Chapter 23
This year’s Red, White, and Blue party feels different from last year’s.
I’m eighteen. Considered an adult and mostly treated like one.
I’m expected to mingle and make small talk with my parents’ and the Ellsworths’ friends, not just peers my own age.
There’s no tent and bar set up on the beach.
My cousin Kit was in charge of organizing that, and he’s busy being a parent this summer.
His girlfriend, Collins, gave birth to their son a couple of months ago.
The youngest Kensington—Dylan—is cute, but “could put sirens to shame,” according to Bash.
Formerly holding that title always came with a certain degree of freedom.
I watched my sister and my cousins head to college and choose careers, knowing my turn was coming but also appreciating how distant it felt.
Suddenly, seeing Lili in a serious relationship, watching Kit cradle a baby, and listening to Rory talk about starting law school, it doesn’t feel so far away.
Bash has plans too—business school and then starting at Kensington Consolidated.
Then there’s me. A little adrift. I chose a college, but nothing else seems solid.
“Good afternoon, Wren.” My grandfather appears, setting his drink down on the linen cloth covering the high-top table I’m standing next to.
I glance toward Tanner Whitney, sighing when I see him stopped, talking to Thad Lange. Tanner left to grab me a drink from the bar a couple of minutes ago.
“Hi, Grandpa,” I reply carefully, my spine straightening automatically as I meet his steely gaze.
My mom’s parents are warm and welcoming. They spoil Rory and me—along with their other grandchildren—whenever we visit them in Los Angeles or they travel to New York.
My dad’s parents? Very different. Dad’s mother, Elizabeth, died a long time ago. Lili was named after her. And his father? Well, no one would describe Arthur Kensington as warm or welcoming. He’s shrewd. Intimidating.
“This is quite a party,” I add when Grandpa continues a one-sided inspection.
He nods in agreement, taking a sip from a tumbler.
It’s filled with amber liquid. Bourbon or scotch probably.
Grandpa constantly has a glass in hand at any event I see him at, but I’ve never once seen him drunk.
He’s always in control. The type of person you call in a crisis. Someone most avoid challenging.
“Hanson has always had a flair for the frivolous,” he comments.
“Have you been to this party before?” I ask.
“A long time ago. Hanson and I had overlapping business interests.” Grandpa glances to where Aunt Scarlett and Uncle Crew are standing. “Which worked out nicely.”
I steal another glance at Tanner. He’s started this way, two glasses in hand, then spots who I’m talking to and veers an abrupt left.
I sigh. Hopefully, a member of my family will come over and rescue me soon, but I’m stuck until that happens. Everyone here knows you don’t interrupt Arthur Kensington. And I know you don’t end a conversation with Grandpa; he dismisses you.
“Was that the Worthington boy?” Grandpa asks, noticing my drifting attention.
“Whitney.”
“Are you keeping company with him?”
I’m not sure what “keeping company” entails, but today is the first time I’ve talked to Tanner since Leah’s pool party. I’ve mostly flirted with him in the hopes that he’d offer to get me a drink, which he did. Sort of. The delivery was lacking.
“He’s not courting me or anything,” I answer, toeing the line of impudence, but not bold enough to cross over.
Grandpa studies me, the weight of his scrutiny stifling. “Good,” he declares. “No Whitney is worthy of a Kensington.”
“Tanner is nice,” I say defensively. And mostly to be contrarian.
“Stuart Whitney is sitting on a pile of debts and no capital. I’m sure he’s urged his son to take advantage of any association with you.”
I want to say Grandpa is being paranoid, but who knows? It’s not like plenty of people haven’t tried to use me in some way.
“There aren’t many guys I can date with more money,” I tell Grandpa. “It’s not like Lili or Kit wound up with billionaires.”
Lili’s boyfriend, Charlie, is British. He comes from an important family, but no fortune. Collins, Kit’s girlfriend, was roommates with Lili in college, which is how she and Kit met. She later wound up working for Kit. For the salary, not for my cousin’s company, as she’d be the first to tell you.
“They didn’t,” Grandpa agrees. “But Charles attended Oxford, and Collins went to Yale.”
Of course. I should have anticipated exactly where this was headed from the moment Grandpa appeared.
“Good for them.”
“It is not too late to change your plans, Wren.”
