CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isabel opened her eyes. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with rocks. The morning light coming in around the edges of the curtains burned her corneas. The room tilted from one side to the other, like a listing boat. This was, by far, the worst hangover she’d ever had.
She raised herself up on her elbows and tried to blink. The details of last night were hazy—who had put her to bed? When had she gone to bed? How had she gotten so drunk? And then the glimmer of a memory came back to her. Mike. Seeing him at the surf shop. Their fight. Then a lot of Jack and Cokes.
From the direction of her nightstand she could hear a persistent buzzing, like a trapped insect. She felt around the table in the dim light for the source, and then located her phone. She turned it around so that she could see its face. It was almost too bright to look at. And then she saw the text from Mike.
No problem. Take care.
What the hell does that mean? she thought. Then she opened her phone and went to the text screen. There was her message to him, sent last night at 6:16 PM:
Don’t ever bother me again.
A stabbing pain shot through her head. She needed to go to the bathroom. She put the phone back down on the bedside table and saw that someone had left her Advil and a glass of water. She jiggled two maroon tablets out of the bottle and swallowed them with the water. Then she forced herself out of bed, splashed some water on her face, and sat on the toilet, trying to ignore the spinning bathroom.
So she and Mike were basically over. He wouldn’t show up on her doorstep and beg for her to give him a second chance. And then there was Evan. It was all coming back to her now in humiliating waves—Evan holding her head as she threw up in her bathroom, Evan helping her off with her dress and putting her to bed in, apparently, her underwear. It was all too embarrassing. She staggered back to bed and closed her eyes.
A knock on the door startled her back to full consciousness. “What?” she croaked, keeping her eyes shut tight.
The door opened, and Isabel heard her mother sigh. “Well, good morning, darling daughter. You look fresh as a rosebud.”
Isabel opened her eyes an inch to see her mom, still in her nightgown, whip open her curtains. “Please don’t do that,” she said.
“I want to know what you’ve said about this family,” her mom said. Painful bright light flooded the room.
Isabel roused herself from her pillow and tried to focus on the slim but blurry shape of her mother, standing at the foot of her bed. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night Mrs. Wilcox told me there’s a rumor going around about us. That we’re living in different homes. And I would like to know how that rumor got started.”
Isabel rubbed her eyes. “Are you serious? Did you really think that this wasn’t going to get out?”
“You’re not answering my question.” The harsh morning light made her mother’s crow’s-feet and frown lines alarmingly visible. “Who did you tell?”
“I’ve told everybody,” Isabel said. “Everyone I can. Everyone I see. Everyone who asks. They all get to hear all about it. Because I’m so obsessed with your life.”
Mrs. Rule picked up her silk dress, lying in a heap on her duvet, and let it drop back into a wrinkled pile. “Leave it to you to get drunk last night. Your father hasn’t seen you in weeks, and that’s when you get drunk.”
“Can you blame me?”
Her mother took a deep breath. “Don’t try to pin this on me. I’m not your excuse, Isabel. Don’t use me as a reason to keep doing what you’ve been doing for years.” She shut the door, and Isabel lay back in bed. Her headache was now unbearable.
Rory walked through the swinging door into the breakfast room, which was mercifully empty. In the center of the round rattan table was a leftover floral arrangement from the party last night, and at one end was a stack of newspapers, the same ones that she’d had to run out and buy every morning last summer. An array of vitamins and supplements lined Mrs. Rule’s place setting, as usual. At Rory’s place setting stood a jar of lemon curd—Mickey had figured out by now that she’d developed a fondness for it. Looking at it now, she realized how crazily pretentious that was.
She went to the credenza and poured herself a bowl of cereal from one of the twenty or so boxes on display. Her strategy was to eat quickly and hightail it back to her room. There were too many people in this house that she wanted to avoid.
Fee’s kind face peeked through the doorway. “Good morning, my dear. You all set out here?”
Rory put down her cereal and felt tears come to her eyes again.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Rory walked over to her and started crying in her arms.
“Here, here,” Fee said.
“Can we go to your room for a minute?” Rory wiped the tears with the back of her hand, but she could barely keep up with them.
“Of course.” Holding her by the hand, Fee led her swiftly down the back stairs and along the quiet hall to her room. She closed the door as Rory went to sit on the bed, and then pushed a box of tissues into Rory’s hands. “When you’re ready, I want to hear all about it,” she said gently.
Rory pulled multiple sheets of tissue out of the box and cleaned up her face as much as she could. “Connor and I…” She blew her nose. “Connor and I broke up last night.”
Fee didn’t look the least bit surprised. “Oh, my dear,” she said softly. “How did it happen?”
Haltingly, and with the help of more tissue, Rory managed to string together an edited version of what had gone wrong between them this summer, without mentioning the secret about Isabel’s real father. “Last summer was so much easier,” she said. “I don’t know why.”
Fee stroked Rory’s arm. “It’s always easier to be on the outside. Why do you think this is still my bedroom?” She gestured to the cramped space. “I love working for this family. But I’ve never forgotten I work for them.”
