Chapter 26
I run up the inn’s stairs one last time to grab the essentials from my room.
I take a photograph with my mind to remember our Blue Ridge Suite.
The elegant yet cozy room was my home for these past few weeks.
I remember how isolated I felt when I first arrived, and now just how much I’ve grown to appreciate the simple space, the slow stretches of time.
Down the hallway and the staircase, my chest tightens as I pass the photo of Gabriel’s grandparents. I don’t stop to study it like I usually do. Besides, it’s not like the image of the happy couple swinging isn’t burned into my mind.
At the foyer, Ruby, Tita Karra, and Elle are assembled. Elle and I give a quick but gracious goodbye to Ruby. My eyes water. Her hug is strong and comforting. She’s too polite to pry further when we say our parents need us home. “We enjoyed hosting you. Come back anytime,” Ruby says.
Tita Karra whispers in my ear as she hugs me. “We’ll talk to him and get to the bottom of the situation.” My throat tightens, wondering what kind of trouble Gabe will face with his photos. “I’ll come to visit you as soon as I can.”
I bury my head under her chin. “You’ll be fine,” she says, lifting my chin. “You’ll both be fine.” I nod, knowing she isn’t talking about me and Elle; she’s talking about me and Gabriel.
As I head to our SUV, I spot Gabriel. He’s started a fire at the firepit.
He’s too far away for me to see the details of his face, but his shoulders are slumped as he stands up.
My feet stop and we stare at each other from a distance.
The fire casts him in a red-and-orange glow like the sunlight when we kissed on the hilltop.
I blink angry tears away, hating how I looked forward to his company, how I kissed those lips, how I trusted him.
Gabe raises his hand to say goodbye, but I look away. There’s nothing further to say. I hop into the car next to Elle, slamming the door with a satisfying thud.
Shaw peers at me from the rearview mirror. “I can call in some favors? Get his truck towed, or at least a few parking tickets,” he offers.
“What? No.” My laugh is rueful. “He’s not worth it. Besides, it was always going to end between me and him.” My voice cracks. It’s a true statement. We were never going to be in each other’s lives after this summer. I just didn’t think it would end this way.
This time I see Nessa looking at me in the mirror. Eyebrows pinched and lips pursed like she’s holding back her thoughts. Finally, she taps Shaw to start the car.
I sigh, relieved to go home. Elle leans her head on my shoulder as we speed away. At least I’ll always have my sister.
It’s after midnight when Elle and I get back to the White House.
Our parents are still up, waiting in the Residence’s living room on the sofa.
They clearly had a late night too, still in their formal wear, though Mom’s heels are kicked off and Dad’s dress shirt is rolled up at the sleeves.
If we hadn’t come home, I bet they’d be upstairs by now.
Dad envelops us in a big hug. Mom joins in and I’m feeling ten again, when we used to have these big group hugs. I’m sad when Dad lets go and Mom pulls me and Elle to sit between them. We’re silent a moment, not sure where to start. Finally, I go, because the tension is real.
“Mom, before you say anything, you have to know those photos are completely out of context. I was not drinking at that party. Just because a cup is red doesn’t mean it’s got alcohol.
And those pictures with Oliver were from a totally private moment and we had an argument.
It happens with you and Dad; it happens with friends.
We’re allowed to disagree just like everyone else. ”
“And the photos with Gabe?” Dad asks.
“I know how it looks—but it’s not like that. We were just being goofy. I had like three iced coffees and multiple brain freezes and we were just being silly.”
“Seriously, Dad. If you had the double mocha caramel coffees, you’d be a little bonkers too,” Elle chimes in.
My father shakes his head. “Elle, why don’t you go to bed, honey. Your mom and I need to speak with your sister.”
Elle pouts. “Dad, Gabe’s a good guy.”
“Eleanor,” my mother warns, voice sharp and cold. She doesn’t need to be the most powerful person in the world to make her point. Her disappointed-mom tone is good enough. Elle rises grumpily and stomps out. I watch her go with some regret. It would’ve been nice having some backup.
My mom leans back. Her hand goes to her forehead, and I feel instantly guilty.
I’ve broken rule number one. Mom has so much on her plate and for me to give her another headache makes me feel terrible.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think Gabe would ever dream of releasing those images.
He was upset because Oliver’s family stole the fireworks show from his inn. ”
“I spoke to Ben,” my mom says, referring to Oliver’s dad. “He explained to me the situation with the Calabreses and their jubilee.”
I sigh. “That’s the same event I was volunteering to help.”
Her laugh is empty. “I’m sorry, Abby, I had no idea there was such a conflict of interest with the inn and resort hosting dueling festivals. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to let you volunteer.”
“Conflict of interest?”
She rubs her temples. “I don’t want to go into politics, dear. These photos complicate matters for me and the vice president.
“Tomorrow my staff is going on the Sunday morning news shows. They were supposed to talk about my WAKE-UP Bill, but now they’re prepping for questions about my daughter’s relationship with the vice president’s son and her wild party antics.”
“Mom, none of this is real news,” I complain.
“No, it’s not, Abby,” my dad says. “But you know people will do anything to paint your mother in a bad light.” He waves a hand in the air like he’s reading a headline.
“FDOTUS Protesting Mother’s Economic Policies.
FDOTUS Doesn’t Agree with Mom’s Economic Adviser.
