Chapter 31
Thirty-One
If Ally’s weekend with Chip hadn’t already left her feeling like an inadequate burden, this woman, Angeline, with her crisp accent and legitimate livelihood, drove home the fact that Ally would never truly fit in. Not in this place. Not with these people.
Though some did accept her, others discarded her in harsh and dismissive ways. An enemy for choosing a life they hadn’t. As if she’d had a choice on where she lived and the personality she’d developed.
To them, she would always be unrefined country folk. A flakey-brained artist. A person with a path too meandering and vague.
And maybe she could ignore all the subtle criticism and learn to be content to never fully belong in Boston and this particular social circle. But Chip’s future lay with these people. So maybe, yet again, his future couldn’t be with her.
Her eyelids took on an uncontrolled flutter, and she felt her cheeks go slack, an automatic reaction to holding back tears.
“Ally.” Janice’s voice broke through on a soft whisper, awakening Ally to the whole group still staring. “Don’t mind Angeline.”
Angeline’s eyes flew wide before she pressed her lips into a hard line at Janice, as though she’d expected the woman to back her up.
Ally scarfed the last of her champagne in a sharp and hurried movement. “I’m fine, Janice, but I am leaving.”
She turned from the group, although one woman muttered a quick, “No. Please, stay,” and another, “I like her.”
As much as Ally could have laughed at that and fulfilled their wishes to stay and stare down Angeline some more, Ally’s wild heart told her to run, that she shouldn’t have to constantly defend herself.
That said, her short dress and heels made running look like an undignified trot, so she settled on powerwalking across the room to another server, where she deposited her empty glass onto their tray and collected two new full ones.
The bass-thumping music faded, and she glanced over her shoulder to the stage lit with a projected announcement about the Graduate grant. Chip, along with two others—presumably the other finalists—ascended up the stage stairs where another group of senior level-looking people stood.
A heavy ball of emotion filled her chest and obscured her pride for him behind a strong urge to ugly cry right here amongst his peers.
Keep moving.
Just keep moving.
So she barreled on, brushing past people listening to the stage stuff, as well as those maintaining conversations despite the noise up ahead. Before long, she shouldered her way through the black bathroom door.
A couple of women stood before a wide vanity washing hands and fixing hair. Meanwhile, the first stall on her left lay open and slightly bigger than the others. She hurried on in and, since she still balanced a champagne glass in each hand, used an elbow to twist the latch shut, a small amount of bubbly liquid splattering over her fingers and onto the white tiles below.
She swore under her breath and oh-so-ungracefully reached a foot out, kicking the toilet seat closed and then plonking her weight down on her makeshift chair. Gross? Sure. But maybe she was where she belonged. Away from the action. In the most basic of rooms. Which still managed to be the most glamorous bathroom she’d used, outside the one in Chip’s home.
She scoffed, her jaw aching from unknowingly crushing her teeth together, but not enough to keep her from gulping down another drink. Drops of champagne spilled down her chin and landed on the front of her dress.
“Nice.” She wiped at the dark patch blooming against the blue silk, sniffling at the sudden moisture gathered in her nose. “Real nice.”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek and landed in her lap, creating another mark on her dress, producing a low growl from her and more frustrated tears.
She was trapped in an endless spiral. Ruined dress. Ruined makeup. Which only caused more tears through the painful hitching of her breath.
She attempted to drown her sobs with more champagne, but her last remaining glass didn’t go far. If only she’d had more hands. If only she’d thought to take the server’s whole tray with her.
How would she get out of this mess? There’d be no leaving unnoticed, not in her current state.
The stall door shook as though someone wanted to get in, but she shut her eyes, already a little woozy since she wasn’t much of a drinker. Still, whoever tried to enter would soon figure this stall was taken and move on.
“Ally.”
A sudden coldness hit her, and she flung her eyes open, a pair of pointy, magenta heels peeking from beneath the door.
“Ally. It’s Janice. Are you okay?”
Ally bowed her head and swore under her breath.
“Yep. I’m fine. Just needed a moment to myself.” Even she heard the tight hesitation in her voice. “Go back to the party, okay?”
As much as Janice highlighted the kinder side of Boston’s intellectual crowd, Ally’s short jaunt here only made her love her small world in Harlow more. The open spaces and grassy hills, her little pottery shed, the slower pace.
Now that she thought about it, maybe even the Argyle deal was too much.
“Ally, you’re not fine.”
Her spine stiffened, and the chill in her veins turned to hardened ice. “Chip? Is that you?”
“Ally, open the door.”
Three solid thuds hit the stall, and she couldn’t tell if he was pissed or worried. Or even what the heck he was doing breaking into the women’s room.
“You know”—her voice echoed through the space, her reedy tone regrettably unmissable, although she carried on—“harassing women in the ladies room won’t do you any favors.”
“Neither will leaving my girlfriend to cry alone while I party it up out there.” He paused, this time shaking the door handle. “Ally, come out. Please.”
She sagged forward, shoulders rounded while she took a minute to catch her breath. To summon the courage to face him.
Could she face him?
She had to. He deserved better than her running and hiding.
So, she planted her feet on the ground and stood. Though her balance wobbled and her hands shook, she turned the door handle, releasing the latch.
All too soon, Chip’s heart wrenching hazel stare caught her, and she wanted to stumble away. Back into her stall. Back to hiding. Janice retreated from behind his left shoulder, her downturned gaze a sign she sought to give them space.
Chip’s focus shifted all over her, from her face—with no doubt puffy, red eyes and smeared makeup—down to her crumpled dress with distinguishable marks of spilled champagne and tears.
Though her throat turned raw, she choked out a pitiful, “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t tell if she apologized for fleeing to the bathrooms, for being somewhat tipsy, or for looking a complete mess.
So she offered a weak explanation to patch over the pain she’d caused and would still cause in due time, her next words paired with a deceptive shrug.
“I’m not much fun tonight.” Her lip trembled, but she managed to hold back any more tears and add, “Go back to the party, okay?”
His gaze moved about her face before he grabbed her hands and pulled her into him, his forehead finding hers.
“You’re overwhelmed.” His voice was low and intimate enough that only she could hear. “And we’re leaving this party, right now. Together.”
“Chip.” Her voice shook, husky and hollow. She was doing it again. Hurting his chances, when he really needed to stick around and mingle some more. “I’ll be fine. Just go back and make more friends”
His brow pulled lower with an expression that said she was absurd to think he’d ditch her for people he barely knew. Maybe he was right. Maybe his loyalty was just another reason she needed to let him go.
He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, as though he saw her pulling away and refused to let her go. “I’ve talked to everyone I need to talk to. We’re leaving.”
He stepped back and caught her elbow, nodding a silent thanks to Janice before guiding Ally out the bathroom door.
The pounding of loud music, the rush of unfamiliar faces, and the numerous glances up and down of people noticing her disheveled state. As much as she loved Chip, she’d made him look bad.
And another thing, I love him too much.
Even if he didn’t feel embarrassed, his inability to save himself from her only made things worse.
He deserved so much more than she could give.
He deserved someone more intellectual and worldly. Someone with the stamina to counter the moments when his self-sacrificing failed him.
Perhaps a kinder version of Angeline.
Definitely not some Harlow blow-in named Ally Egan.