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My mouth feels dry. I manage a “thanks.”
“When I met you last year, I knew you’d be a good fit for him. I knew you would challenge him and respect him. He was single then, and very lonely, but when he started dating Chelsea he was a little better.”
“Were they happy?” I don’t have a right to ask the question, but I feel like I need to know.
“Mm,” she sighs, tilting a hand back and forth. “Happy adjacent, I would say. He had someone to spend time with, and she was pleasant enough. There wasn’t really a spark there, but growing up without a happy relationship to observe, I don’t think he knew he should look for one.”
Sawyer turns back, laughing at something Gram must have said. His wide smile fades to something sweet, if not slightly suspicious, when he sees us talking together. Nancy waves, and Sawyer resumes his conversation with Gram.
“I couldn’t believe how things ended, considering the way he stood up for her. What he put on the line for her,” Nancy continues.
“It’s terrible to be ghosted by someone. To not even get closure.”
“Yes, that was definitely hard for him. But I think two things hurt worse. First, knowing that he’d lost everything by standing up for the person who was named Teacher of the Year in their building a few weeks later.”
I stop, feet glued to the floor. “Seriously?”
“Mhmm. Now, did she deserve it? Probably not. We think the school was trying to appease the teachers by recognizing her, since they had to follow up on the parent’s complaint, too. Which was bogus, by the way.”
I nod, and we resume walking. “You said there were two things?”
“Oh, yes,” Nancy says. “Sawyer had left some things at her apartment. Not that he was spending a lot of his nights there, of course—” she adds, like she’s afraid it’ll bother me that he stayed over at his girlfriend’s place. “Within days, she’d had it all dropped off on his porch. I don’t even think she did it herself. It just showed up one day, like someone rang the doorbell and ran.”
“At least he got it back. That’s good, right?” I feel a tinge of guilt knowing that I immediately trashed everything of Tristan’s that I’d had access to. Except the photos—those I shredded, then burned in my sink like I was in a fire-making challenge on Survivor.
“It is,” Nancy agrees. “I think he almost hoped she’d keep something, though, like a souvenir of their relationship. To show that it meant anything to her. But even some of the gifts he gave her, like that very first Valentine’s Day gift, were thrown in the box and sent back without a word. Then through the grapevine he hears that she said he was too toxic for her to be attached to anymore. That her reputation was in danger just by associating with him.”
“That’s awful.”
“It broke my heart to watch him fall apart. He lost everything, Gwendolyn. But this week something’s different. I think he’s starting to find it again.”
“Find what?” If she says ‘love,’ I’m going to have to jump overboard.
“Himself.”
Gwendolyn
“Just wait till he sees you,” Gram says from the doorway between her bedroom and the living room.
I’m threading an earring into place—a dangling gold starfish to match the stack of rings on my index finger—and turn from the mirror to smile at her. “This old thing?” I wink, and she laughs.
“Are you still mad? That we tricked you both to get you on this trip?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I was for a few days. Honestly, it felt a little manipulative. But I know I’m too stubborn to have agreed to come, had I known your plan.”
“I know that, too,” Gram says. She sidles up next to me at the mirror and adjusts the sparkling black jacket she’s wearing over a silky turquoise shell. “I’m sorry we lied to you. But I’m also not sorry that you seem to be having a great time.”
There’s an odd sensation in my chest that radiates toward my fingertips. “I’m having a wonderful time. Sawyer’s nice. He’s different.”
“I think you are, too.” It’s her turn to wink at me. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so happy, Gwennie.”
I don’t want Gram to get her hopes up, so I say, “It’s just one date.” But in reality it’s been a while since I’ve felt this happy. Here, I’m separated from the writer’s block and the loneliness and the pressure to be everything people expect me to be.
There’s a knock on our door, and Gram moves to answer it. I give myself a final glance in the full-length mirror and twist to make sure the back of the dress is tied evenly and that everything looks okay. When I packed this dress for formal night, I was not expecting to wear it for an actual date. But now it feels like overkill, from the near-backless design to the hint of side-boob, from the form-fitting fabric to the crimson color. I contemplate changing, but it’s too late. The next knock is interrupted by a friendly greeting, and then Nancy is in our suite.
“Gwendolyn, you look absolutely gorgeous.”
I thank her for the compliment, noticing the way her hands clasp together and the way her eyes take in my hair and the dress. It feels like senior prom all over again, and it’s not lost on me that their phones are in their hands and not tucked away in their purses. I’m really hoping we can make it through tonight without having to pose for a hundred photos. “Thanks, Nancy. You look beautiful, too.” Her black and white dress reaches just below her knees, and a row of beading trims the neckline and sleeves. She smiles.
