I Will Always Love You (15 page)

the morning after is never as magical as the night before

Serena stretched her arms over her head, surprised when her elbow hit something hard. She opened her navy blue eyes and realized
her elbow hadn’t connected with something, but someone: Nate.

Scenes from last night came floating back to her. She’d only had one drink, but everything seemed cloaked in a golden, glowy
haze. As soon as she and Nate had kissed, it was as if the whole party had faded away and the only thing that was left was
the two of them. It was only the countdown to midnight that had broken the spell. They’d found a cab and gone back to Serena’s
apartment.

“Morning!” Serena whispered, even though she wanted to scream for joy. She’d never been so happy on a New Year’s Day. It was
the perfect start to the rest of their lives.

Doesn’t she mean year?

“Uh,” Nate grunted sleepily and turned over, throwing his arm across Serena’s golden, naked body. “I’ve got farm duty,” Nate
murmured. “The cows are hungry.”

“Wake up, silly!” Serena gently pushed his blond-streaked brown hair from his eyes. Nate was probably still high. All night, he’d said
cute things he never would’ve said sober, like how he’d be out in the alfalfa fields at school, look up at the sun, and think
of her, and how he stole a copy of Breakfast at Fred’s from the school’s rumpus room so he’d always have her picture.

“Serena.” Nate smiled a slow smile and pulled her closer to him, then blinked, just in case this was a dream. But Serena looked
very real. “Hi,” he added incredulously. Seeing Serena naked reminded him of the first time he’d seen her naked, back when
they were fifteen-year-old virgins. But even then, it had never been awkward between them. They’d laughed about the clumsiness
of it all, and it was the same this time. It was as if no time had passed, and their bodies had just melded into each other. He kissed her smooth, bare shoulder.

“Hi, you,” Serena murmured. Finally, her one-bedroom apartment felt like home. She’d lived here for almost a year, but it
was unfurnished save for her childhood bed, a gauzy lilac curtain tacked carelessly over the window, a cactus she’d bought
at the bodega downstairs, and a few childhood photos. She’d always meant to decorate, but there just hadn’t seemed to be a
point. It had sort of felt like a hotel room—nice to stay in, but nowhere you yearned for. But now, she never wanted to leave. She and Nate could just stay here forever, calling in for takeout and taking turns
going downstairs to pick up new Netflix movies from the mailbox.

“Do you want anything?” Serena swung her long legs onto the floor. She was naked but didn’t feel embarrassed. “I think I have
water,” she continued as she walked toward the short hallway to the small eat-in kitchen. The ancient radiator hissed. Despite
having been renovated before she moved in, the apartment still had an old-time feel, with marble floor tiles in the kitchen,
worn wood floorboards, and crown molding.

Serena flung open the fridge door. Inside were a few cans of Diet Coke, a box of clementines, a few containers of yogurt,
and a bottle of champagne left over from a gift basket. The only packages Serena ever received these days were gift baskets;
the only mail, invitations to parties and events; the only phone calls, from her agent or publicist. Mostly, she ignored all
of it.

She pulled out a bottled water and brought it back to the bedroom. Nate was sitting up, her Frette Egyptian cotton sheets
strewn across his torso. His chest was muscular and tan. Serena climbed back into bed and wrapped her arms around him.

“You feel nice,” Serena murmured, nuzzling her head against his shoulder.

“How long have you lived here?” Nate asked, taking in the gauzy white curtains and Serena’s familiar old canopy bed. It was
warm and inviting, and all hers. Just thinking about the fact that they had the whole place to themselves made him horny.

“A year. I don’t spend too much time here.” Serena shrugged. “I get lonely, so a lot of times I head up to my parents’ place.”

“Are you lonely now?” Nate gently bit her shoulder.

Serena squealed and fell back against the pillows. For the first time in the year that she’d been living in the apartment,
she appreciated all its possibilities. She could do whatever she wanted.

With whomever she wanted.

Nate grabbed the bottle of water from the nightstand and unscrewed the cap. His eyes landed on a silver Tiffany frame. Inside
was a picture of him, Blair, and Serena. It was a photo from Blair’s party at the Met the summer after senior year, the night
before he left with Chips on the Belinda. Nate was standing in the center, looking straight at the camera. Serena and Blair were both laughing, their faces turned
toward him.

