Usually Rafael was called Rafa, but Hope shortened it further to Raf. Some of the other men who worked at the hotel would tease him when they heard this, but Rafael never mentioned it to her. He met her briefly while she worked the day shift during the summer time, when the sun would bleed through the windows and warm her pale face while she stood behind the front desk. She was popular with guests and always appeared eager to please them. She was required to wear a name tag that declared her name in all capital letters: HOPE. Rafael had a myriad of jobs; he was a porter, a prep cook, and even a technician when their managers were desperate enough. He dressed in a navy polo and pale khakis with non-slip shoes—no name tag was necessary. His job was to be out of sight. Hope and Rafael would greet each other politely before she changed out of her white button-up shirt and navy pencil skirt, and they would wave goodbye as she left the hotel in a brightly-colored sundress. But as autumn approached, he started working with Hope four nights a week.

Nights became filled with Hope’s endless questions. How long have you worked here? What kind of movies do you like? Have you ever seen an elephant in person? Do you think the hotel’s owners embezzle? Rafael would struggle to respond, sometimes he would force a laugh in response to her ambiguous comments to watch the skin in the outer corner of her eyes wrinkle. Hope would tell Rafael he looked older when he wouldn’t come to work clean-shaven; she didn’t know his jaw clenched at her words, but he had an idea that she knew it got on his nerves. Rafael wasn’t positive about her age. He wasn’t sure if she knew his. He had told her that he lived alone, and that his family lived across the country from them. He knew she was in school and working on her Bachelor’s degree in human biology, but she had mentioned in passing she would want to change it to a double major in theatre as well.

By the time the air outside would sting their faces, conversation came more naturally to Rafael and Hope. He would stop at a bakery by his apartment before work, and he was always sure to pick her up a powdered jelly doughnut. On the days where he forgot to or was running late and simply didn’t have the time, she would sneak behind him and drop an ice cube down his shirt. He would threaten to never buy her pastries again and she would whine that Rafael owed her because she never exposed him for stealing the complimentary shampoos.

At times he would find Hope in the kitchen before her shift began. As Rafael would clean ovens and check if the fridge was stocked, she would sit on a stool and ramble about her day, and then ask him detail-oriented questions about his own. When Hope would leave to clock in, Rafael would listen to the flare of conversation by the other men.

“She’s dying for you to take her out, Rafa.” The line cook would grin.

“No, she wants Raf to take her out.” Someone else would chime in, doing an impression of her squeaky voice, “It’s too many syllables for her.” The men erupted in laughter.

After that, Rafael asked her to stop coming by the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or annoyed or both, but he just told Hope she was distracting him. She said it was fine, but Hope became more distant. They would no longer play rock-paper-scissors to pass time or steal coffee together when no one was looking. He wouldn’t pick her up donuts. Their interactions seemed to be resigned to simple hellos. Every once in a while, one of the men in the kitchen would ask if Rafael had a fight with the “jailbait” and they would all join in before moving on to taunt someone else.

One night, Rafael eventually came over to the front desk and offered Hope an origami flower. Her lips curved into a small smile as she held the paper and she asked if he would be working on the holidays. He told her he requested time off to visit his family.

“I’ll be stuck here.” She sighed, “I’ll miss you while you’re gone, Raf.”

Rafael stood outside the hotel after his shift ended that night, leaning against one of the building’s large glass walls. He was smoking a cigarette to warm himself up and staring out at the rows of parked cars when he noticed Hope walking out the front exit. She was layered with a warm sweater and a bulky jacket, but still wearing ripped jeans. He had never known her to work a shift later than his own. When she noticed him, her face lit up and she asked him if this was the time he usually left. He nodded, feeling a smile sneak onto his face as she spoke.

“Do you ever work in the mornings?” When she stared up at him, Rafael suddenly could see how perfectly round her eyes were.

“Not really.”

“Why not? If you did, you’d probably get fresher pastries in the morning.”

“I only work in the morning if there’s a callout.”

“Do you like it when you work mornings?” Before she even spoke, she always looked like she was on the brink of a question she couldn’t wait to ask.

