I Will Always Love You Read online

Just then, the buzzer rang.

  “Saved by the bell.” Vanessa grinned as she stood up and pulled a twenty from the back pocket of her tight black jeans. After paying the delivery boy, she set the steaming box of pizza on the coffee table in the living room.

  She grabbed a slice of pizza and sat cross-legged on the scuffed hardwood floor. This was what she was going to miss: the Humphreys’ comfortably ramshackle apartment, Marx, Norma, and the overarching feeling of pride that somehow, despite all odds, she’d transformed from the scrappy, friendless daughter of hippie parents from Vermont into an inspiring young filmmaker who mattered.

  Dan grabbed a slice and sat down next to her. A glob of sauce landed on the front of his brown sweater.

  Vanessa cracked a grin. “I’d have thought you’d have better manners four years later, that’s for sure,” she said as he dabbed the sauce away with a paper napkin.

  “That’s for sure,” Dan said sheepishly as he leaned against the couch and took a large bite of pizza. Vanessa smiled fondly at him. It was cute the way he’d spilled all over himself. It was nice to know that some things would always stay the same.

  Another small glob of sauce dripped from Dan’s chin, threatening to spill onto his sweater. “You’re a mess.” She shook her head bemusedly as she leaned in to catch it. But Dan leaned in too, and suddenly, their lips were connecting. Dan tasted like pizza and coffee and something else—a Dan-ness she’d forgotten she missed.

  Dan leaned closer to Vanessa, running his fingers through her thick, shoulder-length hair and tracing the back of her neck with his hand.

  As if they were following the steps to a dance only they knew, they stood without breaking their kiss. Vanessa took Dan’s hand, and led him to her bedroom.

  So this is what their younger selves imagined.

  hey people!

  bad behavior

  Just when I think we’re all too old for the over-the-top antics of our youth, several of our favorite people have proven they still know how to bend the rules: B and S were spotted sneaking into a certain Eighty-second Street town house. J was spotted rediscovering her rock star self and dancing all night at Filter. That’s just as well, since N was in bed with B… and S. And D didn’t seem to miss S because he was awfully busy with… dinner.

  So what’s up with the recent spate of bad behavior? It could be a result of senior year stress. It could be a flirtation with the past. Or it could be us coming to terms with the yin and the yang, the bad and the good existing in all of us. The realization that even though we might be older, we might wear better clothes, we might be able to spout off Proust and Plato with aplomb, we’re still just figuring out our place in the world, one mistake at a time. We’re old enough to stop pretending to be perfect, to stop pretending the past never happened, to realize that drama keeps life interesting. And, that said…

  hangover help

  I don’t know about you, but now that I’m legally allowed to drink, my hangovers have been ten times worse. Talk about youth being wasted on the young. If this season you find yourself with a pounding headache the likes of which you haven’t felt since freshman year, I can sympathize. My advice? Go back to sleep and have your significant other brave the cold for bagels. Indulge in a carb and snuggle-fest in bed, and stay there until the sun dips low into the sky. After all, it’s vacation and you deserve the break.

  your e-mail

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  My best friend has a boyfriend but loves to go out and dance. And boys—especially one boy in particular—loves to dance with her. Should I stage an intervention or something or just realize she can make her own decisions?

  —caligirl

  a: Dear Cali,

  Last I heard, dancing isn’t cheating. I say, just dance—but be ready to cut in if things look like they’re getting a little too down and dirty.

  —GG

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  So, where’s the New Year’s party?

  —partylikearockstar

  a: Dear Party,

  Ordinarily, a query like this would force me to break the sad news that you just may not have been invited to the fete of the season, but this year, it seems our favorite reformed bad boy has yet to send out invites. Shall we add sloth to our list of sins as well?