“So you’re saying it was a mistake to get involved with Connor?”
“No, not at all, dear,” said Fee. “He made you happy. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with someone who makes you happy.”
“I guess I thought if I tried hard enough, it would all work out.”
“That’s what your mother’s done to you,” Fee said softly. “It’s not your job to make things work out. It takes two people. And it doesn’t sound to me like he wanted things to work out as much as you did.”
Rory nodded. She blew her nose. “But now what? Do I leave here? Do I go back home? I still have my internship. How do I stay here and have it not be massively awkward?”
“It won’t be.”
“But what if he wants me to leave?”
Fee snorted. “You’re talking to the house manager. And you are my niece. Nobody is kicking you out of here without getting past me first. Now, let’s get you back upstairs for breakfast,” she said. “Is there anything special Mickey can get for you?”
Rory thought for a moment. “Blueberry pancakes?”
“Perfect,” Fee said, guiding her to the door.
“But only if you let me make them,” Rory said. “I haven’t so much as measured a cup of water since I’ve been here.”
“I think we can arrange that.”
After fortifying herself with pancakes, she decided to go speak to Connor. Better to confront him and let him say whatever else needed to be said. Maybe by now his anger had dissipated, and he’d be able to think and talk a little more clearly.
She walked up the stairs and knocked on his closed door. “Connor?” she said. “It’s me. Can I talk to you?”
He opened the door. His hair was wet from the shower. On his shoulder was his zippered gym bag. It looked very full.
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“I’m gonna stay with my dad for a while, yeah.”
“Because of me?”
He didn’t blink. “You’re one of the reasons, yeah.”
“I know you
’re mad,” she said. “If you have anything you want to say, I’m here. You can tell me.”
“What do you want me to say?” he said, glaring at her. “You’re the one with all the information. I’m the idiot who doesn’t know anything.”
“I didn’t tell you those things to hurt you. I hope you know that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw, and he moved to walk past her. “Is there anything else you want to say?”
“No,” she said, feeling a knot form in her throat.
“Tell my mom if she needs me, I’ll be at my dad’s. And I guess you’ll be here?” he said, throwing her a sardonic look over his shoulder.
Before she could answer, he was heading down the stairs. She stayed on the landing and listened to him leave the house through the back door. A few minutes later she heard the whine of his engine as he started his car, and then the crunch of gravel under his tires. He was gone. But the Connor she’d fallen in love with last summer had left quite a while ago. It had simply taken her until now to see that.
Isabel’s bedroom door opened. A girl with a greenish-tinged face, bloodshot eyes, and tangled blond hair who faintly resembled Isabel, peeked out her head.
“Oh my god,” Rory said. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Isabel said. “I need to get to the kitchen, but I might throw up. Can I hold on to you?”
“Sure.”
Rory went to the door, and Isabel stepped out in a threadbare navy bathrobe that looked older than both of them put together. She grabbed Rory’s arm and made it as far as the stairs, then plunked herself down on the top one. “Ugh,” she said. “I still have the spins.”
“Why’d you drink so much?” Rory asked. “Was it because of our fight?”
“I saw Mike,” she said, holding her blond head in her hands. “In Montauk. I went there after I left you. We got into a fight. He’s such a jerk. I can’t believe I wasted one minute thinking about him.” She scratched at the tangled mess of her hair and then met Rory’s gaze. “Am I making this up, or did you and Connor break up last night?”
“You’re not making it up,” Rory said. “It’s over. He just left to go stay at his dad’s.”
“Of course he did,” she muttered. “I guess he’s still in shock. I wouldn’t take it personally. He’ll come around.”
“I’m not sure he will,” Rory said. “And I don’t think there was anything left to salvage anyway.”
“Well, that’s his loss,” Isabel said.
Rory rubbed her temples. “Maybe I should go home.”
“No,” Isabel declared. “You are not going home. Don’t even think about that.”
“Won’t it be awkward if I stay?”
“You think I want you to go because you broke up with my brother? No way.” She took Rory’s wrist again. “Okay, I have to get up again.”
Rory helped Isabel down the stairs one step at a time as if she were an elderly woman.
“I’m sorry if I was a bitch yesterday, by the way,” Isabel said, when she’d safely reached the bottom. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Me, neither,” Rory said.
“Everything I said about you being a doormat, that was just me talking out of my butt. I think it’s been hard for me, you going out with Connor. I’ve missed hanging out with you.”
“I’ve missed hanging out with you,” Rory said.
“Truce?” Isabel said, offering her hand.
Rory gave her a hug instead. “Whoa,” she said as she pulled away. “That’s a lot of Jack Daniel’s I’m smelling.”
“Hey, don’t judge me,” Isabel said.
“Never,” Rory said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day, Rory stared at her computer screen, unable to move, think, or do much of anything. It had been a full thirty-six hours since she and Connor had broken up, and still it didn’t seem real. His parting look—a perfect blend of disgust, anger, and injured pride—played on a loop inside her head, blotting out all other thought. Worse, Amelia was humming, loudly, on the other side of the cubicle wall, and it was starting to get on her nerves.
