I Will Always Love You (8 page)

Uh-oh.

“Come to Yale!” Blair cried. “They have a sailing team.”

“Could I do that?” Nate wondered. For the past four months, he’d barely read a book. Hell, he’d barely even spoken to anyone except Chips. Even here, it had felt too overwhelming to order breakfast; he was thankful Blair had stepped in.
There were too many choices, too many decisions in the real world. He felt like he needed a remedial course in life before
he started at an Ivy League university.

“Of course.” Blair patted him on the knee. “You only just deferred. You could start spring semester. I can e-mail my advisor
and ask him to help you pick classes. He’s the best,” Blair said, busily creating a mental list of all the things she had
to do. First, she’d have to head to New Haven to find an adorable town house she and Nate could rent. Then, they’d go shopping
at ABC Carpet & Home to decorate. She’d have to help him pick the right classes and she’d have to talk to Petra, a nice but
way-too-sporty girl from her econ class, to see if she knew any of the sailing guys….

“How’s the movie biz?” Nate asked Serena, interrupting Blair’s reverie. Blair felt a wave of annoyance ripple through her.
Who cared? After all, they were talking about Nate’s future.

“It’s fine. It’s a lot of sitting around and waiting for something to happen or running from place to place, meeting people
you’re never going to see again. I kind of wish I could just lie in the grass somewhere and read books,” Serena mused.

“College isn’t really about lying around and reading books,” Blair scoffed, placing her hand territorially on Nate’s thigh.

“I know.” Serena sighed. “I just miss the way it used to be, sometimes.”

“I don’t,” Blair said as the waiter set their plates of food in front of them. “I feel like our real lives have started. Don’t you agree?” She turned sharply toward Nate and snatched a slice of bacon from his plate.

Suddenly, Serena couldn’t stand it anymore. If she had to watch them be couply with each other, she at least needed a drink.

She cocked her head and gestured to the waiter. “A round of mimosas? We’re celebrating!” she announced. All she had to do
was pretend she was in a movie, and she’d be able to make it through the rest of breakfast.

And would that movie be called The Flat Tire on the Perpetual Third Wheel?

who says you can’t go home?

“Daniel-san!” Can you get more rocks for the fire pit?” Rufus asked, poking his head out of a lopsided canvas-and-log structure that
served as a sweat lodge. Dan had spent the last few days in an upstate New York campsite with Rufus and his motley group of
friends: Mika, Herbert, and Ron. Ron preferred to be called Running Rainbow, and when he wasn’t serving as a barista at Starbucks,
he taught tai chi for free in Central Park. Mika and Herbert were tall, skinny, bald members of a folk-rock band that played
open-mic nights around the city. Rufus had met all three of them at a seminar at the Ninety-second Street Y called Bringing the Age of Aquarius into the Age of the Internet.

Rufus emerged from the sweat lodge wearing a blue-and-yellow striped towel around his waist and white Crocs. He didn’t seem
the least bit cold, despite the fact that the temperature hovered near freezing. Dan was shivering in a Patagonia parka he’d
inadvertently stolen from his Evergreen roommate.

“Okay,” Dan mumbled. They’d only been in the woods for two nights, but it felt like a lifetime, especially since he didn’t
even get cell service. He’d wanted to call Vanessa at midnight on New Year’s Eve, but no matter how far away he walked from
the campsite, he couldn’t get reception.

Dan sighed and grabbed a large moss-covered rock, groaning as he picked it up.

“Here.” He dropped the rock next to Rufus’s Crocs. Inside, Herbert and Mika were banging on bongo drums.

“Thanks,” Herbert called. “I think we’re ready to begin the ceremony.” He poked his head out of the structure like a puppy
in an extra-large doghouse. “And Dan, since you’re the youngest, you can be the dog soldier,” he announced.

“Excuse me?” Dog soldier?

“You need to protect the door while we chant away our demons,” Herbert explained. “We have extra animal skins if you get cold.”

Dan did a double take. Was this guy serious? Protect the door? Not only was it broad daylight, but the wooded area they were staying in was right next to a farmhouse. What he’d thought
had been a rushing river when they’d gotten to the site after dark on New Year’s had actually been the whooshing of cars across
a highway. But it was no use arguing. Herbert had already retreated back into the sweat lodge with his bongo drum.

