Chapter 25 #2
We traded, and I took the trash while she brought the cushion to the laundry room, which had a huge porcelain sink.
“Wait ten minutes and then blot the stain,” I instructed her, reassuring myself that if the stain didn’t come out, I could flip the cushion and deal with the drama another time.
Maybe next week, when my mom inevitably discovered it.
“We have a problem,” Jared said after I dumped the garbage into the garage’s huge can.
“What is it?” I asked. Henry and I had made him a spy, since he shared the best wedding guest sound bites after service. Tonight, he was supposed to circulate and eavesdrop on guests to make sure they didn’t do anything too out of line.
“Pool heater’s busted.”
I shut my eyes.
“I caught some guys messing with it…”
I held up a hand. “Is anything spraying anywhere? Or did something blow up?”
(That’s how much I knew about pools.)
Jared shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay, tomorrow I’ll call—”
I stopped, feeling my phone insistently vibrate in my pocket. I dug it out to see three texts from the improv comedians/valet crew. The first was from Rory: red siren emoji.
Then, Alec: Porsche is gone.
And Cam: Joe and friend took it for a drive.
Another text, this one from Henry: *Joel
WHERE? I fired off, heart revving.
I didn’t need to wait for a response. “Audrey, there you are!” Kenzie appeared in the kitchen, breathless. “A car is doing doughnuts out past the fence, near the beach.”
Give me something else, I thought, queasy bordering on carsick. Give me something else to handle so I don’t have to think about my entire backyard being torn up.
The fates listened.
“Hello, everyone!” someone said, using the microphone. “Great night for a party, am I right?”
Kenzie, Jared, and I all looked at each other, as if to say, Who the hell is that?
We went to investigate.
“Oh my god,” I groaned.
Chase Reynolds had taken the stage. He looked a little sloppy in faded jeans, but his T-shirt showed off his broad shoulders and his brown hair fell effortlessly across his forehead.
Objectively, I could see the appeal.
Ellie stood only a few yards away, near our peach-colored roses. Her face was ashen.
“I drove all the way down from Boston tonight,” he continued. “Because I just had to see this girl—”
“Bro, she dumped your ass!” a fellow dude-bro shouted.
I felt my mouth twitch up. Henry. It was Henry. He called that his “douche canoe” impression.
A text came in seconds later: I’m giving him two minutes to embarrass himself, then getting Griff to boot him from your property.
I replied with a thumbs-up.
“Excuse me,” I told Kenzie and Jared. “Ellie probably needs a drink.”
They nodded, and I weaved my way across the pool deck to the pergola.
I grabbed a plastic cup and served myself some punch from the gleaming trash can.
It was more than halfway empty, but Isa was right: The floating fruit did give it a special touch.
“Hello,” someone behind me said, and I turned to see a petite woman with a cute pixie cut. “By any chance, are you Audrey?”
I plastered on a smile. “Yes, hi.”
She smiled back, and I noticed she was drinking water. “I’m Trina, one of Lana’s sorority sisters. She said this party is all your doing.”
“That’s very kind of her.” I paused, both pleasantly surprised and unsure where this small talk was going. I glanced at one of Griff’s football teammates stationed a few yards away, but he shook his head. He didn’t know either. “May I help you with anything?” I asked.
“No, no.” She shook her head. “I’m just extremely impressed.”
This is a trap, I almost heard Henry whispering in my ear.
I straightened my shoulders to ward off anxiety. But blood pulsed so hard in my veins it was almost audible as we continued to speak, and it sped up when she asked where I went to school.
“I’ll be at Penn next year,” I lied, not wanting to get into all the specifics of my future plans. Hopefully Penn made me sound like the most professional and mature teenager ever. “The Wharton School of Business.”
Interest sparked in Trina’s eyes.
Uh-oh, I thought.
“How funny!” she said. “I’m an admissions officer there.” She took a sip of her water. “What made you choose Penn?”
AFTER AN INITIAL FROZEN MOMENT OF PANIC— of course I’d stumbled upon the one person who represented the very future I was about to blow up—I talked about Philadelphia. How I’d grown up there, and how much I missed it.
I talked about Penn’s campus. How it was in a city yet felt secluded.
I talked about the school spirit and diversity. I’d lived abroad, and loved learning about different cultures.