Nate picked up the frame and held his index finger over Blair, so he could only see him and Serena, his arm draped over her
shoulder. They both looked so happy. Then, he experimentally moved his thumb so it covered Serena. In the photo, Blair’s face
gazed adoringly at Nate. Nate sighed in frustration.

“How is she?” he asked. He couldn’t help himself. He’d tried to forget about Blair, and sometimes, he could almost convince
himself he had. But seeing the photograph of her grinning so easily at him stirred up all the feelings he’d tried so hard
to get rid of.

“I don’t know.” Serena and Blair hadn’t talked all year, and Serena didn’t really feel like talking about her now either.
Especially not with Nate. She pulled her dusky rose duvet cover around her and leaned back against the carved-oak headboard.
“She was in LA visiting her family,” she offered, remembering the strained e-mail she’d received from Blair after Thanksgiving.
“She and her boyfriend were there together.”

“She’s still with him?” Nate dropped the photo. It bounced once on the bed, then clattered to the hardwood floor. He wasn’t
sure why he was so surprised. Blair was at Yale, not a nunnery. For all he knew, she’d had hundreds of boyfriends since last
year.

“I think so. I don’t know,” Serena said softly, feeling a tingling in her fingertips that always preceded tears. She turned
away from Nate so she faced the window. Outside, the treetops were barren. Icicles hung from the building’s eaves, slowly
melting in the morning sun. She didn’t want to turn around until Nate spoke. To say that he was in love with her, to say that Blair didn’t mean anything to him, to say he was glad Blair had a boyfriend because all he wanted was Serena.

Serena breathed in and out slowly, trying to even out her breath so each inhale and exhale lasted exactly three seconds. It
was a trick she’d learned from one of her acting teachers, a way to remain in control if you felt like your emotions might
overtake you in a scene.

Too late.

Angry tears pricked her navy blue eyes. Was he still in love with Blair? Would she always be his backup?

“Serena?” Nate tentatively touched her shoulder, as if she were a stranger.

“You know, I have a lot of stuff to do today,” she announced, swinging her feet onto the hardwood floor. She yanked a rose-colored
sheet off the bed and primly wrapped it around her body like a bathrobe. No way was Nate allowed to see her naked now.

“Serena, wait,” Nate said helplessly. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and make it better. After all, he loved her, too.

Serena whirled around. “What?”

“I just…” Nate’s glittering green eyes clouded and he looked at his hands.

“Happy New Year, Nate,” she said, and closed the bathroom door behind her, not wanting to let him see her cry.

(Happy) New Year, indeed.

d earns his poetic license

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: poetry submission

Danny Boy!

I thought you were going to submit shite, but this is the real thing, boyo. Sent it to Jaymi Matteo at The New Yorker. She
wants it. They’re going to crash it into their next issue, printing tonight! What’s it called?

CD

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: re: poetry submission

Dear Professor Doyle,

Thank you, sir. I’m honored. You can call the poem Serena.

Sincerely,

Dan Humphrey

true confessions

“Are you all right, miss?” a black-vested waiter asked as he rolled the room service cart into Blair’s Tribeca Star suite
Wednesday morning. “Your usual,” he added, lifting the silver cover from the plate. It was the same waiter who’d brought her
dinner last night. And dinner the night before. Blair glared mutinously at him. Didn’t he have a life?

Doesn’t she?

“I’m fine,” Blair growled, causing the waiter to scurry out of the room, leaving her alone with her leek and goat cheese omelet
and bacon. Blair took the tray from the side table and brought it back to the bed, balancing it on her knees. Her boyfriend
had deserted her. She didn’t have to worry about calories.

It had been four days since Pete had gone to stay with his brother Jason in Philadelphia. Since then, Blair had barely left
the Tribeca Star. She’d been ordering room service, but room service was never fun when you had no one to share it with, and
she’d caught up on all of her favorite gossip blogs and online shopping sites until she felt like she’d reached the end of
the Internet. She’d meant for this break to be relaxing, a reward for surviving an academically challenging semester. Instead,
it was more stressful than an early morning final exam.