  —GG

  sightings

  N ordering a dozen bagels at daybreak at Pick-a-Bagel. Impromptu brunch plans?… B and S stumbling down Fifth Avenue, also at daybreak, heading toward S’s house. Haven’t seen that in a while! J and her friend E ordering eggs at Three Guys at 6 a.m., looking sweaty and disheveled in that I’ve been dancing my ass off all night way. Good for them! V making a coffee run to the deli on the corner, looking blissful for early in the morning. Why so happy?

  one more theory

  Maybe all of our bad behavior is just gearing up for the final countdown: I’m talking New Year’s Eve in just a few days. Will our favorite party pad be up and running this year, or will we need to find an alternate venue? Will we kiss the same people, different people, or ring in the new year with only our cat for company? And what will this year bring? I’ll be the first to know and you’ll be the first to find out.

  You know you love me,

  gossip girl

  out with the old, in with the new?

  “A large latte, please,” Serena said to the surly-looking server behind the counter of the Hungarian Pastry Shop on 112th and Amsterdam. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt dry. Last night, after drinking a few of her extra-strong vodka gimlets, she and Nate and Blair had fallen asleep in a tangled pile midway through Breakfast at Tiffany’s and had woken up to a river of melted ice cream in the bed with them.

  People have woken up to worse….

  Despite the shaky start, Serena had actually managed to have a productive morning. She’d called the real estate agent for the Frank Lloyd Wright house and had already made all the arrangements for an August move-in. She couldn’t wait. And she really couldn’t wait to tell Dan. That was why she’d chosen the pastry shop to meet. Serena hated it, but it was Dan’s favorite place.

  “Thanks,” Serena said to the barista as she grabbed her latte. The barista snorted in response. Serena sat down at one of the tables in the corner, which had only three legs and shook whenever she placed her cup on its surface.

  The bell above the door dinged as a new customer entered. Dan. He was red-faced from the wind and holding his place in The Tropic of Cancer with his index finger.

  “Hey,” he said, sinking down into the seat across from her.

  “Hi.” Serena smiled at her rumpled, absentminded poet boyfriend. She pulled out the photos she’d printed of the house and spread them across the table, silently beaming in satisfaction.

  “Wow.” Dan picked up the papers to look more closely. The house looked familiar, like someplace he’d studied in school or seen in a coffee-table book about architecture.

  “It’s a Frank Lloyd Wright house, one of his early, Prairie-style ones. It’s one of the first ones he created,” Serena said proudly, as if she’d built the house herself. “And it’s ours. Just outside Iowa City!”

  Dan looked around so he wouldn’t have to gaze into Serena’s eyes. The coffee shop was almost empty, except for two couples cozily leaning over their lattes. The events of last night came rushing back to him in a flash of jet-black hair strewn over his bare chest. Vanessa.

  He combed his hand through his messy hair. “Um, I’ve been thinking…”

  “Do you like it?” Serena asked, biting her bottom lip.

  Large concrete-pool empty eyes.

  Dive in….

  Dan realized just then that he’d never imagined Serena joining him in Iowa. He’d imagined himself, alone, scribbling poems. Driving past endless cornfields. Mingling with other students at poetry readings while drinking warm white wine in paper cups. In all of his visions, he was by himself.

  “But what would you do in Iowa?” The words were out of Dan’s mouth before he could
stop them.

  “You don’t want me there?” Serena asked in a small voice. She began chewing on her thumbnail. It was one of her worst habits, one the makeup artist at Breakfast at Fred’s had desperately tried to stop, but Serena couldn’t help it. She couldn’t believe Dan didn’t want her. It was so unexpected that she didn’t know what to think.

  “No. I mean…” Dan trailed off. “I need to just write, and you need to…” What did Serena need to do? For the past couple years, it had felt as though her whole life revolved around him. And it had been kind of nice, to be such a central part of her world, to be her world completely. But Serena deserved to have her own thing. “I mean, I think I need to do this by myself.”

  Serena nodded slowly, looking at the photos of the house, a dot against a flat green landscape. She’d never live there now.

