A Curious Moon

By Kelly Murashige

The hotel employees think a guest might be dead.

He checked in five days ago, alone and smelling of liquor, and asked to switch out of the honeymoon suite. The front desk, then management, denied his request. They were sorry, they said, but all the rooms had been booked.

He’s been here for days without asking for much, holed up in the love-themed suite he should have been sharing with his would-be wife. The only times anyone has ever seen him are when he orders meals, and even then, according to Mina from Room Service, he asks to have the tray left outside his door.

It’s such a waste, Sadie from Housekeeping sighed on Day Three. That man has never even seen the buffet.

Why bother with the buffet when the one thing he wants will never be there? Khai from Guest Services asked.

Now, two days later, Mina from Room Service has just burst into the break room, her black-rimmed eyes stretched wide with an almost morbid sense of excitement.

“When was the last time any of you saw the spurned groom?” she asks, her gaze sweeping around the employees in the break room.

A few of the workers exchange baffled looks.

“Dunno,” Khai from Guest Services says. “He’s been pretty quiet.”

“Yes,” Mina from Room Service says. “Exactly. Too quiet. He hasn’t ordered food for at least a full day.”

A brief silence falls.

“Maybe he’s dead,” Luca from the Front Desk says.

Sadie from Housekeeping whaps his shoulder with one hand.

“Don’t say that,” she says, her expression scandalized.

“No,” Mina from Room Service says. “That’s what I’m thinking too.”

“Maybe someone should check on him,” Luca from the Front Desk says.

Everyone turns to look at the new girl.

Tori the Laundry Assistant squirms under their gaze.

“What?” she asks.

No response. They all just keep staring.

“What?” she asks again. “I mean… why me?”

“Because,” Sadie from Housekeeping says, “you’re the strong one.”

Tori the Laundry Assistant flicks her eyes over to Khai from Guest Services. He crosses his arms over his comically massive chest.

“I’m the strong one?” she asks.

Khai from Guest Services nods. “Emotionally.”

“You’ve definitely seen a dead body before,” Sadie from Housekeeping says.

“Are you serious?” Tori the Laundry Assistant asks.

More silence. More looks. More nonverbal peer pressure.

Rising from her seat, she lets out a breath.

“Fine,” she says, “but you’d better all vote for me for Employee of the Year.”

“We don’t do that here,” Mina from Room Service says.

Tori the Laundry Assistant exhales through her nostrils.

“If he’s dead,” she tells them, “I’m quitting on the spot.”

The sound of laughter laps at her ankles. She shakes off one foot as she waits for the elevator. The entire ride up, she imagines his corpse.

Upon reaching the honeymoon suite, she knocks once, then again.

“Hello,” she calls out. “Hotel staff checking in.”

She listens for shuffling. All the guests drag their feet.

She hears nothing. Gets nothing. He’s probably dead.

When the door opens, she takes a step back. Her eyes fly up to the doorframe, searching for a face, but it’s as if the door has unlocked on its own.

Swallowing hard, she says, “Hello?”

“Do you like watching the sun rise in the morning?”

She blinks, her eyes landing on the side of the door. He must be standing just behind it, hiding away like a child behind his mother’s hip.

“What?” she asks.

“Just answer the question,” he says. “Do you like watching the sun rise in the morning?”

She pauses. “I mean, I’m not sure. I start work before it ever rises.”

For a while, he says nothing, perhaps processing this.

“Okay,” he says. “Then what’s your favorite season?”

She digs her nails into her palms. She only showed up to check if he was dead. He’s not. Her job is done. She has no reason to stay.

“Is it spring?” he asks.

She pauses. “No. Too much pollen.”

Another pause. Then, miraculously, a faint, raspy laugh.

He pulls the door open.

“Come in,” he says.

She frowns, a rejection lined up on her lips.

Then, for some reason, she steps into the room.

Leaving the door open, the ex-groom sits on the bed. A heart-shaped pillow lists to one side. “She wanted to get married right before the spring equinox.”

Tori the Laundry Assistant says nothing, her arms dangling limply at her sides.

“She loved beginnings. Our wedding was supposed to be at dawn.”

“That’s—”

“Nice,” he guesses.

“More like early,” she says.

He laughs, then straightens up, as if he’s surprised himself. Lowering his head, he says, “She said dawn was ‘our thing.’”

Tori the Laundry Assistant glances at the window. The curtain is drawn. “So every morning, you’re just—”

“Reminded of her,” he says. “Yeah. I am.”

