I’ll clear,” Lauren said abruptly, standing and reaching for the salad bowl that held nothing but a lone chunk of feta floating in a small pool of dressing. Inside the kitchen, she closed the sliding-glass door behind her, not wanting to hear the ongoing conversation about the Green Gable.
The doughnuts her mother had baked were covered in plastic wrap on the counter. Lauren set the salad bowl in the sink, filled it with warm soapy water, and then investigated the doughnuts. They were golden brown and topped with a light glaze. She opened the edge of the plastic and bent close to see if the aroma would clue her in on the flavor. She inhaled and it was the sweet, rich smell of apple pie. Apple-pie doughnuts! How many years had it been since her mother had made them? Lauren must have been in grammar school.
“Busted!”
She turned around to see Neil smiling in the doorway.
“Oh, yeah. Caught with my hand in the cookie jar. But it’s doughnuts.”
“Your mom sent me in here to let you know that she’ll clean up. She said we should go for a walk.”
Ugh, Mom! Making it really difficult for me to be a team player here.
“You sure you and my father don’t need to talk some more about real estate domination? Plans to kick me out of my home?”
“Oh, damn. You’re not on board with selling the house?”
“No, frankly. I live here. Selling the house is my dad’s brilliant idea.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Come on—let’s humor your mom. Come for a quick walk around the block. Maybe I can scout out an alternative house to buy.”
Lauren hesitated. He was just being friendly. And dinner had been pleasant. A little distraction to get her out of her own head wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Fine. A quick walk.”
Neil stepped close to her, too close. She tensed, but he just reached for the doughnuts. He opened the wrapping, retrieved one, and handed it to her.
“Take it for the road.”
She tried to smile, to get into the playful spirit of things. “My mother will kill me. She has this weird control-freak side to her when it comes to serving dessert.”
“Live on the edge,” he said.
She looked at him, at his long-lashed, light brown eyes. Auburn hair. There was a hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose, freckles that she remembered as being more pronounced when they were young. He was attractive, though he hadn’t been her type even back when she had a type.
Maybe he was interested in her; maybe he was just being friendly. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. It was never going to happen.
It was amazing that people were born with the capacity to fall in love, to be in love. To love, as a verb. It was like breathing; at least, that was how natural and undeniable it had felt when she met Rory. Fifteen years old, she knew nothing about life, but she was about to feel emotion of that magnitude. Her love for him had felt hardwired. But now that he was gone, it was like she had lost one of her senses.
Lauren had never slept with anyone but Rory. She’d become a sexual being in the context of that relationship. No Rory, no sexuality. She did not know how she would get past that feeling. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
It had taken her a long time to sleep with him. At least, a long time by high-school standards.
By the beginning of his senior year, they had done “everything but.” If asked, Lauren would have sworn that Rory didn’t pressure her for anything more. But the truth was, his “Catholic” patience toward her virginity was being tested to its limit.
Why was she holding out? A part of it was that she felt so in love with him, so deeply attached, she was afraid that the ultimate physical act would make her more vulnerable to the intensity of their relationship. And then there was the fact that he was leaving for college the following year.
They would be apart; there was no way around it.
His first choice was Harvard—if he could get a hockey scholarship. The college’s hockey coach had been to a Lower Merion game, and Rory spent a weekend at Harvard in December. Lauren felt sick with loss the entire forty-eight hours he was gone. She imagined him meeting some brilliant Harvard undergrad and cheating on her. Or, worse, he would see his potential new life laid in front of him in all of its glory, and he would come home and break up with her.
Instead, he returned eager to see her, bringing her a Crimson T-shirt in her size. Nothing had changed between them! And yet, something had. The ground had shifted; Lower Merion was now just a way station between the life he had and the new life he wanted. She was part of the former, and the realization filled her with a sinking dread.
She felt desperate to hold on to him.
That winter break, Lauren didn’t go with her family to visit her grandparents in Florida. Her decision to stay home sparked the first real argument she ever had with her parents.
“Your grandmother will be so disappointed!” her mother said. Lauren knew this and felt guilty, but her pangs of conscience were nothing compared to her desperate need to cling to Rory.
Two nights before Christmas, her first of total freedom, Lauren and Rory went out for Chinese food in Ardmore, saw a movie, and then returned to her house.
When the place was empty, they typically hooked up on the couch. But that night, she suggested they go up to her room. Rory knew her well enough to understand what the change in scenery signaled. When the two of them were stretched out side by side on top of her lavender Pottery Barn comforter, he propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at her. “Are you sure?” he said, scooping one arm around her, pulling her close. She nodded. And in that moment, it felt right. In that moment, she could almost imagine they would never be apart.
Afterward, they stood barefoot in the kitchen eating leftover Chinese and ice cream. She felt giddy, high, on drugs. He couldn’t stay over—his mother would know something was up. When she was alone, she huddled underneath her covers, the bed still smelling like him. All of her anxiety lifted. She had never felt more certain of them, or of their future together.
First thing in the morning, he called. She smiled at the sound of his voice, sitting up in bed, her room taking on new meaning as the place where she had become his in every way. Nothing would ever change that.
“Lauren, it happened,” he said. He sounded so excited. Yes, she thought—it happened. They’d slept together. And then he said, “I got the hockey scholarship. I’m going to Harvard.”
“Rory, I’m so happy for you,” she said automatically.
It was the first time, but certainly not the last, she felt she’d lost him.
In the kitchen, Lauren looked at Neil. “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “I’m tired. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Matt shouldn’t have been at Robert’s Place drinking, but he was so consumed with editing, so mired in the film, he knew he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t find a way to bring himself down a few notches. And he was still freaked out from Craig’s call about the other Rory Kincaid movie in the works. At least Lauren shared his concern; maybe it would be the nudge she needed to trust him. The lesser of two evils.
He nursed a beer, watching the Phillies game on the screen at the end of the bar closest to the door. If he wasn’t consciously waiting for Stephanie to show up, he certainly wasn’t surprised when she did.
“Howdy, stranger,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him.
“Where’s your new boyfriend?” he asked.
She snorted. “Oh, he’s probably busy setting a wedding date with my sister.” She waved Desiree over and ordered a shot of tequila.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
She downed her shot. “Let me set the scene for you: I spent the first half of this night banned from the house because Neil was invited over for dinner with Lauren.”
Matt felt an inexplicable pang, a decidedly negative rush of emotion.
“Lauren is dating that guy?”
Stephanie called for more tequila, downed shot number two, and shook her head. “My parents wish. No, she’s not dating him. She was probably miserable tonight. But it’s always about her. Always, always. See, my parents think I’m not good enough for Neil, but the truth is, guys like me.”
“I’m sure they do.”
She glared at him. “They like me more than her. Even Rory liked me.”
“What do you mean, he liked you?”
“Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll fill you in.”
Matt, his storytelling nerve twitching, flagged Desiree. Stephanie ordered a Tito’s on the rocks.
“Make it two,” he said.