Two Years Later
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
I glance at my sister. Rory is blinking at my left hand, eyes sleepy yet expression scolding.
“It’s not what you think it is,” I parrot.
Rory’s lips purse. She frowns, looking tenser, not relieved. “It looks like an engagement ring, Wren.”
“It’s not an engagement ring.”
Rory exhales, but twin lines linger between her eyebrows. “Then why?—”
“I mean, technically, it is an engagement ring,” I say. “Pierre proposed?—”
“What?” Rory yelps.
Our driver flinches, but the tires don’t deviate from theroad. Miles has worked for our family for as long as I can remember. He’s witnessed plenty of drama in that time, but I’m normally the one overreacting, not Rory.
And she is overreacting.
“I’m not engaged. Just … thinking.”
“Thinking while wearing a diamond ring?”
I snap my fingers. “Exactly.”
“So, you’re actually considering it.”
I sigh. “No. I’m not. I’m just … waiting.”
Pierre proposed my last night in London. During a dinner I’d planned to break up with him. I’m not sure how we managed to be on such wildly different pages regarding our relationship status, and I don’t actually think we were. We just came up with opposite solutions. I thought a summer home, followed by a year abroad in Italy, was a logical time to take a break. Pierre saw that same separation as a sign we should commit the remainder of our lives, inclusive of the approaching fifteen months in different cities, to each other.
Even I, who has been accused of being emotionally unavailable more times than I can count, am not cruel enough to reply to a proposal with,Actually, I was thinking we should break up. So, when Pierre correctly interpreted my shocked expression as a sign I wasn’t about to enthusiastically accept, he launched into a spiel about how he understood I was surprised and begged me to think about it for a few days. And then what really silenced me was the velvet box he handed me. The proof it hadn’t been an impulsive suggestion in response to me withdrawing, that he’d planned it through to the point of purchasing a several-carat diamond.
“Waiting for what?” Rory questions.
“Nothing really.” I glance out the window, stomach writhing withthe realization I’m recognizing the scenery.
I twist the ring around my finger, working it off and wishing I’d never slipped it on while Rory was napping.
I thought it’d be harmless. A tiny glimpse into a future I could choose, but won’t.
I don’t want to be engaged. And I don’t want to marry Pierre.
Two truths I was already certain of, but the ocean flashing by hardens my resolve. Sunlight reflects off the sea’s surface, blinding me. I pull a pair of sunglasses out of my bag, slipping them on to hide my eyes as much as to protect them from the glare.
He’s not here.
But I’m haunted by ghosts of the past anyway, slipping off the ring and hiding it back inside the little black box it came in. I can feel Rory’s curious gaze on me, but I don’t glance over.
I put the Atlantic between us for two years, and it wasn’t enough. I wouldn’t have left Manhattan if not for Lili’s engagement party. She and Charlie met in the Hamptons, and celebrating the next step in their relationship here makes romantic, nostalgic sense. I just really wish it hadn’t. That they’d chosen to celebrateanywhereelse.
We arrive at the house ten minutes later. My parents wound up purchasing the previous rental, but I haven’t been here since they bought it. They attended the Red, White, and Blue party last year, and Mom said she was inundated with requests for projects here. This has become their main residence in the summer, so I’ve cycled through every possible excuse to avoid visiting. Until now.
So, yeah, I’m stuck spending this weekend at the location of my most painful memory. And the location of some very pleasant memories, like the night Sawyer drove me home after punching the guy at Lucky’s.
Rory has spent hardly any time here. She steps out of the SUV,smiling at the blooming blue hydrangeas and even bluer sky like this is a charming vacation spot.