  “I guess—I guess I need to find my own Iowa,” Serena said slowly. Around them, couples were gazing adoringly at each other over their lattes, their tabletops scattered with interchangeable notebooks and books. Serena glanced down at their own table, which held her cranberry pink Miu Miu bag and Dan’s tattered, stained paperback. Even their drinks didn’t match: Hers was a large latte in a paper cup, his a tiny, chipped espresso mug. No matter what they did together or how they spent their time or how much she loved him, they were just completely different people. She’d always known that, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “You can still keep the house. I paid the first few months. It was your Christmas present,” she said, offering a small smile.

  Dan shook his head. The house was beautiful. It just wasn’t right for him. Just like Serena. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. He hadn’t said they were over. He didn’t have to. Serena already seemed to know.

  “I don’t want to do that goodbye stuff here.” A small smile formed on her lovely face as she glanced around the coffee shop.

  She settled her gaze on Dan. “I’ve always hated it here,” she confided.

  And now she never has to go back!

  it’s called a breakup because it’s broken

  “To the smartest, sexiest lawyer I know! This is just the beginning, Bear.” Chuck held out a glass of champagne, waiting for Blair to clink her glass against his. They were squeezed into a corner table at Blue Ribbon Bakery, nearby Chuck’s apartment on Thursday morning, and the bright sun streaming through the windows was only aiding Blair’s pounding headache. She couldn’t even think about what she was planning to order for brunch, let alone toast to her future.

  Since when does Blair not want to toast something?

  “Future lawyer.” Blair rolled her eyes. “I have to go to law school before I can actually practice law.”

  She knew she should be more excited that she’d been officially offered a job at McMahon Cannon, but she’d received the call right in the middle of eating a bagel in Nate’s kitchen. The offer was an unwelcome reminder that she really was a grownup, that the fun and giggly and totally innocent night in Nate’s bed was probably her last, that, whether she liked it or not, she’d chosen a path for her life.

  Which is a heavy realization pre-brunch.

  Blair cautiously sipped her champagne. She hadn’t told Chuck where she’d spent last night. It was just easier if he assumed she and Serena had one glass too many of wine before they’d both headed back to the Upper East Side.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Blair tried to suppress a sigh. She’d always hated that question. “What am I thinking?” she parroted. “That there should be some fucking service here. We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes,” she snapped in annoyance. She hated waiting.

  “Are you okay?” Chuck asked, placing his hand protectively on top of hers.

  Blair resisted the urge to pull away. For some reason, Chuck was so annoying today.

  “I’m just tired. Maybe it’s a cold or something,” Blair lied, pulling on the sleeve of her black Vince cashmere sweater. She hadn’t even gone home to change after the impromptu sleepover. Maybe that was her problem. A nap, a shower, and a change of clothes and she’d be fine.

  If only it were that simple….

  Chuck nodded. “I thought we could plan our summer, now that your job is all set. You know, for something to look forward to. Maybe we could do Capri or the Maldives, and then a place in Water Mill. I don’t know if I’m ready to buy yet, though,” he mused.

  Blair’s stomach lurched. Where the fuck was the waiter? She felt like she was going to throw up. And why was Chuck talking about buying a house in the Hamptons? She’d only just turned twenty-one. Couldn’t they act like normal college students? She wouldn’t mind a little more fun and a little less real estate.

  She took a deep breath. She felt like the cream walls of the restaurant were closing in on her. Around her, patrons were chatting and clinking their silverware. But suddenly, the noise was intolerable. “I can’t do this,” she blurted, the words out before she could stop them. She glanced up at Chuck. His face was impossible to read. “I can’t,” she said more firmly. Her voice trembled, but she was more sure of herself than she’d been in a long time.

  Chuck’s face fell. “Do you mean the apartment? You can redo it if you want….”

