by Olivia Chase
“Listen,” I say, and Natasha turns her attention away from the hen. “I wish you the best. I really do. And I know you’ll get back into school, and graduate when you can. It’s looking like I might be later than expected with that, myself. But I have a feeling you will pull that off.”
I sense that she’s curious what’s going to happen with Gage and me, but she keeps mum about it. “Know what the kicker is?”
I pause on her front porch, waiting. I thought I already heard multiple kickers.
“My brother.” She lowers her voice. “If nothing out of the ordinary had ever gone down at Drummond, and Britt still had his accident? I don’t know what I would have done. If I would have been so willing to come back here. I don’t know.”
I wasn’t expecting Natasha to offer me one rational thought whatsoever today. But she keeps forcing me to think.
“You know?” she asks. “Does that make any sense, or am I just some kind of bad seed?”
“You’re not a bad seed,” I tell her. I wish I could impart some kind of wisdom or definite answer for what the call should be in a situation like that. A situation that I could find myself in someday. A situation that I, realistically, should be mentally preparing myself for. Something could happen to one or both of my parents while I’m still in college. Or grad school. Or after, when I get a good job. I’m their only child. When they need somebody, it’s going to be me.
If nothing else, Natasha’s stunt at Drummond kept her from having to make that decision between college and her family. It wasn’t the healthiest course of action, but if not for that, I wonder what kind of guilt and self-hatred she’d be living with, and if it’d be worse than what she’s living with now. I suppose there’s no way to know that. But I do know that this girl is a much better person than I thought. “Not a bad seed,” I repeat. “I don’t think we have to personally be decisions we’ve made. I like to think we can start fresh, if we really make ourselves.”
She brushes sprigs of brown ringlets out of her eyes. “So I’m okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. A light breeze moves in, rattling the windchimes on the porch. “You’re okay.”
Natasha turns and goes back inside. I start my engine and take one last look at the place where the girl Gage and I thought was our bitter enemy is now basically tethered, unable to get away for more than a couple of days at a time, unsure about her future. The mini blinds in the left corner window part, and a face appears. Bailey waves to me, grinning away. I wave back, put my car into gear, and drive off.
Epilogue
KERI
I used to long to live in downtown Austin. Just so different from the stillness of Deer Falls, so vibrant and fun, and quirky and full of character. When Gage and I would get hotel rooms there, during our short time of needing to keep our love secret, I'd stand at the window from our high-rise and gaze at the city below.
But Gage told me awhile back that as cool as Austin is, it doesn't make sense for him to live there full time. I was disappointed until he offered me a consolation prize.
"Good Morning, New York," I breathe as I open the curtains of our huge bedroom window. Floor-to-ceiling glass-- just like the hotel room in Austin. Beneath me, the city rolls along, having not slept last night or any night. A patch of nature sits smack in the middle of the city, and I smile upon seeing it, just like I've done every morning as soon as I get out of bed for the past few months. The fifty blocks of Central Park look small from way up here. It humbles me every time I see it.
Gage has already woken up and comes padding back into the bedroom in PJ pants and no shirt, his upper body cut and glorious in this morning light. He's holding a cup of coffee, which he extends to me. "New York says good morning, beautiful."
"How considerate," I say, giving him a kiss. Gage's arms envelope me from behind as we stand above New York City, taking in the morning rush of excitement. This has become a well-loved beginning to our day. Just Gage, and me, and one of the greatest cities in the world, if not the greatest. (Gage also makes a case for Paris, and I keep telling him I'd be happy to test that theory and allow Paris to share the Number One spot with New York, but so far, we haven't made it there yet.)
It's also tough to break the embrace at our window, where we stare at the crazy world below from our private world up here. In fact, I've been almost late a few times because of it. But I insisted to Gage that I didn't want to be a princess, and I wanted to finish college, even if it wasn't at Bristowe. So I have to report for my daily grind, like Gage does, even if my days don't quite looks like his do... yet. ("You're going to be a force to be reckoned with," Gage tells me. "Just graduate from school first.")
And that's why we bought an apartment on the Upper West Side. It’s a palatial space, with high ceilings and sleek Carrara marble finishes. And the ivy my mom had delivered to us makes for a nice homey touch, just in case I go forgetting where I came from up here in the Big City, young lady. And it's a lot closer to my new school-- I might be finishing college a little behind everyone else, but I'm doing so at Columbia. I almost didn't believe it myself when I got the acceptance letter. (That's when Mom chose ivy to send me.) Summer term just started-- my first term here-- and I've got some ground to make up, but I'm excited about it. Gage, even though I wouldn't let him write my letter of recommendation while applying, has been nothing but supportive.
We hear Gage's phone rattling across the marble counter in the bathroom, and he reluctantly lets me go to pick it up.
Ever since he got outsed from Pharoah, Gage has developed a sort of disconnect with his phone. With any form of technological communication, really. After he got that news, it was like he wanted to break up with the world of tech or something. He flew back to Silicon Valley to pack up his stuff, and only used his phone to call me. “If not for you, I wouldn’t be on this thing anymore at all,” he told me.