“It’s fine, but I like the night shift more.”

“So do I, but when you work in the mornings you get to watch the sunset. By the time we come in at night, the sun’s already down.”

“I guess so.”

“Do you like sunrises better? I feel like sunrises always look more orange, and sunsets always look more purple.” Rafael wondered if she meant it when she said she would miss him.

Warmth lingered in his chest after he took another drag, he turned his head before exhaling to avoid blowing the smoke in Hope’s direction. He waited a moment and cleared his throat before speaking:
“Can you buy cigarettes?”

She blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the question.

“Do you mean legally?”

“How old do you think I am, Hope?”

She shrugged and retorted that she never thought about it. He took out his driver’s license: DOB 06/19/1992. His hair was a bit longer in his ID photo and he appeared less exhausted. Hope took out her learner’s permit: DOB 11/03/2005. Her photo was almost identical to how she looked standing in front of him, except she looked happy in the photo. The girl staring up at him was biting her lips, her eyebrows raised in the middle of her face and dropping at their ends. She had just turned nineteen a month prior.

“Do you consider me your friend?”

He told her yes. She looked a little relieved, as though she was expecting him to reject her entirely. He asked her how she was getting home, and she replied that she would take the bus. It was quiet after that. Rafael dropped his cigarette to the ground, leaving the stub alight. He contemplated snuffing it out with his shoe but never did.

He looked at the dark street ahead of them and then back at her abstruse expression. He asked the girl if she wanted him to call her a cab and she shook her head. More quiet. He wanted to know what she was thinking at that moment, he wished he could read her mind and know the right thing to say to stop her from looking so solemn—it felt unnatural.

“Do you want me to drive you home?”

She hesitated a moment before asking if it would be a burden. He quickly said no. He didn’t think about how he didn’t know where she lived or how much gas he had in his car. Hope told him she would really appreciate the ride.

As they got in the car, he asked what street she lived on. It was a twenty minute drive from their job. As Rafael started the car, he watched her adjust the scarf she wore. He turned up the heat, she quietly thanked him. The radio was off, and Rafael was fidgeting from the quiet. Hope asked if he had any pets. Rafael glanced at her briefly before returning his focus to straight ahead of them. He said he didn’t.

“Oh.” She mumbled.

He found himself glancing at her again, “Why?”

“I just figured, y’know, if you’re going to see your family and if you did have a pet…I guess I was wondering if it would be lonely. I guess I mean I was wondering if you were going to leave it with one of your friends. But you don’t have a pet, so.”

She kept taking pauses between her sentences, he wasn’t sure if she was expecting him to cut in so he let her trail off. The silence was stretched out enough to make someone flinch.

“Um, why did we stop talking for a while?” Hope blurted out.

The more she spoke, the more aware Rafael felt of her age. In his head, he thought she was twenty-one, maybe even twenty-two. He wondered how old she pictured him to be, if she was grossed out by him now. Hope continued:

“Did I make you look bad?”

“No,” he said after grounding himself, “No, you were fine.”

“Then why were you so off?” She pressed, “You were kind of cold.”

“I didn’t mean to be.” He attempted to reassure her, but she tilted her head to the side.

“You looked, like, embarrassed by me.”

“There was nothing you did that was embarrassing.”

Hope waited for an explanation, but Rafael didn’t give one. You’re not my girlfriend, you know. Why was she acting so bipolar now, and why did he owe her anything? Nineteen.

“I feel like you don’t understand men, Hope.” He cringed at himself, but Hope listened to him attentively. “Most men—they don’t want to be friends with nineteen year old girls. And they shouldn’t want to. A lot of men are weird.”

“I’ve dated men before, Raf. I know how they are.”

“No, you’ve dated boys.” The first couple of weeks Hope first started working there, a scrawny guy used to pick her up every day. Rafael vaguely remembered how young he looked, but assumed he had a babyface. “Men are different, Hope. And a lot of them take advantage of girls with your kind of personality.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rafael noticed her foot sharply tapping against the car’s carpeted floor.

“You’re nice and you’re considerate, and you’re trusting. People abuse those traits.”