” He sounds defeated. “Or just good old-fashioned FDOTUS Caught Cheating on the Vice President’s Son. ”
I look at my mother, who shakes her head in dismay. I know she hates the false coverage too. “Why? What business do they have asking about your teenage daughter’s friends?” I whimper.
“None,” my parents say at the same time.
My dad leans forward. “But it’s salacious clickbait. And these kinds of things were another reason we insisted you’re not allowed to have a boyfriend until you’re at least a senior in high school.”
“Mom, is it possible people are blowing this up bigger than it really is?” I ask. “I was just helping a small-town festival.”
“I know, sweetie,” Mom says, tone sharp. “But you competing against the Darbys is news to some people.”
“It wasn’t anything like that. It’s completely blown out of proportion.”
She nods emphatically. “And that’s what we’re going to say. We’re going to remind everyone you’re a seventeen-year-old teenage girl and your life is totally off-limits.”
My dad cuts in. “But as we do damage control, this puts your mother’s own agenda at risk, and we lose precious time—”
“When we’re on defense,” I say, finishing his sentence. “I know.” I cross my arms and look away. “When I’m the president’s daughter I don’t get to make mistakes.”
My mother sighs. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
My eyes blur. “I just wanted a normal summer.” My mother pulls me in, and I can’t help myself as I nestle my head on her shoulder, dripping tears on her gown.
“I never thought Gabriel would share those photos. I trusted him.”
She rubs my back. “Honey, honey. It’s okay. You can’t read minds.”
“And to be fair, we don’t know if Gabe was behind the photos,” my dad says.
“They’re selfies taken on his phone,” I say sadly. “No one else would have them.”
Mom nods. “I agree with your father. We don’t know for sure it was Gabe, but whoever turned in those photos probably made a lot of money.”
She doesn’t need to say anything further. I’ve connected the dots. Gabriel’s family business is struggling. The jubilee is practically tanked, and they needed the money.
“Gabe has a history of breaking news stories. Like the time he busted the congressman,” I say. I place my head in my hands. This whole time he was pretending to want to go to art school, but maybe he was really biding his time, and his plan was always to expose me.
“Listen to me, Abby,” my mom says, voice firm but loving. “You never asked for this life. Your father and I know you will make mistakes. We all do. It’s human. It’s natural. We want you to have as normal a life as possible.”
“She’s right,” my dad adds, his tone gentler. “Our communications team is the best in the world. They’ll handle the press—just like they did with the pineapple story. But sweetheart, for the next couple of days you’ll need to follow our lead.”
I sniffle. “How is that different from every other day, Dad?” My parents exchange looks, but there’s nothing they can say. A bitter taste fills my mouth. Rapunzel has returned to the White House. And she’s going to keep boys like Gabe out of her tower.
I spend the next day wallowing in my room, wearing my fluffy tie-dyed robe and watching old episodes of The Great British Baking Show.
Oliver finally stops texting me after his twentieth try.
His texts alternate between “are you okay” and “these images were photoshopped, right?” But I don’t have the mental space to talk to him or anyone now.
Dad has been checking on me periodically.
Even the promise of ice cream doesn’t move me.
The only thing that gets my attention is Elle, and that’s because her bedroom is right across from mine and she’s quite loud.
I let her slink into my room, and we sit on the bed together silently. “It wasn’t him,” she finally says.
“Elle,” I warn.
“I don’t believe it.” She’s insistent. “Why would he do that?”
I sigh. “His family needed the money.”
“But he was really into you. It was so obvious.”
“Elle, I told you we were just practicing.” My face reddens I’m so embarrassed.
She blinks. “You still believe that?”
“My unofficial bucket list,” I sputter. “He saw it and knew all the things there, first kiss, dance under the stars. Except we mutually agreed that I was supposed to do those items with my boyfriend.” I shudder.
“And since he wasn’t technically my boyfriend, we called those kisses practice… y’know. For the real thing.”
Elle’s eyes are wide. “Is this an upperclassman thing? Why do you all have to make things so confusing?”
“They were his words,” I say, frowning. Or were they mine?
“Whatever you two had, it was real. I felt it. Didn’t you?” I stare at my hands, my throat welling up. I did feel it. It did feel real. More real than anything I’ve felt with Oliver. With anyone. I bury my head in my pillow and let Elle turn up the music.
On Monday morning, a firm knock on my door startles me out of bed at seven a.m. I recognize the voice of Tom, one of Mom’s social secretaries, at the door. I groan. Now I know I’m back at the White House.
I pull on my robe and open my door, where he’s standing in a tailored suit.
“Good morning, Abby. I’m so glad you’re back with us,” he says with a toothy smile.
“What do you want?”
He chuckles. “I’ll cut to the chase. Your mother thought it would be a good idea for you to keep busy today.” He hands me a sheet of paper with a list. He knows me and my preference for lists quite well.
He goes over the day’s agenda—an eat-healthy initiative, tea with a foreign dignitary. The last item makes him grin.
“As you know, your mother’s initiative in the arts has created a presidential young scholars’ program. A group of those young scholars will be visiting the White House in a couple of hours, and we’d love to have you meet this distinguished group.”
I cross my arms. “Basically, she wants a bunch of photo ops showing I’m ‘back to normal.’ ”
He blinks. “It’s a very strategic schedule, Abby.”
“Sure,” I mutter, taking the list. I shut the door. Back to First Daughter mode.