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"Oh, it's awful," Ryan said cheerfully. "But there's no one here. That's what's so great about it."
"But now?"
"I don't know. The house isn't the same."
"I'm sorry." Eliza had told her once that the house used to be different--more comfortable, less like a big showpiece.
"Don't be. It's not a big deal. I mean, what would I do here anyway?" He shrugged. "What about you--what did you think you wanted to do when you were little?"
"I wanted to be a scientist," Mara said. "When I was nine, I was sure that's what I wanted to do. I thought that would be cool, wearing a lab coat, looking in microscopes."
"And now?"
"Well, I kind of suck at science! And I hate math. So no, I don't think I'm going to be a scientist."
"What do you want to do, then?"
Mara thought about it. What she really wanted to do was
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become a writer. She wasn't sure what kind, maybe a journalist. Or maybe the kind that wrote books. But it seemed like such an impossible thing. Like saying she wanted to win an Academy Award. It just wasn't going to happen. Besides, her parents always said if she made it to college, she should be a lawyer or a banker, someone who made a lot of money. She couldn't afford her dreams.
"I don't know ... maybe a writer," she whispered. For some reason, she felt comfortable telling him. Maybe it was because he was so easy to talk to or maybe because she knew he wouldn't ask her to explain herself.
"Cool." He nodded.
They ate a few more marshmallows and kept talking on and off. Mara liked the silent time between the talking as much as she did their conversations. She never mentioned Jim because for once it was nice to not just be "Jim Mizekowski's girlfriend." To Ryan she was just Mara, and for once Mara felt pretty good about just being herself.
As the sky started to show signs of a new day, they zipped themselves into their sleeping bags like beach caterpillars. And then, in a quiet moment, while they listened to the waves crashing, Mara and Ryan fell asleep.
The next day Page Six ran two photos. One of Chauncey Raven straddling the current Wimbledon champ in the VIP room. The other was of Mara and Ryan, under the headline "Has the Perry Heir Found Love?"
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eliza's postmortem brunch of pancakes and page six
" Oh. My . God. I am still sooo wasted," Lindsay rasped, chasing down a Bloody Mary with an unfiltered Camel. "I am, like, hoovering these," she said, alternately blowing smoke and smashing her face with a handful of french fries.
"Jesus, you should have seen me last night," Taylor said. "I totally threw up all over Kit's mom's bathroom."
"Oh, man, at least you guys had people to drive you home. I basically woke up in a ditch!" Eliza hooted. "I was, like, excuse me, how did I get here exactly?"
The three were playing drunken one-upmanship, where whoever was suffering from the most severe case of hangover won. They were at their usual table at 75 Main Street, a cute corner cafe in Southampton, checking out the scene from behind dark sunglasses.
"Psst. Check it out." Lindsay nudged her friends as a famous comedian's comely wife passed by with a double stroller.
"And isn't that ... ?" Taylor asked, looking over her shoulder
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at the bleary-eyed star of the latest romantic comedy flop. "Uh-huh. Check out that face-lift. She can't fool anybody. My mom said she's, like, fifty-two."
"No way!" Eliza hissed, loving every minute. "People magazine said she was thirty-eight!"
"The morning sun ain't too kind," Lindsay decided.
They attacked their pancake- and french-toast-stacked plates, feeling young and superior.
