I Will Always Love You Page 3

  Nate climbed down the crow’s nest onto the polished wood deck. It was just after sunrise and the sky was suffused with a pinkish tint. “Hello?” he called out. “Chips?”

  “Nathaniel!” Chips called from the boat’s stern. He was coiling a mass of rope, a frown etched on his weather-beaten face. With his white linen trousers, navy windbreaker, and shock of white hair, Chips looked like a tall stocky sea captain on the menu of a lobster restaurant. But beneath his stern veneer, he was actually a pretty cool guy, especially after he’d had his evening tumbler of scotch.

  “Take a look.” Chips passed the binoculars over to Nate. He could just make out land, fuzzy in the distance. “By New Year’s Eve, we’ll be at the Breakers,” Chips declared, almost to himself.

  “I’m sorry?” Nate asked. Wasn’t the Breakers a resort in Palm Beach? He was ready to stop somewhere, make a couple calls back home, sure. He’d thrown his phone overboard when he’d made the decision to sail with Chips back in August, so he’d only been able to call home occasionally, when they stopped at various islands. He hadn’t even been able to wish his parents a Merry Christmas. Still, he’d been hoping their next stop would be somewhere a little more adventurous, like Costa Rica. He’d always wanted to go there.

  Join the club.

  “So we’re stopping in Palm Beach? And where to after that?” Nate asked. Ever since they’d left, he’d trusted Chips to guide them. But he was kind of wondering what Chips’s grand plan was.

  Instead of answering his question, Chips pulled himself back up into a standing position. He dusted off the thighs of his white linen pants. “When I was your age, I was in the navy. Didn’t have the luxury to think about how I wanted to live my life, just had to make sure I got the chance to live it another day. You know what I’m saying, son?” he asked gruffly. His burry Scottish accent reminded Nate of Mel Gibson as William Wallace in the movie Braveheart, rallying the clansmen before launching into an epic battle.

  “Right.” Nate nodded, even though he wasn’t really sure what Chips was talking about. “So after Palm Beach…”

  “After Palm Beach, nothing. It’s back to New York for you, sonny. It’s time. I’ve shown you the world. Now you’ve got to live in it.”

  Nate felt rooted to the deck of the ship. He’d known he’d have to go back eventually, but this felt very sudden.

  Just like how two girls might have felt when a certain boy decided to sail off into the sunset—alone?

  Nate slid down on the yellow-wood-lacquered floorboards of the boat, trying to wrap his mind around everything. He was going back to New York. Back to his old life. Back to Blair and Serena and his father nagging about what a disappointment he was. This was Chips’s grand plan?

  “Stand up,” Chips ordered. He put down the binoculars and began winding a mass of rope around his arm.

  Nate hastily got to his feet. “You need help with that?” he asked, noticing Chips struggle as he tried to reduce one of the sails.

  “No, I’m fine,” his captain responded curtly. Nate nodded, even though he’d noticed that Chips had been dragging his bad leg more than ever. “Listen, Nathaniel,” Chips said, more gently than before. “These last few months have been some of the best of my life… but I’m getting old. It’s Palm Beach season for me. A man needs more than the sea and the sky to survive.” He tied the rope into a perfect knot, as if to punctuate his speech. “But for you… you can’t spend the rest of your life sailing away from everything difficult. It’s for your own good.”

  Nate grimaced. Even though Chips was a philosophical, scotch-drinking old geezer, he always seemed to be able to read Nate’s thoughts. And right now, Nate was thinking about the choice that had faced him for too many years.

  “You’re worried about those two girls of yours, I know it. The ones who keep falling at your feet despite your boneheaded moves? The ones you can’t decide between, as if you’re facing some life-or-death choice?”

  Nate nodded miserably. In two sentences, Chips had pretty much summarized the crisis he’d been struggling with since he was fifteen.

  “Well, I’ll tell you this. You’ll know when you know. And you’ve got to figure it out on your own. I’m not babysitting your balls anymore.” Chips nodded definitively upward at the sails, pleased with his handiwork. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have my morning tea. You’ve got a day to figure it all out.” He gave Nate a parting wink, and disappeared down to the galley, leaving him with just the sky and the endless sea for company.

