Chapter 16
Puck bursts out of the forest and races toward the hotel, determined to drag Damon over to the fishing pond by his ears if they have to. At this rate, with the way that conversation was going, he might find Zander proposing to Mia.
“Hey, I thought it wasn’t a competition?!” Robyn shouts after Puck as they dodge an attendant carrying a tray of strawberry tarts. But they’re already halfway to the front entrance by the time they register that Robyn even saw them, which they hope doesn’t arouse suspicion. It’s too late now.
Seconds later, they’re tapping their foot on the elevator ride up to the Court.
Their annoyance hasn’t abated at all. The map Nick sent Damon clearly labeled the body of water “FISHING POND” and there were no indoor locations listed.
Sure, Damon probably got into Emory because the deans wanted his family to donate enough money for them to build a seventh library, but he’s not stupid, is he?
The elevator door slides open to the sixth floor, directly into an unmanned host station and waiting area.
Beyond it is a nearly empty restaurant, which makes sense.
The McLeods have rented out the whole place, and almost all of the guests, save for a few who preferred to dine indoors, are out at the picnic right now.
There’s no sign of Damon but Puck does see a painting of a freshly caught trout on the wall.
He must have been here recently, right? Except—
“It’s called the yellow-rumped warbler,” Lena is saying, from somewhere on the other side of a partition, deeper in the restaurant.
Who is she talking to? Puck slips past the host station and tiptoes toward the sound of Lena’s voice, grabbing a seat at a table close by, but still out of view.
“And that’s your favorite bird?” another voice says.
It’s Damon. What the hell? Are neither of them doing the scavenger hunt?
Puck didn’t think Lena would ignore clearly laid-out rules—and Damon was supposed to be out by the pond five minutes ago, watching his fiancée hold hands—or worse—with her incredibly hot ex-boyfriend.
D 8 Z and M. It’s the only surefire way to sink this ship, but is it already too late?
How long can Nick hold Mia and Zander out there?
“Yes,” Lena confirms. “I had to think about it for a second, but yes.”
“And is it rare or something?”
“No, it’s one of the most common warblers.”
“Right, right,” Damon teases her. “I was about to say, most of the warblers I see out in the wild have yellow rumps. I’m always looking at yellow bird butts.”
Lena lets out an unguarded laugh, which sends an unexpected pang through Puck’s heart.
It’s rare to hear her sound so joyful. Lena’s work always seemed so serious whenever she posted about it on social media, full of dire warnings about ecosystem collapse.
It never occurred to Puck, maybe because they never got to know her well enough, that the girl might also just think that birds are really cool.
“Now let me ask you a question,” Lena says. “What’s your favorite video game?”
“I haven’t been playing much lately,” Damon says, and while he doesn’t name Mia, the implication is clear.
“Yeah, I know, but you’ve got to have a favorite. Even an old one,” Lena presses, but then, her conscience clearly getting the better of her, she adds, “But if you don’t want to say …”
Is this what their short-lived relationship was like?
Did they get to just be kids together? Lena always acted so mature, with such a developed sense of justice, but maybe there was an innocence she only felt safe to indulge around him, once he finally gave her a chance.
And then she gave up that intimacy willingly to protect her feelings, even though it was probably the last thing she wanted to do.
Puck is trying so hard to picture how it all worked between Damon and Lena that they don’t spot the server heading straight toward their clandestine position.
Fuck. They’ve got about five seconds to decide whether they want to let the short-lived lovers keep talking—which could open up a new, last-minute pathway for ending the wedding—or reveal themself and hope that Mia and Zander can still be caught.
But by the time the server reaches Puck’s table and apologizes for not catching them at the host station, they panic.
Maybe Damon and Lena should keep going, after all.
In any event, Puck needs to remain incognito for now.
They make their voice as unrecognizably high as possible, accessing an octave they’ve ignored for years. “Can I just have a water?”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” she says. “I’ll be right back with that.”
“Elden Ring? ” Lena is asking after the server leaves Puck’s table.
“That’s my favorite these days. I was getting really into it before I got so … busy,” Damon says, choosing his words with care. “I’ve put about nine hundred hours into it.”
“Isn’t that one really hard?” Lena says. “This guy at work was telling me about it.”
Puck has got to hand it to Lena: She’s very good at playing dumb when she wants to. The old Lena knew everything about Damon McLeod. Puck wouldn’t be surprised if she had played a thousand hours of Elden Ring herself just to walk in his virtual shoes.
“I think that’s why I like it,” Damon says.
“You know, a lot of things about being a McLeod were straightforward. I never had to worry about school or getting a job. So I think the challenge of Elden Ring is really compelling. I can fight the same boss for hours, make these tiny incremental improvements, and then finally, somewhere along the way, I become good enough to beat the game.”
“Just like life,” Lena says, and Puck can’t tell whether she’s agreeing with his metaphor to appeal to him or she’s actually earnest enough to believe it.
“Well, kind of,” Damon says with a laugh. “I mean the first time I played the game, I used the Blasphemous Blade, which is kind of a broken weapon. But now I’m beating the whole game with a basic longsword.” After a pause, he adds, “Don’t tell Mia how much I’m playing, though.”
Puck now wishes they had cut this short, because Damon waxing philosophical about video game design is quite boring. The server returns with a glass of ice water and Puck squeaks out a “Thank you.”
“Did you want anything else, honey?” the server asks.
