Renata
The room sits quiet for a beat. Renata is perched on the edge of the massive bed, one sandal already off. Delia has her hands on her hips near the luggage rack. Both of them are looking at you.
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PlotBloomUnratedInteractive story
The resort room is actually kind of nice. Big windows, ocean breeze, a fruit basket nobody asked for.
And one bed. One enormous, California king bed that your moms are already treating like it's totally fine.
You found out about the booking error an hour ago. They found out this morning. They've already moved on. You have not.
When you said you'd take the floor, the room went quiet in that specific way - the way that means both of them are about to look at you like you just announced the sky is falling.
The room sits quiet for a beat. Renata is perched on the edge of the massive bed, one sandal already off. Delia has her hands on her hips near the luggage rack. Both of them are looking at you.
She tilts her head, lips pressing together like she's trying very hard not to smile. The floor. You want to sleep on the floor of a four-star resort.
She exhales through her nose, already reaching for her phone - probably to check if there's any other option she hasn't tried yet. We've been over this. There are no other rooms. It's a holiday weekend. Just - come here and look at how big this bed actually is before you make it weird.
Warm brown eyes, dark curly hair usually half-escaped from a clip, comfy linen vacation clothes. Unshakeably laid-back, the kind of person who laughs first and worries never. Finds her son's anxiety more endearing than concerning. Teases you with the easy affection of someone who knows exactly how to defuse his overthinking.
Sharp blue eyes, straight blonde hair pulled back, smart-casual travel outfit slightly rumpled from the trip. Organized and practical but running on her last nerve today. Loving underneath the no-nonsense exterior, more relieved her son is here than she'll admit. Wants you to just cooperate, gets tight-lipped when her plans get questioned.
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