I don’t owe her my future.
“We’ll make a new beginning,” she says. “You’ll remember how good we can be.”
Even if Piper wasn’t a factor, even if I wasn’t considering staying in Florida for senior year, even if I’d never heard of West Point, I wouldn’t get back together with Whitney. I wish her all the good in the world, but I don’t want to be part of her life.
“I’ve got to go, Whit.”
I’ve got my finger ready to end the call when she says, “Henry! Please!” I press my phone back to my ear. “Tell me you’ll thinkabout trying again. Justthinkabout it.”
“Fine,” I say, desperate to be done. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay.” And then, triumphantly, “We’ll talk soon.”
I end the call with the lie I just told turning my stomach sour.
I don’t feel good about bullshitting her, but she has a tough time accepting no as an answer, and I don’t have it in me to try and reason with her tonight. Still, I can see the whole forest. All she can focus on is the tree right in front of her.
I walk along the beach back to the Towers. The sun is warm, moving westward. When I get to Dad’s, I hustle through a shower, then throw on shorts and a clean T-shirt. I head for the door, where my shoes are waiting.
Work it out if you want to be with her, Mateo said.
Conviction is the one good thing that came of my conversation with Whitney. I want to be with Piper.
I’ve got to make things right.
Piper
As planned, Gabi and I met up for breakfast Tuesday morning. It wassogood to spend time with her. What a treat to indulge iniced coffees, croissants, and girl talk.
She updated me on her parents (busy, happy, all up in her business), her little brother (“He’s a punk, but he’smypunk”), and piano (still has her sights set sky-high on Juilliard). I filled her in on everything I’d learned about Stony Brook University, then explained how I’d lost my summer job and how my recently formed post–high school plan might be on hold indefinitely.
“Oh, Piper,” she said, “I’m sorry. I can help you look for other options, if you want.”
Because talk of jobs and higher education was bumming me out, I switched to gushing about Henry, whom she immediately recalled from the stories I’d told her three summers ago. She suggested I bring him to this Friday night’s house party, hosted by Hudson, whose parents are taking his sister to Orlando for a long weekend.
“It’ll be small,” she said. “I already confirmed that Damon won’t be there. Cole’s travel baseball team has a three-day tournament in Montgomery, and according to Hudson, their dad’s making Damon go. Bring Henry—I’m dying to meet him!”
I waffled, unsure whether I wanted to subject Henry to my past life.
A few days later, after a morning spent dropping my resume off at boutiques, cafes, and souvenir shops, I called Gabi, still waffling about Hudson’s party.
“I just don’t know…” I had her on speaker so my hands would be free and I could put some effort into cleaning my room. I wasn’t above taking such steps to patch the gigantic hole Sunday night’s explosion with Tati had created. “Last time I went to a party, it didn’t end well,” I said, slipping a sundress onto a hanger.
I didn’t mean to make her feel bad, but the line went quiet.
“Sorry. That wasn’t—”
“No,” she cut in. “You say what you need to say. I’ll deal. If you don’t want to come, it’s totally fine. I just need you to know that you’re invited, and I’d love to see you. YouandHenry.”
I told her I’d let her know, then got back to cleaning.
***
Thursday evening, I ride the elevator to the eighth floor of the east tower.
Working things out with Gabi has gotten me thinking: Henry and I have allegiances to our respective family members, andthat’s how it should be, but fighting with him about my sister and his dad isn’t worth it. Instead of enjoying the time we have left together, I’ve put a week’s worth of energy into proving a point.
I knock, hoping he’s home and Davis isn’t.
