxes appear with an embossed five-point crown logo. Max and Harvey pause to look at each other with wide, knowing eyes as if they're now aware of what must be inside—although I certainly don't. They lift open the lid of the box, separating the top and bottom halves, revealing a forest-green leather box with a wavy pattern on top and a small golden emblem of that same five-point crown at the bottom center of the top face. Dropping the front flap of the box reveals the gold-foil crown with the metallic forest-green letters underneath that read, 'ROLEX.' My heart sinks into my gut as I glance over at my laptop bag—I've been totally upstaged.

"Mr. Ashford told me to present them in person," Dalton says as the two open their boxes. Everyone is smiling—everyone except for me, that is. "Now I know why."

"It's an Oyster!" Harvey yells as the glint of the fiery crimson dial catches my eyes.

"Oh, a Submariner!" Max yells, partly overlapping Harvey's voice. The deep royal blue bezel and black dial contrast against what I'm sure is a body of shining white gold.

I rather abruptly excuse myself for the restroom, although nobody seems to take notice. I walk into Max's room and shut the door. I close my eyes and try to slow my rapid breathing as well as the pounding in my chest. I don't know how I'm supposed to present my gifts now—compared to the grandiosity of those luxury pieces, my gifts seem best suited for the trash—I resolve myself to throw them away in the lobby, or perhaps I'll give them away to the staff—anything to be rid of them. The twisting of my guts intensifies. As I breathe in slowly, a hint of smoky cedarwood fills my lungs, gradually calming me down. I breathe out slowly and repeat the process with my eyes still shut, the darkness fades into a vision of wandering through an old-growth cedar forest filled with smoke. All I have to do is get out there and grab my bag, but I don't know what I'll say—perhaps they won't even notice me trying to leave—no, I'm sure they'll definitely ask. The best I can come up with is that I'll tell them that I need to check on something in my room.

I open my eyes again to the white painted wood of the door and turn the handle, opening the door to the dining area where Dalton sits, eating a slice of chocolate birthday cake. Max re-boxes his Rolex while he sits at the far end of the table near the second set of sliding glass doors that overlook the bay. Panic thumps my chest as Harvey slips my laptop into my bag—he pauses to see what's stopping him from sliding it in completely. The beating in my chest rises to my eardrums, my breath hitches in the back of my throat as he removes the laptop and peers into the bag.

"Are these for us?" Harvey asks, still peering into the bag. I resist the urge to lie, because I have the feeling he's already noticed their names written on the wrappings. He raises an eyebrow towards me. "Avery, you've gotten us gifts as well?"

"Yeah," I reply with a sigh, giving up—game over.

As Max gives me a smile, I return him a rather weak one of my own before he goes to join Harvey with my gifts. Dalton offers me a slice of cake on a plate with a fork, but I shake my head, turning him down. The twisting of my gut rises to churn the acid now threatening to launch itself upward into my esophagus. With the backs of Dalton and Max towards me, and with Harvey's view of me blocked by Max, I slip away into the vestibule, quietly opening and closing the door as I exit.

I rush down the hallway in the direction of my room. The repeating pattern of walls and doorways flow past me in a nauseating blur of beige and brown until muscle memory carries me to the door of my room. I fumble through my pockets, but I can't find my key-card. I hope I haven't lost it—or left it in Max's suite. I dig through the same pockets over and over, dreading the thought of having to go back—I just want to hide in my room under the sheets of my bed with a pillow over my face for the rest of the day. Amazingly, my finger jabs into the plastic edge of a card sticking to the fabric of my pocket. I pull out my key-card and slide it into the slot of the keypad. The door beeps and I turn the handle. As I open the door toward me, footsteps come running down the hallway behind me and a gentle but firm hand grabs hold of my shoulder, stopping me from disappearing into my room.

"Hey," Max's voice calls from behind me as I resist the very real and very strong urge to pull away. I slowly turn around as I let the door to my room shut. Max holds up the back of his wrist towards the ceiling, showing off my gift—the silver glinting in the fluorescents overhead. "You didn't get to see us open your presents."

"I couldn't—I had to go," I say as I lower my gaze to the taupe and dark chocolate carpet between us—the tips of his toes under his white socks only inches from my own.

"Why?" Max asks as he leans in towards me with both of his hands still gripping my shoulders, his brows high and furling, his hazels burning into me.

"I feel like an idiot—" I sigh as I return to staring down at the floor, heat rising to my cheeks. "Now I'm embarrassed about being embarrassed."

"You feel embarrassed about your gifts?"

"I wanted to throw them in the trash."

"Why? That doesn't make any sense."

"Compared to a Rolex, that's where they belong," I say and a deep silence fills the hall and the arm space between us. Max's grip tightens into my shoulders, his fingers digging in towards his palm, squeezing firmly but gently like the hands of a master masseur. I startle as he pulls me in towards his body, his arms slide over my shoulders and close behind my neck, engulfing me in his smoky cedarwood, pressing me into the warmth of his chest as he presses my back against my door—I can't remember the last time anyone hugged me. Mother certainly never did, neither did Father, nor any of my friends. I don't think anyone ever has. It feels strangely warmer than just having someone else's body against my own and it's as if some unknown lock in my brain is now open. It's something I never thought I needed, but it feels really good—too good.

"I'll wear it," he softly whispers, his nose nuzzling the space behind my ear as he speaks. His parted lips brush downward against the rim of my ear toward my earlobe, the hint of chocolate cake and icing warming my neck. "I promise."

From the direction of Max's suite, two sets of footsteps are fast approaching us from up the hallway—I get the feeling that it's Harvey and Dalton. The pace of the pounding in my chest increases as it rises to my eardrums. I can't let either of them see us like this, especially not Dalton—I can't appear so unprofessionally close to my client.

As I've dreaded, Harvey's figure appears around the corner—I push Max off of me and he trips backwards and hits the back of his head on Harvey's chest—I suppress a gasp. Harvey catches Max into his arms—thankfully. Max's eyes are wide, brows high, his lips parting as if silently asking, 'why?' Dalton appears behind Harvey, and the two of their heads dart between me and Max, wearing similar looks of confusion. Nobody utters a single word as I turn around and disengage the lock to my door and slip away inside my room.