  Blair shook her head. The apartment was beautiful. But it wasn’t right. For one, she’d never wanted to live in the Village. Ever since she was little, whenever she’d imagined her life as an adult, she pictured an apartment off Fifth Avenue within walking distance of Barneys and the park. But it wasn’t just location. It was the fact that deep down, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be in a relationship. At least not right now. Not with someone who was so ready to settle down. Weren’t your twenties supposed to be wild and crazy and full of adventures?

  Let’s hope so.

  “Sorry.” Blair absentmindedly pulled the ugly red carnation out of its vase on the table and began ripping it apart. The dark red petals fell to the oak table like little drops of blood. “I’m just—I think I need a break,” she said just as a black-shirted waiter approached the table, order pad in hand.

  “I’ll come back,” the waiter squeaked in a high falsetto, turning terrifiedly on his newly shined heel.

  “I mean, the apartment is great, but what if I get into Harvard Law? Then what? What if I decide to take a year off before law school and live in Paris?” Blair said in a rush of words, surprising herself as she heard them.

  “I understand,” Chuck said thickly. His dark eyes clouded over and he glanced out the steamy restaurant window at the pedestrians passing, as if to compose himself.

  Even though it was what she wanted to hear, tears sprang to her eyes. Chuck knew that she liked dirty martinis with extra olive juice at the Campbell Apartment bar in Grand Central, surprised her with lilacs on the days she had exams, and had redecorated his apartment in her favorite colors. Maybe they could be together at some point in the future. But not right now.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. It was funny. For once in her life, the movie in her mind wasn’t playing. She had no idea what her next line was or how she should exit. She had no idea if any man was waiting in the wings.

  Blair scraped her chair back and stood up. She didn’t want to make a scene, but she was worried if she didn’t stand up and get out, she never would. The last thing she wanted was to find herself in ten years having the same conversation about Hamptons homes with Chuck.

  She felt tears beginning to well in her eyes. “’Bye,” she said finally, running out before the deluge.

  notes from around the world

  Serena sat on the center of her bed in her childhood bedroom, hugging her knees to her chest. She hadn’t moved since coming home from her coffee date turned breakup with Dan. It was too exhausting to figure out what to do with herself. She wanted to cry, to release all the confused feelings inside her, but she couldn’t.

  She glanced from the white molding on the ceiling to the framed Breakfast at Fred’s poster over her antique bureau to the tiny silver Tiffany box o
n her night table. The box housed all her baby teeth. In high school, Nate loved shaking them out onto her white eyelet pillowcase, counting the teeth, and marveling at how tiny they were.

  Serena sighed. Dan had noticed the tiny box, but only to note that it was pretty. He’d never asked what was in it. It was sort of like their relationship—on the surface it seemed perfect, but they were both too afraid to really look at what was inside.

  In a way, their breakup had felt inevitable. When she was at Yale and he was at Columbia, they’d make plans for the next weekend or next break, but they’d never talked about the future. And Serena never really wanted to move to Iowa. It was just that she had no idea what she wanted to do.

  Her eyes fell on the travel scrapbook Fiona had given her, sitting on her bureau. She crossed the room and picked it up, flopping back down on her bed. A familiar hum began to course through her body.

  Wanderlust?

  Serena stared out the window. A snow flurry had begun, swirling feathery white flakes down Fifth Avenue and onto the treeless expanse of park across from her bedroom. It was such a wonderfully familiar old view, one that she’d cherish forever. But she could leave and it would still be there when she got back. Serena’s heart beat excitedly. A small smile formed on her lips. For the first time in a long time, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

  And who she wants to do it with?

  miss independent

  Jenny ran up the steps of Nate’s stately, ivy-covered town house on Monday night, ready for their date. She and Elise had gone out the past few nights, following Tyler to all of his DJ gigs around the city. It was just so much fun to dress up and be ushered into a whole other world where music ruled, to dance until 4 a.m., to shake her long hair until it got sweaty and tangled.