Chapter 4
Liz tossed another three pink lemonade bottles filled to the brim with illicit alcohol into the cooler and closed the top with a thump. It may have had her reminiscing about college again, sneaking around the town’s “No Alcohol on the Beach” rule, but Liz surprisingly didn’t mind the youthful aura those stealthy vodka plus Crystal Light Pink Lemonade bottles invoked.
She missed the days when the biggest concern was sneaking alcohol into a party. How easy, how naive Liz’s youth now seemed in retrospect. She missed that energy; that flavor seemed out of reach.
“How are we looking on supplies over there?” Cam said, walking into the kitchen.
“Ready for takeoff,” Liz said, accepting his kiss on her cheek.
Cam had apologized this morning. He had pulled Liz aside as the friends cleaned up after the scrambled egg breakfast Mac had cooked for the group. Cam told her that he didn’t know what happened last night, but he went too hard and wished he hadn’t. He promised to be better the rest of the weekend.
Liz accepted his apology; she always did. They had been together too long to be stingy with forgiveness. They’d also been together too long for her not to make a mental note of what had transpired, to pick up on the pattern: something was off with Cam.
The party-loving energy was nothing new. Cam was both a people pleaser and an extroverted introvert, adept at matching his energy to that of any given room. He loved a good book, but he also sparkled in any crowd. Especially if Mac was there, too, striking them both up like a box of matches. Now they were in Ocean Beach, a weekend trip with their best friends. It wasn’t unusual that Cam would want to have some fun.
No, what bothered Liz was this subtle feeling, a peripheral sense of dread that he was keeping something from her. But what?
As if decoding her thoughts, Cam pressed his forehead against hers. “I love being back here with you, Lizard. Feels like old times.”
“Me, too,” Liz said. She meant it. Ocean Beach had been the source of some of their happiest moments. The final high school hurrah filled with friend group magic. Now Liz resolved to make sure their first postgrad weekend felt like magic, too. She turned her face toward her fiancé’s and kissed him square on the mouth.
“Get a room!” a voice cut in, startling Liz and Cam out of their PDA. Liz softened, though, when she turned and saw Mac’s face. Her future brother-in-law had already changed into his bathing suit.
“Leave them alone! It’s romantic!” a higher-pitched voice called out from the hallway, the walk-up song of high-heeled sandals announcing Robyn’s arrival as she joined them standing by the couches. It had been five months, but Liz still felt slightly unsettled whenever their trio turned into a foursome with Robyn’s addition. Sure, Robyn looked at Mac like he was the dreamiest man in the world, and always bought the first round when they went to a bar, but she also suggested that Mac avoid wearing the color yellow because it hurt her eyes. She was opinionated and whip-smart and certainly unique. But was she sister-in-law material? Was she Mac’s future wife? Liz and Cam had no idea.
“The newly engaged lovebirds! Congratulations again,” Robyn squealed, pulling them all into a suffocating hug. “See, Mac, there’s nothing wrong with some extra hugging. So sorry we missed last night. We had to see my family Friday, since we were with you guys on Thursday night. Even an engagement can’t override the Rule.”
“Balance is key,” Cam said. They had all heard this before.
“It is key,” Robyn continued. “If we see Mac’s family one night, then we must see my family the next. The secret to a healthy relationship. No exceptions. Balance makes all right. That’s the first lesson I learned at Wharton, by the way. Besides Statistics and Managerial Econ, the first real takeaway that transformed my soul was the more metaphysical practices.” Liz couldn’t tell if her emphasis was genuine or if she knew the whole thing was a little ridiculous. “Mindfulness. Balance. Purpose. Passion. A good idea, a good product, well, it can just bleed into your being. But you must be open, anchored, balanced, to let it in, you know?” Nope. Definitely genuine.
Liz had heard this exact same manifesto a dozen times already. Robyn was an “intuitive entrepreneur.” She lived in the “intersection between commerce and compassion,” or “mindfulness and monetary success.” All the buzzwords, all the half-baked business ideas. Eucalyptus-lined shower curtains meant to calm and center while you cleaned, but that accidentally sprouted weeds in the drain. Cocktail-flavored toothpastes that were designed to bring creativity and a “cool factor” to your health routine, but accidentally still had alcohol in them. Nothing like a morning buzz mid-brush.
Her latest, Mood Me, was a phone case that was also a mood ring. It was big and bulky and promised to transform in color to correlate with your mood. After days of badgering, Liz agreed to Robyn’s relentless request that she test it out herself. One afternoon into her “volunteering,” the rubbery texture had malfunctioned, overheating so that Liz dropped it with a yelp, shattering her iPhone screen. Robyn was regretful, but upon seeing the case was red, the color of stress, she suggested Liz take the opportunity as a sign to recenter, to breathe more during the day, to stay calm. (Liz didn’t need a phone case to tell her how that made her feel.) Mac made sure Robyn volunteered to pay for her screen replacement instead.
Liz tried to stay silent through all this. It wasn’t her place to judge, and she knew she had no business interfering. Still, she bit hard on her tongue when she remembered that Robyn’s pontifications and profit plans often left out the key principle: she was bankrolled by her grandfather, one in a line of oil tycoons. He funded her prototypes, leaving her with way more first attempts than an average MBA student was typically afforded or allowed. It seemed even a bottomless down payment couldn’t guarantee the next big idea’s success. At least, not yet.