  “Thanks,” Nate muttered. He gripped the bow of the ancient but sturdy ship, feeling the salty wind on his face. Maybe Chips was right. He’d had some time away. Some time to think and be on his own, to see the world and become a man. He couldn’t just sail forever.

  It was time to go back and decide what to really do with his life. And when he saw Blair and Serena, he’d be ready to choose. Maybe it was best not to overthink it. When he saw them, he’d just know. There was no time like the present. He was ready.

  Okay, but are they ready for him?

  love and other impossible pursuits

  Dan Humphrey poured a cup of black Folgers coffee into a chipped red mug and shuffled toward the living room of his family’s sprawling Upper West Side apartment. He sank down on the frayed, overstuffed beige couch, causing Marx, the Humphreys’ fat black-with-a-dot-of-white cat, to jump off the cushion in protest.

  It was still early, but Dan felt too keyed up to sleep. He’d gotten home from his first semester at Evergreen College in Washington State a week ago, and it was finally beginning to sink in that he wasn’t going back.

  Ever.

  He’d applied to transfer to Columbia for second semester and had received his acceptance letter during reading week before exams. After his philosophy final, he’d packed up his metallic blue ’77 Buick Skylark and driven cross-country, arriving in the city just in time to spend Christmas Eve with his dad, Rufus, and his little sister, Jenny.

  The holidays had been nice. Jenny had given him a blue Banana Republic sweater, his dad a collection of Charles Bukowski books, and they’d all eaten dinner at their favorite Chinese restaurant, which served bad boxed white wine with every order. It had been great to see his family, but the whole time, he’d been counting down the hours until he could see his girlfriend—shaven-headed, filmmaker genius, love of his life Vanessa Abrams.

  Vanessa had actually been living in Dan’s family’s apartment for the past semester, while attending Tisch School of the Arts at NYU. Her film equipment sat in one corner of Dan’s bedroom, and her black tank tops and bras were in the top drawer of the rickety bureau in the corner. It was sheer torture being surrounded by her stuff, and not her—Vanessa was up in Vermont, visiting her parents for the holidays, until Wednesday. She didn’t even know that Dan was transferring to Columbia; he wanted to surprise her with the news in person rather than via their evening Skype calls. Now, the anticipation was killing him.

  The gallon of Folgers can’t help, either.

  Dan grabbed his black Moleskine notebook and flipped to a blank page. It wasn’t difficult to find one: Practically every page was blank. He’d had writer’s block from the moment he stepped on campus in September. When he’d decided to go to Evergreen, it had seemed like a good idea to get out of the city. After all, he’d lived here forever. But in the Pacific Northwest, everything was just…. wrong. There was too much space, the trees were too tall, and the coffee had names like organic shade-grown mild blend and earth-friendly mellow brew. His dorm fielded its own Ultimate Hacky Sack team, his roommate was a vegan allergic to cigarette smoke, and every single poem his classmates submitted in his creative writing seminar was about pot.

  The only thing that got Dan through was the thought of Vanessa. He’d text her all throughout the day, every time something funny or tragic or inane happened, and he always arranged his day around their nightly Skype calls. But Vanessa was so busy with school that she was sometimes rushed or distracted, and se
eing her pixilated face just wasn’t the same as holding her in his arms.

  Dan thoughtfully chewed the end of his Bic pen. Suddenly, for the first time in several months, words began to flow.

  Missed kisses.

  Missed shreds of carpet.

  Torn by your Doc Marten feet.

  I’ve lost weight.

  Or maybe it’s just you I’m missing.

  Maybe it was the promise of Vanessa or the hiss of the radiator in the corner or the chipped mug he’d drunk millions of cups of coffee out of, but suddenly, he could write. Dan grinned to himself, adrenaline rushing from writing his first almost-poem in months. He was back.

  And better than ever?