Dan sighed and sat on a log outside the lodge. Fuck, he was cold. He wondered what Vanessa was doing. Knowing she was in New
York while he was here was almost too much to bear.

Sounds like he’s the negative spirit.

He pulled a pen and a crumpled receipt from the pocket of his jacket. Maybe he should focus on writing. Maybe suffering would
be good for him—he wasn’t going to suffer at all once he and Vanessa were living together. Smoothing out the paper on his
thigh, he began to write.

Sweat, skin heat, cold, wet sweet.

It was no use. The poem sounded like the beginning of an erotic version of The Cat in the Hat. There was no way he could do this for two more days. Besides, sitting outside and guarding against evil spirits didn’t really
equate to bonding time with his dad. That was it. He was going home.

“Dad?” Dan whispered hesitantly through the canvas-flapped door of the lean-to.

“What?” Rufus’s wiry hair was slick with sweat and his face was bright red as he swayed back and forth in front of the central
fire.

“I don’t think this is working for me,” Dan said carefully. “I need to see Vanessa.”

Rufus shook his grizzly head sadly and stood up. Dan cringed. His dad was only wearing a tiny purple Speedo that sagged in
the ass. “Are you sure?” he asked, clapping Dan on the shoulder. “Because if you want me to take over dog soldier duty so
you can sweat it out, that’d be fine with me. You know, I never believed this New Age crap, but it’s good stuff.”

Dan shook his head. “I think my spirit guides are telling me to go home,” he said seriously.

The bongo playing stopped. “Door to the farmhouse is open if you need to call Al’s taxi service,” Running Rainbow yelled,
then resumed drumming.

Rufus shrugged. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yes. Have fun, Dad!” Dan yelled as he practically sprinted away from the campsite and toward the highway. He didn’t want
to wait for Al’s taxi service. He just wanted to go home. Stamping his feet on the asphalt, he put his thumb up.

A truck slowed down.

“What do we have here?” The driver leaned out his window. He was missing three front teeth and was probably around sixty.
His long bushy hair reminded Dan of pictures of Jerry Garcia in his later years. Was this where all the sixties stoners came
to die?

“I’m heading to the city. New York?” Dan said, trying to play it cool, as if he hitchhiked all the time.

Jerry Two nodded thoughtfully. “Hop in!” he announced grandly. Dan nodded and took a breath. The cab of the truck smelled
like patchouli and jasmine.

“Bringing my candles to sell in the big city. You ever been to the Union Square greenmarket? I have a booth!” Jerry Two said
proudly as he floored the accelerator.

“Oh?” Dan said politely. At least the cab of the truck was warm. And he really doubted a candle-selling hippie would be a
serial killer.

“Yep. Me and my wife make ’em. You got a wife?” the driver asked companionably.

“No.” Dan shook his head. He tried to imagine himself and Vanessa in their sixties. Would they still be making poetry and
films? “I have a girlfriend, though. I’m going back to the city to see her,” Dan said, surprised at how much information he
was volunteering.

Jerry Two nodded thoughtfully. “When I was your age, I was already married. My wife’s name is Joan, and she’s just as pretty
and smart as the first time I laid eyes on her. When you find a lady like that, you don’t let her go, you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Dan mumbled, already antsy to get back to the city. The stretch of highway was practically empty and surrounded on
both sides with fields of cows. He wanted to crawl next to Vanessa and feel her body next to his. A poem was forming in his
head, and Dan’s fingers were itching to write it down. He pulled his notebook from his duffel and grabbed an ancient Sharpie
rolling on the rubber floor mat of the truck. Uncapping the marker, he quickly wrote.

Dreaming in Technicolor black and white.

I’m no Technicolor prince, no black-and-white tragedy

What you see

Will be us, you me.

Dan grinned. It was so obvious. He didn’t need a retreat, what he needed was Vanessa. And he couldn’t wait to have a sex-and-poetry
fest as soon as he got home. He leaned back. The vinyl seat squeaked, making a farting noise.

“You let one rip? Good! I will too!” Jerry Two said. A loud noise emanated from the driver’s seat. Dan wrinkled his nose.
It was going to be a longer drive than he thought.

What some people will do for love!

nothing can ever go wrong at tiffany… right?