I talked about Wharton. The endless courses and renowned professors who were going to sharpen my mind for the business I hoped to start and grow someday.
I told Trina everything I’d told the admissions officer during my actual interview, back in the fall. Except this time, sweat was sliding down my back. I felt like she was going to call the cops on me any minute.
And then somehow have my acceptance letter rescinded by Monday morning.
My parents would be beyond pissed, and I was surprised how much my heart rate hitched at the thought of my letter being figuratively shredded. I’d worked so hard to get in; I deserved to go. But wait, do you want to go? my conscience asked, because suddenly I sounded like I did.
Trina asked more about my business dreams. “Some sort of start-up, I’m guessing?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m actually a glassblower, so I want to pursue that. I already have an Etsy shop.”
Trina raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes,” I said, and because my heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest, I offered to show her my hot shop. I knew I would calm down once I saw my blowpipes, and I wanted her to see that I was serious. This was far bigger than a hobby.
James, back from his break with Isa, caught my eye from onstage as Trina and I passed the rosebushes. I gave him a subtle thumbs-up.
“How did you get into glassblowing?” Trina asked after I gave her a quick tour. She was now admiring my teardrop pendants. “It’s not as”—she searched for a word—“mainstream as painting or ceramics.”
“Vienna,” I answered. “When I lived there, I discovered a gallery…” I couldn’t share my story fast enough, suddenly eager to tell her everything. Learning to blow glass, building my hot shop, launching Golightly Glass with Henry, Blue Ridge… and even my potential detour.
Shockingly, Trina took it all in stride. “Well, first off,” she said, once I’d run out of breath, “where is this Henry going to college?”
I blushed a little. “NYU. He wants to be a lawyer—or a Hollywood agent.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “Does he have an ego?”
“He’s an original,” was all I said.
Trina chuckled. “Now, about your detour…”
“Is it a stupid plan?” I asked. “From a college admissions standpoint?”
“Wharton has already accepted you,” she reminded me.
My cheeks warmed.
“Have you ever thought about a gap year?” she asked. “They can be very beneficial. Depending on how they’re spent, they can truly broaden horizons and enrich lives.” She gave me a look. “You seem quite torn.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering Henry’s suggestion. A gap year still didn’t sound like much time to me, but maybe it could be enough? To at least get a taste of professional glassblowing? To find out if it was truly what I wanted?
“For the last nine months, all I’ve hoped to do is travel from hot shop to hot shop,” I said.
“But now I don’t know if improving my craft will be enough for expanding Golightly Glass.
I know it will help, but will it be enough to succeed?
” I sighed. “Wharton will teach me so much more than I can ever teach myself, and I feel like my classes will also give me a million things to think about and focus on. They’ll help me decide what I want Golightly Glass to ultimately become. Right?”
Trina took that as a rhetorical question, selecting a pendant and a pair of rocks glasses instead of answering. “This is stunning.” She held up the necklace, then the tumblers. “And my husband and I love to end the day with a nightcap. How do I pay?”
My heart sparked, and I smiled. “PayPal or Venmo.”
“And you know,” she said as I packaged her purchase in Golightly Glass’s signature Tiffany-blue take-out box, “you wouldn’t need to press pause on glassblowing should you come to Wharton this fall.
” She smiled. “If you give me your email, I would love to connect you with my sister. She is head of the Tyler School of Art and Architecture at Temple University, which, as you probably know, is in—”
“Philadelphia!” I blurted.
Trina laughed. “I’m confident that you would be able to take classes there while at Penn.”
I blinked a few times. This sounded too good to be true. I had to tell—
There was a knock on the door. Polite but insistent.
“Come in!” I called, and when Henry pushed open the door, I sighed. Nothing between us was okay, but I was so happy to see him. “So, how’re we doing out there?” I asked.
In response, he smiled wide, waved his arms, and said: “Sounds like the ten-year alums are headed over!”
Fuck, I thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Someone invited another entire class?
“Shut it down,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’re done.”
Henry saluted me, as if nothing were wrong between us.
“Was that Henry?” Trina asked after he left.
I nodded. “The one and only.”
“You’re right, he is an original,” she said. “I can tell.”
And I absolutely adore him, I thought, unable to stop myself from smiling. There was no one like Henry Chen. We’re going to figure this out.