“Grandfather sends his deepest congratulations, too, though. Right, Mac? Did you pass those along already?” Robyn asked. “Oh! We must email them Cam and Liz’s address. My parents want to send an engagement gift. Text me your mailing address again, Liz? I know it’s saved here somewhere but ever since the launch of Mood Me, my phone is just exploding with sales and updates and PR requests, I simply can’t find anything. Oh! Last thing! Text me that photo with the boat behind your proposal, Liz? Maman thinks it might have been her tennis partner’s boat. What a magical coincidence. Just gorgeous all around.” Robyn looked up from her phone, and Liz was shocked to see that a semblance of tears had filled her eyes. Robyn reached out, eyes shining, and clasped her hand on Liz’s shoulder. “Thank you so much for including me in such a special night. I’m so happy for you both.”
“Of course,” Liz stammered.
“We’re so glad you could be there,” Cam added.
Robyn’s phone rang, interrupting the moment. “I have to take this. Macky, wait for me? Shouldn’t be more than thirty. Love you guys!” In a flash, Robyn was out of the room, dashing up the stairs and out of sight.
Liz always felt a little winded after talking to Robyn, but if that was who Mac wanted to spend his time with, Liz would have to get comfortable with her. Just because she had never become best friends with any of Mac’s girlfriends didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have dated them. What was Mac’s alternative? Pining for Maggie, like those first years as college students? At least he was trying.
In Robyn’s absence, Mac sat down on the couch and rested his left leg on a stack of pillows. “You guys go, head to the beach with the others. I’m good to wait here.”
“Knee hurting again?” Liz asked.
“Nothing major. Just a little tight.” He rubbed his kneecap.
“Did you go to PT yesterday?” Cam asked.
“Was too busy recovering from your guys’ proposal party.” Mac gave them a firm grin, but it was clear he wanted the conversation to be over. It had been five months since the accident, and the only direction he was running was away from his physical therapy appointments. No matter what Liz and Cam tried.
“Speaking of which, I’ll give Robyn’s parents your address, but can you send me that photo?” Mac asked now. “And maybe a few others? Those teasers came back incredible.”
“Right?” Cam said, proud of the proposal.
“I want to print one out for myself.”
“I’m sure Mom is already at Staples.” Cam laughed. “I’ll tell her to make you a copy.”
“Do you remember when she printed those flyers for my soccer finals senior year?”
“And got in a fight with the manager because he wouldn’t let her use the biggest size possible?”
“The image was so blurry! Dude was right.”
“Never tell Mom that,” Cam said, laughing again.
“It’s still framed in the basement,” Mac added.
Liz left Mac and Cam to their memories as she opened the camera roll on her phone and toggled through the dozen or so favorited photos from their engagement. Cam had booked a photographer to meet them by the esplanade in Battery Park City, near the Peters family’s pied-à-terre. The Hudson River shone behind them, the sun danced off the ring in Cam’s shaking fingers, as he bent down on one knee. His mother’s ring, a family heirloom, sliding past Liz’s knuckle.
Every emotion surfaced in Liz’s bloodstream, overflowing so much that it almost felt like she was drowning. With love, but with that all-consuming feeling that she was at last doing something the way she ought. Checking off the boxes, she was walking that road she had been paving for a decade. Everything had been building toward this exact moment. Cam Peters, her childhood dream. Her destiny.
Her fiancé. Finally.
And yet.
There was something coating that moment in the slightest, subtlest sadness.
Now Liz opened the Gmail application on her phone, ready to send a collection of the day’s happiest memories to Mac. Then, an unread subject line sandwiched between Blick Art sales and Madewell promotions sent a shock to her core.
“I’m just gonna run to the bathroom,” she said. “Be back in a sec.” She raced to the first-floor bathroom and closed the door behind her, before either Peters brother could get a word in edgewise.
Sitting on the tiled bathroom floor, head against the wooden pane, Liz allowed her fidgeting fingers to open the email.
Dear Elizabeth Grey,
Congratulations! You have been nominated to apply for the inaugural Domus Fellowship program. This program is designed for fashion industry creatives and entrepreneurs from all different walks of life, to gather for one year of integrated study. It is our mission statement to create a new generation of well-rounded industry executives with an emphasis on sustainability.
If accepted, all students will receive a full scholarship to obtain a master’s degree in Sustainable Fashion Design and Technology. The scholarship includes room, board, and travel expenses necessary to relocate to Milan, Italy. Application details are enclosed below.
The rest of the words cut in and out of Liz’s focus. She remembered her favorite NYU professor reaching out the other month, letting her know about a new international opportunity that she would be perfect for. A chance for a scholarship that could change everything.
Liz, in a career rut. Liz, in a design rut. Her job as a technical designer at her favorite high-end clothing line had been more corporate, more cookie-cutter than she’d ever expected. Even New York had somehow started to feel stale, the streets like her once-favorite songs after a year on repeat, suddenly overplayed. Maybe this opportunity was exactly what Liz needed.
A year in Italy, soaking in all the colors and fabrics and teachings a foreign city could offer.
A year abroad when she was supposed to be planning a wedding.
Could she apply?
What would Cam say? His mom already had a list of venues for them to tour next week. She wanted to get a date booked for next spring.
Liz had checklists to follow. An event to plan. A husband to marry. She had responsibilities. She had an apartment lease in New York.
How could she not apply?
She looked around at the beach house’s bathroom. The walls were covered in silly and clichéd decorations, and yet when Liz’s eyes landed on a rainbow sign, she took its words as a personal instruction. Life at the beach means painting the day with all the colors of the sun!
She nearly laughed.
What harm was there in applying? She probably wouldn’t even get in, Liz told herself. Admission rates were low, so she set her expectations even lower.
She’d just give it one shot. One honest shot.
She would apply.
She just wouldn’t tell Cam yet, she reasoned. It wasn’t a lie; she would tell him eventually, as soon as she had to.
But she couldn’t kick the guilt entirely. Two days engaged and already the secrets were building.
Liz starred the email and promised herself that this secret would be her last.