“I’ve dealt with weirdos before, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “I think I would know more about being a woman and seeing creeps more than you would.”

Rafael stopped the car at a stop sign. The street was empty, he saw Hope’s face twisted with frustration. He wanted to say he knew better because other men felt comfortable enough to say things to him about her unless he told them to fuck off. He wanted to say he knew better because customers would ask him and other coworkers for her number or what time her shift ends. He wanted to say he knew better because he is a man. Instead he sighed and apologized to her.

“I just don’t want you hurt or anything.” Rafael explained.

“Why?”

P
em
He figured it was pretty self-explanatory. He just kept driving. He approached the street she told him, and waited for her to say when to stop the car.

“Here is fine,” She said when they approached the only unlit house on the block.

She stayed seated in his car. He wasn’t too sure what to say, he knew “get out” wouldn’t be received well. She was looking outside the window instead of towards him, it felt as if she were avoiding his eyes.

He felt her hand rest on his own. Neither of them spoke. Instead he studied her wavy blonde hair against her black winter coat. He then eyed the hand he felt against his, her nails were short with a pale blue coat of paint. He looked back up in her direction; still no eye contact. He wondered what time she told her father she would be home, and what he would think if he knew his daughter was given a ride from a grown man she knows from work. Did her parents even know he existed? He felt her squeeze his hand gently. He didn’t know what to do.

She finally turned towards him again and leaned a bit closer. Rafael didn’t move an inch. She crept more towards him and was met with the same response. Her face was close to his, he could feel her warm breath against his chin. He wasn’t able to think when he felt her lips graze against his own. Self-disgust stabbed him in the chest as he touched her face gently with his free hand, leaning into the kiss fervently. He heard the girl unzip her coat as she crawled into his lap. He wasn’t sure which of them reclined his seat. Despite being cramped, she still wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs were on either side of his thighs. He ignored his guilt as found both his hands resting on her hips until she moved one of them up her sweater. His cold hand felt absorbed by the warmth of her abdomen, the tips of his fingers barely brushed against her bra. He knew she was able to feel how aroused he was, and then he was hit with the sobering realization that she could be a virgin.

“Hope–” He breathed.

She kissed him again. He wanted to let his hands explore her, to undress her and let his lips kiss her entire body. Instead he quietly asked her to go home and sleep on it. She stared blankly at him before climbing out of his lap and grabbing her coat off the floor of the passenger side. She said goodnight to him before slamming the door shut behind her. He waited for her to go into her house before driving away.

The next couple of times he saw Hope, she steered clear of Rafael. Rafael found himself avoiding her as well. He went on vacation to visit his family for Christmas, and as his time off was dwindling he would anxiously fixate on what he would do when he saw Hope again. At every dinner with his siblings and parents, he wondered what she was doing. He knew he couldn’t avoid her forever, but there was also no way he could bring himself to talk to her when he came back to work.

When he was finally home, the tension didn’t ease. It sat like a rock in his chest when he went to bed that night, and it stayed there until he parked his car outside the hotel the next morning. Rafael drank from his McDonald’s cup. He didn't remember when he left it in the car last, but the paper cup wasn’t leaking and the freezing weather kept it from getting warm. He watched the time go by on the digital clock. It was always six minutes early.

As he sat alone in the car, he couldn’t help remembering Hope’s body pressed against his own. It was a miracle she was able to get in his lap like that, but that was probably a bad way to view it. It wasn’t a “miracle” that the girl was petite enough to let him feel her in the tight space. And she was petite; her hands seemed delicate when they met his body. When she encouraged him to touch her bare skin under her clothes, he found himself afraid to grope her, as though she might break. The rock still rested in his chest; he wanted to tell Hope he was sorry, but that was not an option. In order to do that, he would have to speak to her. He didn't want to even be seen by her.

He thought about what they would have done if he hadn't stopped her. He didn't have a condom. Unless she was on birth control, he read somewhere that girls start taking birth control as young as sixteen. But then he would have had to drive somewhere more private, away from her home. She didn't mention anything about her parents, maybe they were already asleep. And she didn't seem to mind going to second base while they were there. “Second base”—did anyone even say that anymore? Or really, would she explain it like that?

