Love and Chaos (37 page)

And then I’m absorbed again by the warmth and sureness of his lips against mine, his lovely Sam-smelling skin, the truth and strength and
rightness
of him.

I pull back. “The clutch—it’s all over the blogosphere.… That was you, right? You told the world it was mine.”

“I pulled a favor with an old friend of my dad.”

“And that’s what got you busted,” I say, looking past him at Rog and Pete. “Helping me.”

Sam smiles. “You’re so talented, Angie, you just need one tiny break.”

“I got one,” I say. “I got a job today. A real one. In fashion.” Even saying the words makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.

“Oh, Angie, that’s amazing, I’m so happy for you—” Sam pulls me back in for more kisses.

Then I break away, glancing back at his father and brother, who are still talking angrily to each other. “You have to talk to them. You know you do. You don’t want it to be like this.”

Sam stares at me, smiles, and nods.

We kiss a couple more times, then once more for luck, then Sam takes my hand and leads me back down the pier. And for the first time in days, I feel quiet and calm inside.

“Angie James, this is my father, Roger, and my brother, Peter.”

I nod at them, slightly awkwardly, given I know exactly who they are and that they have no goddamn interest in me right now.

Then Sam turns to his father. “Dad, I’m sorry I took those photos, I’m sorry I took sides. I just didn’t like seeing Mom upset; I thought it was the right thing to do. I was wrong. I regret … everything.”

Roger looks, immediately, like someone has pressed his deflate button, all that belligerent self-absorption disappears. “I understand, Sammy. I do. You’ve always been such a good kid, always sticking up for the little guy.… But what I don’t understand is how you could not talk to me or your mother for three years. Three years, and nothing! Not a word!”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. I thought you’d probably be happier without me around.”

“Oh, Sammy … Never. I haven’t been happy since you left. You’re my
son
. No matter what else happens.”

And just like that, the fight is over. Roger seems to have aged ten years in ten seconds and just looks like a sad old man, and Sam looks like, well, a sad young man. They stare at each other in silence.

“Your hair’s turned gray,” Sam says finally.

Roger grins. “I’d like to blame you for that, but I think your mother has the honor.”

“Ha.”

“Have you spoken to her?” asks Roger.

Sam shakes his head.

“I have,” says Pete. Roger looks at him in surprise. “I didn’t tell you, Dad. I knew you’d freak out.”

“Well, I’ve been talking to her, too,” says Roger eventually. “She’s very happy out there, away from all this.…” He gestures to Manhattan, to the lights and sparkle and wealth towering over us. “She misses you, though, Sammy. She talks about you a lot, you know. She’s been having some knee problems and been laid up a lot, so she’s had a lot of time to think.… We started talking again because we were both so worried about you. Pete wouldn’t tell us anything except that you were fine and figuring life out for yourself.”

Sam looks away, and for a second, I think he’s about to cry. Three years without even talking to your mother or father. And meanwhile, his parents are just getting older, and frailer, and lonelier. The minute that you think you don’t need them anymore, that’s when they need you.

“I’ll call her,” Sam says. “Tell her I think about her all the time. Tell her I’ll call her, I don’t know when I’ll get phone access after tonight, but I’ll call her.”

Suddenly, from across the water, we hear a tiny speedboat approaching.

Sam turns his head. “That’s my boss, we’re about to go,” he says, his face creasing in distress. “Dad, Pete…”

Pete leans forward to hug Sam, with a few back slaps for good measure.

Then Sam turns to his father. I don’t think Rog is the physical affection type, but then he surprises me and leans forward, hugging Sam tightly. He whispers something in his ear, and Sam nods and then pulls away.

“I’ll be in touch, okay? I promise.”

Sam looks at Pete again and gives a funny little brotherly salute. Then he takes my hand, leading me down toward the end of the pier, where the
Peripety—
the yacht that will take him all the way to the other side of the world—is waiting for him.

We finally reach her, just as the little motorboat pulls up alongside and the captain jumps out carrying a box of supplies.

“Hey, Sam! This is the last of it. All good to go?”

“Yes. Good to go.” Sam nods, his face assuming that professional crew member mask I remember from the day I met him. “Can I get two minutes?”

“You got it.” The skipper climbs aboard the
Peripety
and disappears belowdecks.

The yacht that looked so big the first time I saw it now seems tiny. He can’t sail across the ocean in this. It’s not safe. I mean, she’s not safe.

I turn to Sam. “Please, please be careful. Please. Nothing can happen to you, okay? I need you to be alive.”

“I promise. If I could, I’d call you six times a day, but the cell reception on the Atlantic is really shit.”

Sam pulls me to him and kisses me again. Then I pull away. I have so many questions.

“So you can’t use a phone on board? What about e-mail? How long will it take you to get to Greece?”

“Three weeks, maybe four … The guy who owns the yacht won’t be meeting us until June. Then we’re sailing around the Greek Islands with him. Returning by September. I’m applying to schools. Some of them aren’t that far away, Angie, we’ll work it out—”

“Wow.” Five months away. Five months is a long time. And then he won’t even be living in Brooklyn anymore. Suddenly I feel a desperate panic in my chest. What if he forgets me? What if this is it?

There’s a shout from the yacht. “Sammy! Let’s go!”

“So no e-mails? No phone calls? Nothing?” I can’t stop my voice from rising in distress. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you more.” Sam kisses me again. “I’ll be able to text sometimes, and whenever I get the chance to use the Internet somewhere, I’ll e-mail you, okay?”

“The yacht doesn’t have Wi-Fi?”

Sam laughs and kisses me again, and I try to empty my brain so all I think about is how this feels, this kiss, this feeling of his lips on mine and his arms around me, so I can have it at my mental fingertips to remember anytime I want, until the moment I see him again.