I shuffle around an open suitcase. I really need to finish packing. Gage and I are fitting in quick trip to see my parents this weekend, and I can’t wait to see them. That was the condition of living here in New York—as unparalleled as this city is, I wanted to be able to go visit my mom and dad as often as possible. We are a small family, the three of us—soon to be four of us—and as much as I craved experiencing life outside of small-town Texas, I didn’t want to only see my parents on holidays.
I schlep into the expansive, open kitchen. Gage just painted the cabinets white for me. He did it himself, which was adorable. The painter he hired to come in and go over his handiwork said that it looked like a five-year-old painted it, and it was a good thing we called him. I think that was when Gage began to rethink his tech divorce.
The cream-colored card on the stainless steel SubZero fridge makes me smile, as it does every morning. It stands out because it’s the only thing we have magnetized to the fridge. Gage’s new business card, for MedGo, the new company he started that came out with an app that turns your smart phone into a way to measure health metrics, like blood pressure and pulse rate, without any other equipment.
He finds me in the kitchen. “Your dad is hilarious.”
Oh, lord. I lean against Gage as he puts his arms around me for the second time this morning. “That was him on the phone just now?”
“Yep. He wanted me to tell you he just did another PiYo workout, and that you should really try it.”
“Why couldn’t he just call me to tell me that?” I swear, my dad likes Gage a little too much. I don’t know how they hit it off the way they did. I was actually super nervous introducing him to my parents, since Gage is a famous CEO, and my parents still have one of those TVs that’s cube-shaped, and their doorbell—literally the last thing in the house that functioned like it was new—started this horrible dying cat sound. Right when Gage and I rang it, of course.
But they really clicked, somehow. My mom wants to send his mom a ficus.
Our own doorbell rings, and I hustle through the apartment to answer it. It’s early, but I’m expecting somebody.
I open the door to a strawberry blonde girl, clad in shorts and a purple NYU tank.
NYU shirt at Columbia. That is so Audrey.
“Will you get banned from campus for wearing that?” I ask as she sweeps into the marble foyer, hugging me even though I just saw her two days ago.
“Nah,” she says. “And, hey, anyway, I aspire to attend both.”
“We’ll have to start calling her Columbia York,” Gage calls from the kitchen. “But who gives people lame nicknames like that?”
“Hi, Gage,” Audrey calls back. To me, she says, “Your mom’s tomatoes are growing.”
My mom sent Audrey this sort of urban farmer kit, and Audrey set it up on her tiny swatch of balcony space in her apartment near campus and, for some reason, thinks it’s the gift that keeps on giving. Only she calls it “the gift with the potential to keep on giving,” since the tomatoes aren’t ready to be picked yet.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with her,” I say. But I’m smiling, of course. I introduced Mom to Audrey over FaceTime, and Audrey was as intrigued by “a real Texas mom” as Mom was with “a real New Yorker.” I told them both that makes absolutely no sense, because they both live in the United States of America, both enjoy lunching at Sbarro’s and watch those singing talent shows, and they’re not that different, but nobody listens to me. “Did you bring it?”
“I brought it.” She fishes in her small Louis Vuitton handbag (college swag wear and a Louis—this is also so Audrey), pulling out a brass key.
“Awesome! I’m excited to start,” I tell her.
“We’re beyond thrilled to have you.” Audrey beams. “The girls are going to love you.”
Audrey’s in charge of a project at school that mentors middle school girls whose parents work and don’t want to be home alone in the afternoons. Tutoring is offered, and art, and various other things to keep the girls happy and occupied and in the company of others. It meets at a local off-campus facility, and Audrey’s giving me my own key before I take off this weekend.
I’m really looking forward to meeting the kids and getting to know them. Leaving the teen leadership project at Bristowe is really the only thing I truly miss about being there.
Audrey leaves, making me promise to text her when I get to Texas. “So I know you’re safe!” she crows, and then she’s out the door. She sounds a lot like my mom.
Gage is ecstatic that I’ve found a new friend, a true friend. In all honesty, I do still think about Isabel. I wonder what she’s doing, and how sorry she really is. The thing is, I don’t think Isabel’s an evil person. And maybe, someday, I will reach out to her, catch up. But I don’t foresee us ever being real friends again, not after what happened.
I head back into the kitchen.
“You know, babe,” Gage says, picking me up and sitting me down on the marble island. “What really sounds good right about now is huckleberry vodka.”
“Oh God.” I meet his head as it leans in to mine, and we laugh. “It’s not quite noon yet. For another few hours.”
“OJ, then.” He grabs a jug of orange juice from the large refrigerator and fills two highball glasses, just like he did on the night we first met.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
“How could I forget?” Gage takes my hand, and my round diamond engagement ring catches the light coming in from the huge windows and sparkles.
“Like stars,” Gage says. And he kisses me.
THE END
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