  “Daniel!” Rufus Humphrey boomed as he strode into the living room from his office. He wore a pair of paint-stained blue sweatpants that read BROADWAY BOWLING LEAGUE down the leg and a stretched-out pink T-shirt that said CRUISE TO LOSE below a picture of Richard Simmons. His wiry gray hair was held back with a red velvet bow, left over from Christmas. “It’s too quiet around here since Jenny left for Bermuda or Burundi or wherever she went with her fancy Waverly friends. Is it just me, or is Jenny noisier than before?”

  “Probably.” Dan shrugged. Jenny was currently in the Bahamas with her boarding school friend, the governor of Georgia’s daughter. When Dan left in August, Jenny was still his little sister. But she seemed to have matured six years in her four short months at Waverly. Now she was self-assured and confident and didn’t cross her arms over her chest all the time.

  Rufus leaned down and picked up the notebook from the coffee table. “What is this?” he asked, flipping through pages. “‘Doc Marten feet,’” Rufus intoned, as if reciting a monologue. Dan cringed. Rufus was an editor of lesser Beat poets and had always taken special interest and pride in Dan’s literary accomplishments. He suddenly felt ashamed that the only thing he’d written in the past three months was a haiku. He’d anonymously posted it on the door of the dorm bathroom, asking his hall mates to please not pee on the floor.

  “You know, this isn’t bad,” Rufus said thoughtfully, holding the book close to his face as he settled on the couch next to Dan. “It’s a postmodern interpretation of Sandberg. It’s been done before, but it’s not horrible.”

  “Thanks.” Dan yanked the notebook away from his dad.

  “And this is only the beginning. I just know you’ll really let your creative juices flow on our retreat!” Rufus said fondly as he ruffled Dan’s hair.

  Dan swatted his dad’s hand away. Fuck. He’d forgotten that he’d promised to join Rufus and a couple of his Beat poet buddies on an artists’ retreat over New Year’s. He’d agreed before the Columbia acceptance had come, when anything besides his current reality had sounded like paradise. But he didn’t want to leave Manhattan so soon. He had so much to do before the semester started, like look for cheap studio apartments for him and Vanessa.

  That would definitely surprise her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not coming!” Rufus pouted, noticing Dan’s hesitation. “I haven’t seen you since August—the least you can do is spend four days with your old man. I know I won’t see you much once Vanessa gets here.”

  “You’ll still see me,” Dan mumbled, even though he knew it was true. Once Vanessa was back, Dan never wanted to let her out of his sight again. He sighed. “No, I’ll come,” Dan said definitively as he headed toward the sink with his coffee mug.

  “Great! I’ll make sure to stock up on some supplies for you, then. We’re going to build a sweat lodge and sweat out our demons. This old man needs a Speedo!”

  “Get some bagels while you’re out!” Dan called to Rufus’s retreating back. He turned on the water and squeezed dish soap into the sink, smiling at the tiny bubbles swishing in the coffee mug. A poem was already forming in his head.

  Avocados in the morning, with cake.

  Death by chocolate.

  You kill me, you really do.

  And I’ve been alive too long.

  Dan hurriedly set the mug on the dish drainer so he could write down the first few lines. He sank down onto the couch and picked up his notebook. As he started to write, he heard keys scraping in the lock.

  “I’m home!” A female voice echoed through the apartment as the door creaked open.

  Dan blinked and his breath caught in his throat. So many times he’d imagined her: his perpetually black-garbed muse. But now she was here, framed by the entryway. Her hair had grown into a sleek black pixie cut and she wore a red coat and black jeans. Her cheeks were red from the cold, contrasting beautifully against her alabaster skin.

  “Surprise!” Vanessa cried, tossing her army green duffel bag on the floor. It was so familiar, and yet so strange, to see Dan sitting on the couch, frowning down at a notebook. It was as if she’d taken a time machine back four months to last summer.

  She threw her arms around Dan and kissed him hungrily. “Mmm, you feel good,” Vanessa murmured. She ran her hands all over his thin white Hanes T-shirt. She could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

  “How are you here?” Dan croaked. It was hard to believe this was real, and not some post-traumatic stress hallucination left over from Evergreen.