The hotel room looked like it had just been cleaned by the maid service, even though she’d placed a DO NOT DISTURB sign on
the doorknob Saturday morning. She’d kept the room clean just so it would be ready for Pete whenever he came back. It was
only now that she realized he probably wasn’t coming back. All of her phone calls had gone directly to voice mail. All of
her texts had been unanswered.

Last semester, she’d taken a psychology class in which they learned about the five stages of loss. Right now, Blair had just
passed stage one—denial—and was in stage two: anger. How could Pete do this to her? At least she’d been honest with him.

Blair pushed her anemic-looking omelet around on her plate, suddenly losing her appetite. It was cold and she was tempted
to call the downstairs restaurant and complain, just to have the satisfaction of hearing someone apologize to her.

Or the chance to speak to another human being?

She unearthed her iPhone from the depths of her white down comforter, but dialed her mother instead.

“Hello, Blair darling,” Eleanor Waldorf answered the phone breathily. “I’m just in the middle of my private doga session.
Mookie loves it! I may not let Aaron bring him back to Boston,” she trilled, naming Blair’s stepbrother and his mangy mutt.

“Hi, Mom,” Blair sighed. She was immediately reminded why she didn’t often call her mother. Eleanor Waldorf had always been
slightly batty, but living in LA had pushed her over the edge. Now, in addition to a maid and a chef on the payroll, she also
had a reflexologist, an astrologist, and a crystal-arts healer. And apparently, a dog-yoga teacher, too.

It takes a village.

“So, how is New York?” Eleanor asked, doga forgotten.

Blair shrugged, even though her mom couldn’t see her. She flipped the channels on the muted TV, setting down the remote when
she got to an old black-and-white film. “It’s sort of weird to not have a home here anymore.”

“That must be hard,” Eleanor’s voice softened a bit. “But you must be having fun showing Pete around. Has he met Serena and
Nate yet?”

No, but he knows all about them.

“Yeah,” Blair said dismissively. “But I don’t think I’ll be back here for a while.” She took a bite of crispy bacon and wiped
her fingers on the duvet.

“Blair, don’t be ridiculous. It’s your city no matter where we live. Now, do me a favor, go to Barneys and buy yourself something
fabulous,” her mother urged. Mookie barked in the background. “Oops. I think Mookie’s losing his focus. Gotta jet—love you,
sweetie!” Eleanor trilled before hanging up.

Blair sighed and lay back on the bed. If only her life could be sorted out by a pair of Manolos. But Eleanor did have a point.
It wasn’t healthy to be by herself in the room, watching endless ancient movies and episodes of year-in-review shows. Maybe
a little shopping trip was what she needed. Audrey had said that nothing bad could ever happen at Tiffany, but surely that rule applied to Barneys,
too.

After her shower, Blair pulled on a pair of new J Brand skinny jeans she’d ordered, pleased that they felt a little loose
around her hips, and pulled on a thin eggplant-colored Theory cashmere sweater. She belted her Burberry coat, pausing for
a moment at the door. What if Pete came back and she wasn’t here? She shook her head, dismissing the notion, and let the door
close with a definitive click.

She rode the elevator downstairs and tromped noisily through the parquet floor lobby in her dusty pink Chanel pointy-toed
boots. She passed through the revolving door and took a deep breath. The air felt cold but fresh. She looked hopefully at
the bright blue sky. This was a new day.

Blair stepped into one of the yellow cabs idling at the entrance of the hotel. “Sixtieth and Madison,” she commanded, feeling
better than she had in almost a week.

It is called retail therapy for a reason.

She entered Barneys, invigorated by the multicolored purses, the scent of Creed Fleurissimo in the air, the upbeat chatter
of excited shoppers surrounding her. In her hotel room, time had felt suspended. Here, people were moving, buying, laughing
in a way that was reassuring.

Blair followed a thirtysomething Gucci-clad woman toward the elevator bank. She had honey blond hair, an Hermès scarf tied
around her neck, and a huge five-carat diamond ring on her left hand. She’d probably never been left by her boyfriend, Blair
thought jealously.

Upstairs, she idly strolled through the expansive loftlike space, not looking for anything, but shopping purely on instinct.
She’d know what she needed when she saw it. She picked out a black and white dress by Alexander Wang that was hanging by itself
on a silver rack in the center of the sparsely filled floor. It looked like something Edie Sedgwick might have worn to a fabulous
Factory party.