Time was almost up, and he couldn't bring himself to think of her face. She was just a girl. Maybe she would call out and all this stress would be for nothing. That was how Rafael soothed himself as he opened his car door. He couldn’t afford to be late.

When he entered the lobby, he didn’t expect to see Hope waving to him before continuing her chat with a customer. Rafael picked up his pace as he walked past her, joining the men in the kitchen after clocking in.

“You really missed your chance, Rafa.” One of the younger men sighed.

Rafael turned pale. They told him that for the past couple of days she had been getting picked up from work by a guy, and one of the managers started complaining to everyone that they’ve been making out in the parking lot.

“I’m too old for her.” Rafael replied bluntly.

Rafael hated himself for feeling betrayed whenever the other men brought her up to him. He knew it wasn’t right for him to be hurt when he was the one who was wrong for not stopping her sooner, for kissing her at all. But the visible amusement on the face of every man in the kitchen when the subject of Hope’s dating life came up felt unbearable.

Rafael began wondering what his family would say if he started dating a teenager. His father probably wouldn’t care, he was always pretty vulgar in his humor anyways. He could picture his father warmly greeting Hope, asking if she was paid to date Rafael. He could also picture Hope laughing along and asking if that was an option. He knew his mother would raise her eyebrow once she heard Hope call him “Raf.”

Rafael and Hope barely acknowledged each other for months, not until pollen would tickle Rafael’s nose. Then, Hope appeared before him with a slice of red velvet cake on a cheap paper plate with a plastic fork. She said it was the birthday of one of the other receptionists and they had saved him a slice. He thanked her.

“How did you end up spending that vacation?” She smiled.

“Having fun.” He immediately cringed at his own words. But not as much fun as you had.

Hope asked about his family and he gave vague responses. He asked her what she had been up to, and she gave vague responses as well. Rafael wondered if this would be how they would speak to each other from now on. Rafael wanted to ask her how he could fix this, fix them, but instead said he should go back to work. Hope’s pink lips slowly uncurved into a straight line. She said okay, and they returned to not speaking for the rest of the night. She didn’t say goodbye to him when she left.

The next day, he asked his co-workers why Hope hadn’t shown up for her shift. He had stopped by the bakery that morning and bought her a doughnut. He didn’t even buy himself coffee. They stood around Rafael with each of their mouths downturned and eyes averted.

“Didn’t she bring you the cake?” One of the porters asked.

Rafael forgot he had to clock in for work. The men in front of him kept speaking, but the words did not register. He thought he was having a heart attack at first—his chest was burning and felt as though someone burst their fist through it. He thought about TV shows where characters would say their arms hurt or felt numb before clenching their chests and falling to the ground. He never gave those shows credit for accuracy, but it somehow reassured him into knowing he was not going into cardiac arrest. They said it was her last day.

“She told you that?”

Although he heard the words, he didn’t recognize his own voice. One of the men squeezed Rafael’s shoulder before leaving. The man said there was a leak in one of the rooms and their manager asked for him. Rafael couldn’t tell any of the men apart at the moment, so it didn’t matter which of them left him. But she left him.

He wanted to ask Hope why she had gone, where she was going to work now, and whether or not he should throw away the doughnut he bought. He held the paper bag in his hands—he thought maybe it would remind her of when they were closer. But clearly they had never been close if she could just leave without so much of a goodbye.

“She’s a kid, she probably didn’t think about it.”

Rafael hadn’t been listening, so he wasn’t sure which of the men said this or why, but he was right. She didn’t think about his feelings. How he thought about her constantly, she bled into seemingly every aspect of his life. She didn’t think about how he would watch the movies she recommended to him or shaved his beard more frequently for her sake. She didn’t think of the time it took for him to make her origami or the money he spent on doughnuts—those fucking jelly doughnuts he hated and had with him at that very moment.

“Well, are you hungry? They messed up.” Rafael spoke to both the men and neither of them simultaneously, gesturing the bag to them, “What the fuck do I need it for anyways?”

One of the men took the bag and Rafael walked away.

February 4, 2025