  “I missed you.” Vanessa shrugged. She’d left Vermont this morning, after she realized that a week with her hippie-parents was more than enough time. Besides, she wanted to surprise Dan. He’d always seemed so down on their Skypes.

  “I missed you too.” Dan kissed Vanessa again. He didn’t like their lips being apart. “I have so much to tell you,” he breathed. He’d meant to tell Vanessa about Columbia over a glass of red wine or at least after he’d taken a shower and brushed his teeth. But he couldn’t handle the thought of waiting another minute.

  “I have so much to tell you too!” Vanessa said eagerly. There was so much he needed to get caught up on in her life. She couldn’t wait to bring him to Bushwick and go to one of the all-night parties that her sophomore friends Brianna and Kara held on the first Sunday of every month. She couldn’t wait to show him some of the films she’d made. She couldn’t wait to spend all day at the International Film Center, making out and watching movies.

  Dan stood up. “Follow me.” He led the way toward his bedroom.

  “Is it a present?” Vanessa asked as she trailed down the hallway after him. She hoped not. They’d decided not to give presents to each other this holiday and instead put the money toward an emergency plane ticket fund so Dan could come visit when the distance was feeling unbearable.

  “Nope.” Dan grabbed the acceptance letter off his desk and thrust it toward her, buzzing with anticipation. He’d memorized every word.

  Vanessa scanned the document while Dan watched. He noticed a sparkly barrette sweeping a lock of hair behind her left ear. Vanessa never used to wear jewelry.

  She also never used to have hair.

  Finally, Vanessa looked up, a faint smile playing on her full red lips. “Does this mean you’re not going back to Evergreen?”

  Dan nodded happily as he closed up the space between them and pressed her back against the doorframe. “I hated Evergreen. All I could do was think about you, and about us. I couldn’t write without you. I need you,” he said. How did long-distance relationships ever work? He could hardly stand to be in a different room than Vanessa.

  “I know,” Vanessa murmured. Dan’s breath was hot against her cheek. Had Dan really spent every waking moment at Evergreen just thinking about her and wanting to come home? She knew he hated it there, but hadn’t he even tried to like his classes? To make friends?

  “So, I was thinking we could live here until we find a place. We could get a studio downtown. It wouldn’t be that expensive,” Dan mused, running his fingers through Vanessa’s short hair. It was silky and unfamiliar, but Dan instantly loved it, just like he loved every part of her.

  Vanessa nodded, trying to imagine living with Dan. They’d tried a few times last year for short periods of time, but it had never really worked. One
of them would always get moody or jealous. But maybe now that they were in college, it would be different?

  “And we can arrange our schedules together. There’s this one class at Columbia called The Poetry of Film that I was thinking of taking. Maybe you could take it as a visiting student? Or maybe you could transfer.” His hand grazed the hem of her black long-sleeve thermal top.

  “Transfer?” Vanessa pulled back slightly. “But I like NYU.” She loved her classes, and most of the people she’d met. The film students tended to stick together, going from screenings to happy hours to late-night onion ring runs at Tick Tock Diner in a herd. In high school, Vanessa would have thought that type of behavior was ridiculously lame. But having a big group of friends was actually fun.

  What was she getting so worked up about? Dan was her boyfriend, and he was moving back to the city. Of course he just wanted to spend more time with her. And of course that was what she wanted too. “Come here.” She smiled and reached toward Dan, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips tasted reassuringly familiar, like Crest and Folgers.

  Just then, her cell vibrated from her back pocket. She pulled out the phone and frowned.

  “What?” Dan asked impatiently.

  Vanessa scanned the display. NEW YEAR’S PARTY AT MY CASA. 210 AVE B. HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE—HOLLIS. Hollis was her TA for her Intro to Film class. He was only twenty-five but he’d already screened a few of his films at the Tribeca Film Festival. One of them had even been picked up by an indie film company. He was intense, but approachable and funny, and would be the first to tell you if your film sucked. In fact, he’d given her first assignment a C+ because he thought it was too perfectly executed. This has technical precision, but not heart. Do you want to make credit card commercials or films? he’d asked. It should have been obnoxious, but she respected his honesty.