Chapter 7
“I’m working at the Manhattan Public Defender’s office,” I state for what must be the dozenth time in less than an hour.
“Oh, how nice,” Mrs. Stewart says, making me think she may not fully understand what a public defender does.
My job is relentless and rewarding. Nice is not an adjective I’d use to describe interacting with those learning firsthand that consequences, like most things, are kinder to the rich.
Me accepting a position that pays five figures while most of my classmates—like Flynn Parks—were wooed into Big Law with promises of corporate cards and covered moving expenses and partner tracks isn’t doing a whole lot to even the scales of justice, but it’s a start.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I need to use the restroom.”
“Oh, of course.” Mrs. Stewart leans closer, lowering her voice to add, “It’s so nice to see you out and about, Rory. You deserve so much better than that awful business with the Albright boy.” She shudders. For effect, I assume, since the temperature is hovering in the low nineties today.
I aim a tight-lipped smile at the older woman. “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Stewart.”
Because of the bright sun and afternoon heat, plenty of guests have gravitated inside. Unfortunately, that means Etta Albright is impossible to miss, standing by the raw bar set up beside the outdoor kitchen. This section is shaded by a pergola, a few degrees cooler than the rest of the yard.
I swallow hard as I make eye contact with Carson’s mother beneath the broad brim of her hat. It occurred to me the Albrights might be here. They overlap with a large portion of the social set that my family is a part of, and Etta is especially diligent about accepting invitations.
Carson isn’t here. Someone would have mentioned it to me by now if he were. He’s never enjoyed these parties, and recent events would make them especially unappealing.
“Rory.” Etta’s tone is warm, but I notice how she fiddles with the clasp of her clutch before setting it on one of the high-top tables arranged throughout the backyard that guests have left drinks and hors d’oeuvres on.
“Hello, Mrs. Albright.” I return her polite smile, but I don’t embrace her like I normally would. Or use her first name.
I don’t blame her for Carson’s actions, but I can’t pretend like nothing has changed.
Etta and Mason, Carson’s father, made it obvious they heartily approved of me dating their son.
I wish I could take some satisfaction in knowing they must have been devastated when they found out about our breakup, but I’m mostly sad and mad all over again.
“How are you?” she asks. Her expression appears genuinely concerned as she scans my appearance, like she truly thinks I might still be devastated by what happened.
I’m more mad than sad suddenly.
“I’m well,” I answer. “Working at the Manhattan Public Defender’s office. I took the bar earlier this week, so I can relax and enjoy the rest of the summer. Here to spend some time with my parents and sister.”
Etta nods. “That sounds lovely, Rory. I-I’ve wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t certain it would be appropriate.
I …” She exhales, and I instinctively brace myself.
“Mason and I are incredibly disappointed in Carson. I’m sure you feel similarly.
I don’t think their relationship will possibly last, but I …
well, I thought we’d raised our son with more integrity.
We don’t support his recent decisions—mistakes—and wish he’d chosen differently. ”
Her lips purse following her speech, displaying her disapproval as plainly as her words.
I should say something. I know I should, yet I’m stuck on one word—relationship.
Carson is in a relationship, presumably with the woman in the video.
He didn’t just cheat; he’s already dating someone new.
Does everyone know? Was I not told because they thought I was too fragile to handle the news?
People are probably staring and gossiping now, but I don’t glance around to confirm. I’m too busy processing.
“I’m sorry,” Etta adds. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s … it’s nice to see you,” I manage to say. “I wish our breakup had happened differently, but I don’t think Carson and I were ever going to last. I hope his new relationship is a happier one. Mine sure is.”
“Oh, you’re”—Etta tries and fails at hiding her disappointment—“seeing someone?”
“I am.” I tuck some loose strands of hair behind one ear. “I’m headed inside to enjoy some air-conditioning. Give my best to Mason.”
“I will,” she replies, still visibly crestfallen.
Did Etta really think I would take Carson back after some time had passed? Apparently.
I continue indoors, pointedly ignoring the heads that turn my way as I head toward a hallway that leads to one of the downstairs bathrooms. I could really use a moment to myself, away from curious eyes assessing my emotional state.