“Hey, Amelia,” she said. “You mind keeping it down a little?”
Amelia wheeled herself into view. “Sorry. I’m just really happy. My aunts and uncles are coming in from Massachusetts for the festival. I’m like a celebrity in the family now.” She took off her glasses and peered at Rory’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I broke up with my boyfriend Saturday night.”
“Oh, no,” Amelia gasped. “That sucks. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said, suddenly embarrassed to look her in the eye.
“Did he do it? Or did you? Oh. You know what? Don’t tell me. That’s none of my business.”
“He did it,” Rory said. “But it’s okay. It was sort of… winding down.”
“Do you need anything? You want me to run out for ice cream? Beer?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Amelia worked one of her curls around her finger. “You’re not gonna leave or anything, right? I mean, I won’t know what to do if you’re not here every day. Who else am I gonna talk to?”
“No, I’m not gonna leave. Don’t worry.”
“Because it would seriously suck if you weren’t here next month for the screening. I mean, I have you to thank for everything. I’d be so sad if you weren’t there.”
Rory’s work phone rang. She reached for it. “Yes?”
“Hi, Rory, it’s Nina,” said the voice on the other end. “I just wanted to know, do you know if the Rules prefer salmon or veal?”
Rory took a deep breath. “I really don’t know,” she said, trying not to sound annoyed.
“I’ll do salmon,” Nina said, and clicked off.
“What was that?” Amelia asked.
“Another emergency question about what my boyfriend’s parents like to eat,” she said. “Sorry. My ex-boyfriend’s parents.”
“My god,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “They’re really stressing about this family, aren’t they?”
“They really are.”
Her phone rang again. Rory reached for it, already annoyed. “Yes?”
“Hey, Rory, it’s Evan.”
She shot forward in her chair.
“I’m downstairs, on the sidewalk. I just tried your cell and got voice mail. So I called the main line and they put me through.”
“Hi,” she said, already smiling.
“Can you take a break for a second? Maybe come down here?”
“Uh… sure,” she said. “Hold on. I’ll be right there.” She slammed down the receiver.
“You being summoned again?” Amelia asked with a wry smile.
“I’ll be right back,” Rory said, too distracted once again to make eye contact. She picked up her purse and went to the elevator, her heart pounding. In the elevator on the way down, she ran a brush through her hair and put on some lipstick. He’d been in the back of her mind since the breakup, but more as a fantasy than anything real.
He stood waiting outside the door to her building, shading his face from the sun. Earbuds dangled from his hand, and he had on his Captain America T-shirt.
“Hey,” she said.
“I had some time before work,” he said. “Thought I’d check on you. I heard you and Connor broke up.”
Rory slipped on her sunglasses. “Isabel told you?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.”
“And he’s not trying to get you back?”
“He’s the one who did it.”
Evan shook his head. “Is he on some weird mind-altering drugs I don’t know about?”
She laughed. “That, I can’t say.”
“I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, I’m here. And the other night at the party, the stuff that I said—”
“It’s okay,” she cut in. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No
, I sort of do,” he said. “All that stuff I said? About Isabel? About not being happy?”
“I didn’t say a thing,” Rory assured him. “I promise. Not a word.”
“That’s not it,” he said. “I did mean all those things. I’ve given this all a lot of thought. And I think I’m going to end it.”
“You can’t,” Rory blurted. “Please don’t.”
“But it has nothing to do with you,” he said. He smiled. “Okay. Maybe it has a little bit to do with you.” His green eyes flashed in that mischievous way. “But we’re not right for each other. She’s beautiful, and smart, and funny, and cool and everything, but something’s off. The other night at the party, when she got so drunk, it was weird. A turnoff. She said some things.”
“Like what?” Rory asked, torn between wanting to know and not wanting to know.
“Well, she was really drunk, as you know, and I was helping her into bed, and she called me another name. She called me Mike.”
“She was drunk,” Rory said quickly.
“I’ve known there was someone else for a long time.”
“There isn’t.”
“I don’t mean she’s seeing someone else. I mean she’s thinking about someone else. I can just tell. One night when we were out at this bar in Montauk, she got all agitated because someone was there, and she wanted to leave.”
“Look, she was drunk out of her mind,” Rory said. “Don’t break up with her, okay? Why are you even telling me this?” She turned back into the lobby of her building.
“I have to do it. Otherwise, it’s not fair to her.”
“I’m literally going to erase every word of this conversation from my brain.”
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said.
“I have to go,” she said. She gave him a quick wave, then took the steps two at a time up to East End Fest’s third-floor offices. Just being in the same physical presence as those words—I’m going to break up with her—made her feel like the worst kind of accomplice. Now she had another secret to keep, on top of the secret about Mr. Knox, and on top of Isabel’s feelings for Mike. There was no way this was going to end well. Not at all.
Since Last Summer Page 17