Blair leaned back against the Frette pillowcases of Serena’s canopy bed. She’d always felt like Serena’s house was her second
home—or third home, once she and Nate started dating sophomore year—and had been more than happy to spend the day relaxing
and watching endless hours of crappy MTV while Serena was at a shoot for Tea at the Palace or Snacks at the Strand or whatever her movie was called. Now it was almost four o’clock, and she felt kind of gross and bloated from spending the
entire day lying in bed and eating Godiva chocolates from one of Serena’s discarded gift baskets. She needed to get out.

She hadn’t seen Serena since brunch the day before. It was sort of for the best, though. After all, she and Nate couldn’t
keep their hands off each other. They’d spent all of yesterday cuddled in Nate’s bed, whispering remember-whens in between
kisses and feeding each other eel rolls from Blue Ribbon sushi. She only left Nate’s house because his parents were due home
from St. Barts today. It would be enough of a surprise for them to see Nate. She didn’t want them to think the first thing
Nate did when he came back was take advantage of the empty house with his girlfriend.

Wait, girlfriend?

She sighed and turned off the TV. Ever since she was fifteen and had seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she’d played a game with herself called What Would Audrey Do? If Audrey found herself alone at dusk on a cold January day,
she’d probably sit near the window of some cozy café like Le Refuge on Eighty-Second Street and people-watch, the whole while
blissfully unaware that from behind their menus, everyone was whispering about the charmingly gamine girl. Besides, she’d
been back in New York—her city—for almost three days and had barely seen anything besides Nate’s bedroom.

And it wasn’t like she’d been admiring the décor.

Blair pulled her Burberry coat from the Eames chair in the corner, exited the building, and automatically turned left, exactly
as she had a million times before. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she’d know when she got there.

She paused at Seventy-second and Fifth and looked up at the row of limestone buildings standing at attention across the park.
The building on the corner was her building, the one she’d lived in for eighteen years of her life. Her gaze traveled upward
to the top floor, where a dim light emanated from the room that used to be hers. Suddenly it hit her that she didn’t live
here anymore.

She knew a new family lived there now, one with triplets a few years younger than her. Did they have boyfriends and best friends
within walking distance? Did they sit for hours on the steps of the Met, smoking Merits and talking about nothing? Blair had
always wanted to grow up, but for the first time, she suddenly felt old.

As Blair walked east toward Madison, her iPhone rang the familiar strains of the opening bars of “Moon River.”

She pulled it out of her Lanvin hobo, surprised to see an unfamiliar 212 number flash across the display. She pressed talk,
her mind bubbling with possibilities. Was it Nate, ditching his parents to meet her for a Per Se dinner?

“This is Blair,” she answered curiously.

“Blair Waldorf?” a surprisingly high man’s voice repeated on the other end of the phone.

“Yes,” Blair said cautiously.

“Miss Waldorf, this is Freddie from Tiffany and Company. We have your order here. We close in an hour,” he finished.

Blair racked her brain. “I don’t think I ordered anything,” Blair began. Unless her father had ordered something for her as
a late Christmas present. But he’d already sent her a pair of limited edition snakeskin Christian Louboutins. Besides, she
and Harold bonded over shoes or purses, not jewelry. Which could only mean that it was a surprise from Nate.

“I’ll be by in a few minutes,” she said eagerly, her hand shooting up in the air to hail a taxi.

“Okay, miss. We’re located at—“

“I know where you are,” Blair said quickly as she stepped into the first cab that pulled up, stealing it from a harried-looking
woman in a chinchilla coat. Blair felt guilty for a moment, but this was an emergency.

“Fifty-seventh and Fifth,” she said quickly as the cab peeled away from the curb. Maybe Nate had just said his parents were coming home so he could stage an elaborate surprise for her, to show her how truly sorry he was for running
away last summer. And a surprise was so sweet—she loved surprises, especially when she knew about them.

Naturally.

Blair’s heart thudded in anticipation as the cab turned onto Fifth. Outside, the stately doorman buildings of the Upper East
Side gradually gave way to the brightly colored window displays of high-end shops. Garlands of greenery were wrapped around
streetlamps and light displays were lit up across the avenue. Blair felt like it was Christmas and her birthday and the Barneys
warehouse sale rolled into one.

“Here’s fine,” Blair said as the cab idled in traffic on Fifty-ninth Street. She could walk a few blocks. She handed the driver
a ten from her Prada wallet and slipped out the door.