Chapter 7 #2
“You know Flynn. He’s probably flying to Vegas or somewhere in Europe to celebrate. Since I knew you wouldn’t want to do that, I planned a spa day after brunch for you, me, and Mom tomorrow.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. It’s a big accomplishment, Rory. Plus”—Wren smirks—“you did all the hard work, and I get pampered too. So, win-win.”
I smile back. “Thank you.”
I went from the chaos of finals, graduating, and leaving Boston to working full-time in New York and studying for the bar exam.
My dad has come into the city for work a few times, but Wren and our mom have been in the Hamptons since my graduation party in May.
I’ve barely seen them the past couple of months.
“You’re super welcome.” Wren’s phone buzzes again. She glances at it. “Okay, I’ve gotta go. And before you tell me leaving early is irresponsible, I cleared it with Mom and Dad.”
Probably because they knew Wren would leave regardless, but I don’t say so. It’s good she asked. Growth from the summers spent sneaking out.
“I wasn’t going to say you were irresponsible,” I tell her. “I wish I could leave too.”
Today’s party is being hosted by one of Mom’s biggest clients.
The Hastings practically funded the nature preserve project that she worked on.
I understood why we couldn’t skip it this weekend, but I was hoping my return to the social scene would be more of a gentle wading in than being thrown into the deep end.
“Come with me,” Wren suggests.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—I should stay.”
“Why? If you don’t want to stay, leave.”
Things are simpler in my sister’s world.
Or maybe I make it more complicated. I don’t want to be here, but at least my presence means everyone knows I’m not at home, crying into a container of ice cream.
I don’t want my parents to have to make excuses for my early departure.
I don’t want Etta to think our awkward conversation chased me off. And …
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You mean, third wheel?” Wren rolls her eyes. “We’re going bluffing; he’s not picking me up for a blow job.”
“Wren.”
She grins, unrepentant. “Come on, Rory. It’ll be fun.”
Wren and I have never spent much time with each other’s friends.
We’re four years apart, which felt like a wider gap when we were younger.
I started high school while she was approaching middle school.
I was applying to colleges when she officially became a teenager.
Ages aside, I act mature while Wren embraces youth, even as an adult.
I’ve always envied that about her. I’ve never understood how it’s so easy for her to have fun and so difficult for me to relax into enjoyment.
Looking at my sister’s hopeful face, I decide that trying would be a good start.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“The rich blondes are multiplying.”
Sawyer frowns at a brunette woman who was already standing in the clearing we just entered. “Enough, Cammie.” He glances at me, smiling apologetically. “Rory, this is Gus, Wade, and Ricky. Guys, this is Wren’s sister.”
“That’s some gene pool.” One of the guys whistles—Wade, I think?
“Dude, you can’t hit on a girl related to Wren,” another says. “That’s, like, Cap’s future sister-in-law.”
“Cap?” I ask, confused.
“It’s short for Captain,” Wren explains. “Not, like, a hat.”
The woman, Cammie, snorts.
“Great explanation, Bird,” Sawyer teases.
Wren sticks her tongue out at him. Then they kiss, and despite the presence of Sawyer’s friends, I do feel like I’m third-wheeling.
“They do this a lot,” one guy stage-whispers to me.
“So do you and Lissa,” Sawyer retorts, separating from Wren.
“Not anymore. We broke up.”
Suddenly, the clearing is very quiet.
“Gus …” Wren walks over, giving the guy a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
He pats her back. “Yep. Cool. I meant to totally kill the mood. I’m fine, and I don’t want to talk about it, and let’s go jump off a cliff.”
Worried glances are exchanged for a few seconds, and then the group begins moving, taking another path back through the greenery. Since I have no clue where I’m going, I wind up near the back with the guy named Gus.
“Sorry about making it awkward back there,” he tells me. “I was going to wait to tell them, then decided ripping the Band-Aid off was a better strategy.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Breakups suck. I’m sorry you’re going through one.”
“You are too, right?” Immediately, he backtracks. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—Wren just mentioned … I sort of had to talk her out of murdering your ex”—Gus grimaces—“since Sawyer’s only contribution was offering to drive the getaway truck.”
I laugh, my first genuine one in a while.
Wren glances back, sees me walking with Gus, and flashes me a thumbs-up with her left hand. Her right is clasped with Sawyer’s.
“Yeah, I am,” I answer. “We were together for a long time, which made it harder. But he cheated, which made it easier. It was messy and public, but also felt very final, which helped? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s a cliché, but time does help.”
“Also a cliché, but it’s his loss, Rory.”
“Thanks. I’m glad I crashed your hangout. And that Sawyer has such cool friends.”
Gus smiles, quickly glancing ahead before refocusing on me.
“He’ll never tell you so, but this is a big deal for Cap.
He’s got this stupid idea in his head that he’s not good enough for Wren because he grew up so differently from you guys.
Being invited to your grad party and to dinner with your folks, you giving him a chance—it all means a lot to him.
He’s the best guy I know, and I’m not only saying that because we’re best friends. ”
Sawyer’s earnest expression when he thanked me for calling a lawyer flashes in my head.
“He makes Wren really, really happy. That’s all I care about. And, in my experience, guys who grew up like we did tend to be terrible boyfriends.”
Those ahead of us have stopped. A salty gust of wind blows my hair straight back, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of water crashing into rock.
“You ever been bluffing before?” Gus asks.
I shake my head, wondering if I should have declined this invitation for reasons I failed to consider earlier.
Wren is more athletic than I am. She took tennis and horseback riding lessons, growing up, while I was primarily focused on academics.
My extracurriculars were mock trial and captaining the debate team.
I force myself to attend at least one exercise class a week, and I walk part of the commute to work.
Yet I can’t recall the last time I went swimming, which tells me it’s been a while.
“It’s not as high as it looks,” one of the other guys tells me when I reach the edge.
The water below is churning, white foam visible on the dark blue surface of the sea, where waves recently collided with the side of the cliff. The sun is starting to sink, bathing everything—the ocean, the rocks, the flat slab of stone I’m standing on—in a golden glow.
I inhale deeply. I love New York—its pace, its energy, its opportunities.
When my parents purchased a property here, I was surprised because I’d thought they felt the same way.
But there’s something about this, too, something I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated before.
The enormity of the sea and the sky spread as far as the eye can see—it diminishes you, yet it’s also inspiring.
Wren yanks off a T-shirt several sizes too big for her. One of Sawyer’s, I’m assuming, as the yacht club’s logo is partially visible on the heap of fabric.
My sister smiles at me, holding out a hand. “Wanna jump with me?”
That’s exactly what I want to do all of a sudden. I clasp Wren’s offered hand and begin running. I hear her surprised laugh as we start to plummet, and I experience what it’s like to be the sort of person who leaps without second-guessing.
Cool water closes over my head a few seconds later, blocking out the noise. Washing away my carefully styled hair and perfectly applied makeup.
Jumping without second-guessing?
Pretty fucking freeing.