It would be one thing if they were gossiping about my unexpected choice of employer or a different member of my family—there’s been no shortage of speculation about when and where Lili will marry Charlie Marlborough—but, no, they’re discussing my love life. Or lack of one, rather.
I blame Flynn for what just happened. If he hadn’t planted the ridiculous idea in my head of how extremely effective and supremely satisfying it would be to triumph over Carson’s infidelity by announcing my engagement to someone else, I wouldn’t have made that comment to Etta.
I would have reacted to the revelation of his new relationship by remaining calm, cool, and collected, same as I was when Mallory showed me that awful video.
Instead, I impulsively invented a boyfriend like I was being hit on by a drunk at a bar.
Etta will share my lie. Maybe only with a few close friends, but they will tell a few more and a few more until it’s widespread information.
There will be judgment about how quickly I’ve moved on, rather than the alternative pity that it was taking me so long to recover, until my new boyfriend never appears and the rumors will reset.
Unless Flynn were revealed as my rebound.
Then the overwhelming reaction would be intrigue.
Not because of Carson’s choices or my last name.
Because Flynn Parks is … well, Flynn Parks.
He’s charming, he’s rich, and he’s gorgeous.
Well educated, well dressed, with an actual personality rather than an incessant interest in discussing sports or the stock market.
The cliché that girls crush on and guys attempt to emulate.
And while Flynn has dated, he’s never appeared that serious about anyone.
When I had dinner at Kit’s last month, he mentioned that Flynn broke up with the woman he had dated in Boston.
I genuinely thought Flynn was kidding last night, so I laughed first. Now, as absurd as his idea still sounds, I wish I hadn’t. Because he never laughed. Why didn’t he laugh?
“Rory!”
I pause, just short of the start of the hallway, glancing left. My sister is standing by the banister at the bottom of the staircase, beckoning me over.
“How are you holding up?” Wren asks when I reach her.
“Fine,” I reply. “Everyone’s been … attentive.”
“Lots of questions?”
I sigh. “Lots of questions.” And some questionable answers on my part.
I don’t mention talking to Etta. Most of my recent conversations with my sister—and the rest of my family—have revolved around reassuring them I’m past what happened with Carson. Mentioning his mom or his new girlfriend won’t accomplish that, and I’m tired of the topic of my ex anyhow.
“Busybodies.” Wren makes a face as she pulls her phone out, scanning the screen. “I’m about to head out. Just wanted to check on you before I left.”
“You’re leaving?”
They’re still circulating the last of the appetizers and cocktails. This party will probably last another three hours, minimum. Three more hours of explaining my unorthodox job and avoiding Etta. I’m exhausted at the thought.
“Sawyer just finished work. We only have one month left together.”
Wren says one month with the desperation most people would reserve for one minute.
She’s always been a little dramatic, but it’s never been connected to a guy until Sawyer.
I know how in love she is with him—it’s impossible to spend any time around them and come to a different conclusion.
But Wren is normally upbeat and adventurous.
Even after the recent revelation of her choosing Cambridge because of our grandfather’s interference, I thought she’d be somewhat excited about returning to campus for her senior year.
I know she’s made plenty of friends there—three of them visited last week.
“You guys have done long distance before,” I remind Wren.
“Barely. We weren’t officially together yet. I didn’t know he was in love with me too. It’s totally different, you know?”
I don’t really. I’ve told two guys I loved them.
Both times, they said it first, so I said it back rather than precipitate an awkward moment, rationalizing I could think about whether I really meant it later, alone.
I was never sure if I did. My sister’s starry eyes make me think that was an answer in itself.
“It might be different in a good way,” I say. “Less uncertainty, right?”
“I guess.” Wren sounds unconvinced as she tucks her phone away, refocusing on me. “You’re okay? Really?”
More questions. At least I know Wren’s are in my best interest, not to mine for future gossip.
“I’m fine. Today will be the worst of it.” I hope. I clear my throat. “You haven’t, uh, seen Flynn around, have you?”
Wren looks surprised. Probably because I’ve never ever asked where Flynn was before.
“No,” she answers with an immediate, predictable follow-up of, “Why?”
“He’s normally at these events.”
“He took the bar earlier this week too, right?”
I nod.