“This is for you, by the way. Happy birthday.” Sam hands over a tiny gift-wrapped box. “I’ve had it for weeks.… I was going to give it to you for your birthday and tell you everything. Open it later.”

I take the gift and smile at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

One tear runs down my cheek, and Sam wipes it away gently with his thumb. Then he gives me one last kiss, turns, and walks quickly away.

I’m overwhelmed with panic. Oh God, that’s it. He’s leaving.

A second later, Sam turns around and rushes back to me.

“One more,” he says in a low voice, pressing his lips against mine. “Just one more, I couldn’t let that be the last kiss. I couldn’t take it.” I start laughing and crying at the same time and kiss him back. Between kisses he whispers: “I’ll stay. Say the word and I’ll stay.”

“No way,” I say, tears running down my face. “This is yours. This is what you want now, it’s what you need. You have to go. Just go.”

And we kiss again, and then again. And then he turns around and, without looking back, walks to the end of the pier and climbs aboard the yacht. I watch for a few minutes as the skipper shouts instructions to him and the rest of the crew. Sam does everything quickly and confidently, with an air of intense concentration.

What feels like seconds later, the yacht finally pulls away into the darkness, and I watch the gap widening between me and him.

I stare after the yacht, my heart pounding, tears in my eyes, and a sadness deep in my stomach. But above all that, I know, I
know
this is the right thing. I need to stay here to find my future. He needs to leave to find his.

Please turn, Sam. Please look at me. Just one last time.

Then, just as I think that’s it, I won’t see his face again, Sam turns around and smiles at me, his face lit up by the flickering lights of the marina and the skyscrapers above us, and even from this distance, I can see he mouths “I love you.”

I mouth it back. “I love you.”

When the night has finally swallowed up the
Peripety,
I turn around, tears still wet on my face. I take a few deep breaths, looking up at the city above me.

I feel strangely okay and calm inside. Sam will be back.

And meanwhile, I have my own life to live.

I walk slowly back to Pete and Roger, a tiny smile on my face. When I get to them, Rog finally looks at me properly. “Haven’t we met before?”

“I met you the other night at the Minetta Tavern,” I say. “With Cornelia.”

“Ah, Cornelia. The naughty yet ambitious socialite,” Rog says, nodding. “I don’t think I’ll be hearing from her for a while. She’s got bigger fish to fry.”

“Dad, you wanna go grab a bite?” says Pete.

“I’d love that,” says Roger. He turns to me. “Care to join us?”

“No, uh, thank you, I have to get home,” I say. “I need my friends.”

“Take my car service,” says Pete. “I’ll go with Dad.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t, really.”

“Look, it’s the least I can do, Angie,” he says in a low voice, as Rog strides ahead. “You’re the reason I found Sam. Without you, they’d have killed each other.”

And so I say good-bye to the Rutherfords and get into the town car.

“Brooklyn, please. Union Street. Just up from Court.”

The driver nods, and seconds later, we’re heading across Manhattan toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Toward home.

Then I unwrap the little gift Sam gave me on the dock.

It’s a tiny square box. Inside is a small pair of sapphire stud earrings.

And a note.

Happy Birthday, Angie. These earrings are the color of the Caribbean sea you dived into the first day we met. You probably hate them. Your taste in jewelry is just one in the long list of things that I want to know about you, and don’t … yet.

I love you.

Sam

I put the earrings on and smile, feeling that happy warmth inside again. Sam will be back.

There’s just one thing I need to do. I take out my phone and quickly text my dad. Despite the way he behaved, he’s my father. And he probably needs me as much as I need him.

Let’s meet up this weekend. I think we should talk. A x

Then my phone rings. A number I don’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Angie James?”

“Speaking…”

“Hi! This is Edie Jansen. We met a month or so ago, when you were handing out your CV with a free latte outside Maven? That was you, right?”

“Uh, yes?”

“I was the girl wearing Marni for H&M!”

“Oh! Hi!” The pointy-faced chic girl, the one who actually talked to me!

“Great! God, I have been looking everywhere for your CV, you would not believe the day I had, but in the end Cynthia had it, isn’t that amazing? She was impressed with your ingenuity and kept it this whole time! Okay, so I saw on Fashionista that Cornelia Archer’s clutch bag was designed by you, right? We want to know if you’d be interested in a hookup with one of our clients. It’s a tiny fast-fashion brand called Serafina; it’s only small-time now but it’s—”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m interested.”

“Can you come in for a meeting tomorrow morning?”

“I’m working with Sarah Drake right now.” I try to sound as official and efficient as I can. “Can you do six forty-five
P.M.
?”

“Yes!
Love
Sarah Drake. We’ll work around you. That would be perfect! Okay,
ciao
!”

I hang up and put my window down, looking out at the city nightscape as we drive over the Brooklyn Bridge. I feel more calm and sure than I ever have in my life.

I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I have a job. I have a passion. I have best friends. I have true love. I have a life. I have things to look forward to and people to care about. I am never alone. I am happy.

This is where everything begins.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The problem with writing these acknowledgments pages is that everything I write sounds clichéd. So let’s pretend it doesn’t, okay? Okay. Good.

Thanks to Vicki Lame and Dan Weiss at St. Martin’s Press, and my agents, Jill Grinberg and Laura Longrigg for—oh, everything.

Thanks to all my friends. And all those times you [insert meaningful friendship-related event HERE]. And Hawk, for giving me exact instructions on what would give Coco an overdose. He’s one hell of a fun doctor.

Thanks to everyone who read
Brooklyn Girls
and e-mailed me to tell me you loved it. You guys are my spirit animals. (I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds funny.)

And most of all, thanks to my lovely little family for being perfect. I love you.