Page 20 of Gold Rush

“Do you need any furniture for your new apartment? I just finished an end table that should fit in your car.”

I smile. “I’d love it.”

7

“I’m working at the Manhattan Public Defender’s office,” I state for what must be the dozenth time in less than an hour.

“Oh, how nice,” Mrs. Stewart says, making me think she may not fully understand what a public defender does.

My job is relentless and rewarding. Nice is not an adjective I’d use to describe interacting with those learning firsthand that consequences, like most things, are kinder to the rich. Me accepting a position that pays five figures while most of my classmates—like Flynn Parks—were wooed into Big Law with promises of corporate cards and covered moving expenses and partner tracks isn’t doing a whole lot to even the scales of justice, but it’s a start.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Oh, of course.” Mrs. Stewart leans closer, lowering her voice to add, “It’s so nice to see you out and about, Rory. You deserve so much better than that awful business with the Albright boy.” She shudders. For effect, I assume, since the temperature is hovering in the low nineties today.

I aim a tight-lipped smile at the older woman. “Nice to see you too, Mrs. Stewart.”

Because of the bright sun and afternoon heat, plenty of guests have gravitated inside. Unfortunately, that means Etta Albright is impossible to miss, standing by the raw bar set up beside the outdoor kitchen. This section is shaded by a pergola, a few degrees cooler than the rest of the yard.

I swallow hard as I make eye contact with Carson’s mother beneath the broad brim of her hat. It occurred to me the Albrights might be here. They overlap with a large portion of the social set that my family is a part of, and Etta is especially diligent about accepting invitations.

Carson isn’t here. Someone would have mentioned it to me by now if he were. He’s never enjoyed these parties, and recent events would make them especially unappealing.

“Rory.” Etta’s tone is warm, but I notice how she fiddles with the clasp of her clutch before setting it on one of the high-top tables arranged throughout the backyard that guests have left drinks and hors d’oeuvres on.

“Hello, Mrs. Albright.” I return her polite smile, but I don’t embrace her like I normally would. Or use her first name.

I don’t blame her for Carson’s actions, but I can’t pretend like nothing has changed. Etta and Mason, Carson’s father, made it obvious they heartily approved of me dating their son. I wish I could take some satisfaction in knowing they must have been devastated when they found out about our breakup, but I’m mostly sad and mad all over again.

“How are you?” she asks. Her expression appears genuinely concerned as she scans my appearance, like she truly thinks I might still be devastated by what happened.

I’m more mad than sad suddenly.

“I’m well,” I answer. “Working at the Manhattan Public Defender’s office. I took the bar earlier this week, so I can relax and enjoy the rest of the summer. Here to spend some time with my parents and sister.”

Etta nods. “That sounds lovely, Rory. I-I’ve wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t certain it would be appropriate. I …” She exhales, and I instinctively brace myself. “Mason and I are incredibly disappointed in Carson. I’m sure you feel similarly. I don’t think their relationship will possibly last, but I … well, I thought we’d raised our son with more integrity. We don’t support his recent decisions—mistakes—and wish he’d chosen differently.”

Her lips purse following her speech, displaying her disapproval as plainly as her words.

I should say something. I know I should, yet I’m stuck on one word—relationship. Carson is in a relationship, presumably with the woman in the video. He didn’t just cheat; he’s already dating someone new. Does everyone know? Was I not told because they thought I was too fragile to handle the news? People are probably staring and gossiping now, but I don’t glance around to confirm. I’m too busy processing.

“I’m sorry,” Etta adds. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s … it’s nice to see you,” I manage to say. “I wish our breakup had happened differently, but I don’t think Carson and I were ever going to last. I hope his new relationship is a happier one. Mine sure is.”

“Oh, you’re”—Etta tries and fails at hiding her disappointment—“seeing someone?”

“I am.” I tuck some loose strands of hair behind one ear. “I’m headed inside to enjoy some air-conditioning. Give my best to Mason.”

“I will,” she replies, still visibly crestfallen.

Did Etta really think I would take Carson back after some time had passed? Apparently.

I continue indoors, pointedly ignoring the heads that turn my way as I head toward a hallway that leads to one of the downstairs bathrooms. I could really use a moment to myself, away from curious eyes assessing my emotional state. It would be one thing if they were gossiping about my unexpected choice of employer or a different member of my family—there’s been no shortage of speculation about when and where Lili will marry Charlie Marlborough—but, no, they’re discussing my love life. Or lack of one, rather.

I blame Flynn for what just happened. If he hadn’t planted the ridiculous idea in my head of how extremely effective and supremely satisfying it would be to triumph over Carson’s infidelity by announcing my engagement to someone else, I wouldn’t have made that comment to Etta. I would have reacted to the revelation of his new relationship by remaining calm, cool, and collected, same as I was when Mallory showed me that awful video. Instead, I impulsively invented a boyfriend like I was being hit on by a drunk at a bar.

Etta will share my lie. Maybe only with a few close friends, but they will tell a few more and a few more until it’s widespread information. There will be judgment about how quickly I’ve moved on, rather than the alternative pity that it was taking me so long to recover, until my new boyfriend never appears and the rumors will reset.