She shifts her feet. “Sorry. That sounds like it sucks.”

He laughs again, a little. It sounds like it hurts. “What sucks even more is knowing she’ll write something about it.”

“She’s an author?”

“An influencer.”

“Dear God. That’s worse.”

Another laugh. She wonders why she likes the sound so much.

“I know,” he says. “It was torture. She was just so obsessed.”

Tori the Laundry Assistant once again shifts her feet. “Was she really famous?”

“On FollowMe? Sure. Her followers love her. Once, someone took one of her captions and got a tattoo of it.”

The question slips out before she can catch it.

“Where is it?” She pauses. “Where is the tattoo?”

He turns to her, his lips pursed, his eyes glinting with mirth. “Not sure. I didn’t ask.”

She folds her arms behind her back. “Any guesses?”

“I… No.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve definitely thought about it.” She lifts an arm. “Wrist? Hand? Shoulder blade?”

“Shoulder blade?” he repeats. “Really? That sounds painful.”

“It’s all painful,” she replies.

His smile is wry. “Are we still talking about tattoos?”

“No,” she says, entirely serious. “I don’t think we are.”

The light drains from his eyes.

He leans over; she stiffens, her muscles taut with anticipation. She relaxes as he opens the mini fridge. Then she tenses once again. Almost all the beverages have been removed from the shelves. At this rate, his hotel bill might surpass that of his failed wedding.

He offers a mini bottle to her. She takes it without a second thought, then holds it awkwardly, as if it’s her new adult security blanket. After pulling out a second bottle for himself, he begins picking at the label.

“Why did you come?” he asks.

She mulls this for a moment. Considers lying. “Because we thought you were dead.”

His head snaps up. “What? Who did?”

“All of us,” she replies.

“So the others sent you to… what, check on me?”

She nods, her mouth pulled into a bud. “I apparently give my coworkers the impression that I’ve seen a dead body.”

His laugh comes out as a honk, loud enough to startle her.

“Or,” she continues, “that I wouldn’t mind seeing one.”

“Mmm.” He nods. “That, I can understand.”

She shoots him a look. “You don’t even know me.”

He opens his mouth, pauses, then exhales. “I guess you’re right. I don’t.”

The two are quiet for a moment, their silence almost companionable.

“Look at the bright side,” she says. “At least she broke your heart now, instead of after years of a stuffy, suffocating marriage and a kid you’d traumatize.”

He slides his eyes over to her. “That’s looking at the bright side?”

She glances down at the bottle. Uncaps it. Takes a sip. The alcohol burns almost as badly as the shame.

“I think so,” she says. “Speaking from the perspective of the traumatized kid.”

He blinks, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “The way I see it, you only get so many days on Earth. Why waste them with someone you don’t even like? And just think: Every time you see another sunrise or welcome another spring, you might hurt for a little while, but at least you won’t need to go through the pain of ‘liking’ a bunch of her FollowMe posts about it.”

He cracks a smile. “That’s true.”

“See? What’d I tell you? Silver lining in every cloud.” She dips her head. Clears her throat. “Anyway. I should go.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “So you can tell everyone I’m alive after all.”

“I could.” She tilts her head. “Or you could prove it yourself. I heard the buffet is killer.”

His smile widens. “Yeah?”

“We serve brunch till two-thirty.”

“Two-thirty,” he parrots, running a thumb along his pocket-sized bottle. “Well, thanks. For the wellness check and the unexpected pep talk.”

“Of course.”

She pauses. Wonders if adding That’s my job would be callous or comforting. It isn’t even her job. None of this is “her job” in the slightest.

“Of course,” she says again.

She starts for the door.

“Wait,” he says.

She turns, her arms clamped tightly at her sides.

“Is there someone I can call?” he asks. “A manager or something? Do hotels do some kind of… Employee of the Year?”

Now it’s her turn to choke out a bitter little laugh.

“No,” she says, “but thanks. I’m happy to help.”

“You did,” he says. “You did help. Really.”

“Good,” she says. Then, after a pause: “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

His laugh fills the room like the light of new dawn.

Born and raised in Hawaiʻi, Kelly Murashige is the author of the award-winning YA novel THE LOST SOULS OF BENZAITEN and Adam Silvera’s July 2025 Allstora Book Club Pick, THE YOMIGAERI TUNNEL. Her 2025 short fiction has been nominated for Best Small Fictions.