The Afterparty

At half past two, May stepped out of the car holding her heels and a bag containing one dress, a charger and a can of deodorant. Leo apologised for the stairs. She looked up at the building and began revising several things she had assumed about him.

They had met at a birthday dinner, then kept meeting in Patong. Leo wore clean shirts, paid without making speeches and knew how to order a car before the group started arguing about who lived where. May had given him credit for being organised, then quietly added rich.

He had invited her back to his place after her shift. She had said yes and spent the evening expecting an apartment with a balcony and probably a swimming pool.

The stairs led to a room above a row of shops.

Leo unlocked the door and switched on the light. There was a bed, a plastic chair and a fridge that made a noise like somebody clearing their throat. Two shirts hung from the curtain rail. A bag of laundry sat under the chair.

May stood in the doorway long enough for him to notice.

“Thought it would be bigger?” he asked.

“A little.”

“So did I. The photos were enthusiastic.”

She laughed, although she was still looking for the rest of the apartment.

Leo moved the laundry, found a clean towel and asked whether she had eaten. May had finished a shift on iced coffee and something from a colleague’s plate. He opened the fridge.

It contained water, half a lime and a box of eggs.

“Strong menu,” she said.

There was a small hotplate on the shelf. Leo made eggs while she sat on the bed with her feet on the towel. He tried to open a sauce sachet with wet hands, failed twice and handed it to her.

She had imagined being impressed by his home. Instead, she was helping a man in socks negotiate dinner.

When the food was ready, they ate from mismatched plates. He apologised for the chair. She told him to stop apologising for furniture.

Her phone rang. A friend wanted to know where she was and whether the place was nice.

May looked at the laundry, the lime and Leo scraping a burnt patch from the pan.

“It’s okay,” she said.

He pretended not to hear.

Later, they lay under a thin sheet while a scooter started downstairs and took a long time to decide whether it was going anywhere. Leo asked if she was cold. May said no, then pulled the sheet over her shoulder.

In the morning he woke to find her standing by the fridge, drinking water. She was wearing yesterday’s dress and had put her heels back in the bag.

He offered breakfast somewhere better.

May opened the fridge. There were two eggs left.

“Here is fine.”

He looked at her, then at the hotplate.

“Same menu?”

She nodded and reached for the pan.

This time, he put the plastic chair beside the bed before she had to ask.