“It’s way too late,” I counter. “Orientation is next month.”
Grandpa makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I could get you enrolled at any university in the world by tomorrow. The East Coast has plenty of exceptional schools. Oxford is an excellent institution. So is Cambridge. My uncle went there.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“Want or not, you will receive it. You are a Kensington, and you are limiting yourself with this absurd choice.”
“UCLA is an excellent college,” I state stubbornly.
Grandpa lifts his glass, swirling the contents around. I watch the amber liquid splash up the sides and drip down, wishing he’d hurry up and make his point so I can go grab a lobster roll.
“Twelve generations ago, one of your ancestors was part of Harvard’s first-ever commencement.
Since then, every Kensington, including your father and sister, have attended the oldest, most prestigious academic institutions.
The California universities might be ‘excellent,’ but they do not boast that type of legacy. ”
“Mom went to good schools too,” I state.
“Your mother is a Kensington by marriage, not by blood. It is different for you, Wren.”
I stop arguing, deciding that might be the best strategy to end this conversation soonest.
“It is your decision, of course,” Grandpa continues. “Just make certain it’s the correct one.”
I nod as he finally walks off to speak to someone else.
Then I immediately start glancing around, trying to locate Tanner because I could really use that drink right about now.
“Shortcake?”
I glance at Bash, who’s holding two plates of dessert. One is extended toward me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a plate.
I pick up a strawberry, swiping it through the pile of whipped cream before popping it in my mouth. The fruit is perfect—sweet and juicy.
“Man, I hate these things,” Bash comments, taking the chair beside me and glancing around.
It’s nearing sunset, golden light bathing the crowd sprawled across the patio and yard as the sky becomes a kaleidoscope of colors.
“They’re your grandparents,” I remind him, taking a bite of biscuit next.
“This used to be fun,” Bash continues, glancing toward the beach. “Kit was up for whatever. Lili was … Lili. And now, we’re not kids anymore.”
“Trust me, I’m aware. I got a lecture from Grandpa earlier.”
“About what?”
“About attending a state school.” I glance at Bash. “You didn’t help, going to Dartmouth.”
He shrugs. “I look good in green.”
I roll my eyes. “Is it bad that I want to do my own thing?”
“No. But do you want to do your own thing? Or are you trying to do something different just to prove you can?”
I don’t have an answer to that, so I take another bite of strawberry shortcake instead.
“Grandpa wants the best for you, Wren. He has weird ways of showing it, I know, but that’s the goal.”
“You sound sage,” I comment.
Bash grins. “Probably all the drinks I’ve had, dodging questions about whether I’ll challenge Kit for CEO.”
“You don’t even work for Kensington Consolidated yet.”
“I made that point a few times. No one cared.”
“Typical.” I take another bite. “This shortcake is really good.”
“Gigi orders it every year.”
“I missed it last July.”
I was too preoccupied acting busy on the beach, avoiding the boy who was waiting on the dunes. I’ve been avoiding Sawyer again, for weeks, pretending to be oblivious when, sometimes, he’s all I can see. When all I really want is for him to ask if I’m free again.
“Incoming,” Bash mutters. He grabs his plate, standing.
I glance at Tanner walking this way, then at my cousin. “You can stay.”
“Nah. I need some coffee if I’m going to make it until the fireworks.” Bash yawns. “My nephew has set me back, like, twenty years on ever considering having kids. See ya later.”
He nods at Tanner as he passes him, and Tanner nods back.
“Sorry about earlier,” Tanner says sheepishly, tucking his hands into his tux pants pockets.
I polish off the last bite of my dessert. Hand the empty plate off to a passing waiter, then stand.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, meaning it. “See you next summer.”
“Wait,” Tanner calls as I start to walk away. “A bunch of us are headed down to the water to watch the fireworks. Come with? I’ll even play that silly game you made up.”
The silly game in question—SocVolley, a mix of volleyball and soccer, invented by my West Coast cousins—is the only sport, aside from tennis, that I excel at.
If anyone else were suggesting it, I’d enthusiastically agree.
But my primary motivation for “keeping company” with Tanner would be to annoy my grandfather, and I decide Bash is right; I should focus on what I want to do, not proving what I can do.
So, I shake my head. “Maybe next year.”
Then I continue toward what I want to do.