“No, that’s all,” Puck says, aware of how strange it is to come all the way up to the Court for tap water, but they’re past the point of caring. With a shrug and a very Southern “Holler if you need me,” the server leaves again.
“So what makes the Blasphemous Blade so strong?” Lena asks, and Puck knows they can’t take much more of this. Is there still time to get Damon down to the pond?
“Oh, it has a special attack that knocks over most enemies, deals fire damage, and gives you your health back,” Damon says.
“Wow,” Lena says, and it doesn’t sound like she’s faking it at all. Either she’s genuinely interested in a video-game sword or she can feel Damon’s excitement vibrating through her like a tuning fork.
“Yeah, it’s pretty busted,” Damon says, before developing some self-awareness about the length of his soliloquizing. “But wait, let’s go back to your birds. You said my mom gave your nonprofit how much money again?”
“Three million,” Lena confirms.
Puck hears Damon laugh, but it’s a surprised laugh. “Wow,” he says. “I mean, she can afford it, for sure, but she almost never gives money to charity directly. They do most stuff through the foundation. She must have really liked you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lena says, but Damon’s too enthusiastic to let her self-pity breathe.
“Can you buy the warblers some pants with that money or do they want to show off their yellow rumps?” This is the kid from college: earnest, guileless, unafraid to be nerdy.
“It’d be hard for a bird to wear pants,” Lena muses. “They don’t exactly have waists.”
And this is how the relationship must have worked, if only for three months: Lena’s literalness making a perfect foil for Damon’s goofiness, her compassion creating space for him to be silly without feeling judged.
If there’s anyone who can pull Damon out of his keto bubble and restore him to who he used to be, it might just be Lena, who loved him before he ever changed, and who can apparently still draw out the sensitivity and humor Puck believed was gone.
At their core, Damon and Lena are both people seeking permission to be themselves, and who only seem able to show who they really are in secret.
Should Puck have pivoted after what they heard on the party bus? Were Damon and Lena the move all along? Puck starts to map it out again in their head: D + L? No, Mia and Zander were—are—still the safer bet. And there’s no time to redraw the play anyway.
The conversation is interrupted by footsteps. It’s the server again, but this time carrying a plate that Puck realizes is destined for Damon and Lena’s table.
“Your tofu bánh mì, miss,” the server says, setting the plate down.
What? They’re having a full sit-down lunch?
“You know, after this,” Damon says, as Puck hears Lena bite into the sandwich, “I can talk to my mom about making the donation a recurring thing.”
Will Lena take the bait? It would mean getting to interact more with Damon, but it would also be an ethical shortcut—and Lena’s a fan of doing things through the proper channels.
“That’s very sweet of you, Damon,” she says, after she swallows. “But I’d like to earn it.”
And just as impulsively as Puck decided not to interrupt Damon and Lena, they change course, standing up, walking past the partition, and pretending like they just got to the Court.
Damon’s far from getting back together with Lena, while Zander and Mia are probably on page 150 of the Kama Sutra out in the forest by now.
“Hey, Damon! Hey, Lena!” they say, acting surprised to see them. “Did you come up here because of the painting too? Apparently that’s not the clue.”
“Oh, right,” Damon looks down at his phone, disappointed that his furtive chat with Lena has been interrupted, and perhaps still residually upset with Puck over last night’s conversation. “The scavenger hunt.”
“Yeah, aren’t you playing?” Puck asks, internally fuming.
“Oh, Lena’s phone died at the picnic,” Damon explains, “so I told her to tag along with me. And then she was hungry, and there weren’t great vegan options at the picnic, so when we came up for the painting, I ordered her something.”
Damon doting on Lena would be great news if it wasn’t too little, too late.
“To go, I hope?” Puck asks, trying to move it along. “We should probably finish this thing.”
“Right, yes, to go,” Lena lies, gesturing toward the server, making the shape of a box with her hands.
But just as the server scurries off to fetch a container, they feel their phone vibrate in their pocket. It’s a text from Nick. I tried to keep them there, but they both started texting me new photos, he says. I think they thought the system was broken.
“Is that your next clue?” Damon asks as Puck stares at their phone.
“Uh, yeah,” Puck lies, firing off a quick text: How long ago?
Mia is packing up her sandwich, taking one more bite so she can save an even half.
Pretty soon after your last text to me.
Fuck. That wouldn’t have been very long—and Mia and Zander used to make it last once they got started. Did Mia start to feel guilty, or did Zander lay it on too heavy? Either way, it doesn’t sound promising. All this effort—their most multi-pronged and important plot yet—has probably gone to waste.
Do you want me to keep going? Nick again.
There’s nothing Puck wants to do less, now that it all seems incredibly futile, than to walk through the rest of this fake scavenger hunt, pointlessly traipsing around the grounds of the resort.
Yes, but make it short, Puck texts Nick back.
Thwarted, defeated, and humiliated, they leave the Court with Damon and Lena and sleepwalk through the rest of the steps, texting their obligatory preloaded pictures at regular intervals.
As planned, the hunt eventually leads the entire wedding party back together by the fountain in the lobby.
Mia and Zander don’t look in any way rumpled.
All their phones ding at once, but Puck is feeling too down to even bother pretending to look at the message.
It says: “Your reward for completing this scavenger hunt is the friendship you have all found with each other.”
The group groans.
“What a bummer,” Peter says.
Yes, Puck has to admit, it was a bummer—several days’ worth with nothing to show for it.