Page 17 of Hotter in the Hamptons

When Aly didn’t respond to her first text, Lola wasn’t all that worried, even though they hadn’t spoken for twenty hours—a new record for them. Lola was surprised to find she really missed her.

The previous night, after she’d stopped crying about Fire Island, she and Ryan had caught up on Love Island for more hours in a row than she cared to count. She’d finished off a bottle of red wine while Ryan sipped a single beer. She had no memory of him going to bed; at some point, she simply found herself alone. She then ordered a whole chocolate cake on Postmates and ate most of it.

She crawled under her duvet around 1:00 a.m. with a stomachache but slept like the dead.

In the morning, she forced herself to down some chia seeds (surely that would balance out the cake) and even toyed with the idea of doing a Yoga with Adriene (the “Yoga for Overthinking” episode sounded relevant), though ultimately decided against it. Instead, she lay by the pool, tugging her bikini straps down to avoid getting tan lines, and took out her phone.

Hey you , she texted Aly. Lola was not a prideful person. She didn’t mind sending the first text after a fight. Besides, they had made up yesterday. Aly had apologized, had even promised to come find her today.

While she waited for a response, she remembered the pile of vintage still sitting in the corner of her room. It was easier not to think about it, but with Aly not writing back, she couldn’t avoid it.

She forced herself to focus on what she could do with the pieces. She could start wearing it as is, but most of it wasn’t really on trend. Or, she thought, she could do what she used to do best: reimagine the pieces, tailoring them into something new. The thought made her heart race, though she wasn’t sure if she was feeling excitement or dread. Her fingers itched to touch the fabrics, to arrange them into new shapes, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she still could. What if she’d forgotten everything she knew? What if she didn’t have the right vision anymore? She thought of Colette urging her to do her vintage content again. If someone as chic as Colette wanted Lola to try, that had to mean something.

But more than that, with now nearly a whole day away from Aly, she finally had the brain space to think again. She wondered what it meant that, with Aly around, she couldn’t see her own goals clearly. But this was normal, she told herself. Falling for someone new was distracting for everyone, all-consuming in a way. Wasn’t it?

As if to prove to herself that underneath the layers of obsession and lust, she was still in there somewhere, she pulled up Amazon Prime and ordered a sewing machine, clicking the option for same-day delivery. It wasn’t that expensive, and at the end of the summer, she could simply leave it at Giancarlo’s house, a thank-you for letting her stay in his home.

Twenty minutes later, still no response from Aly. It was now noon.

You up? she tried.

Nothing.

Lola tried not to panic. She headed inside and went about her to-do list with one eye on the phone. She painted her nails; she made her bed. She went downstairs and did their dishes from last night, taking one final bite of cake before throwing the last piece out.

Still nothing.

Aly?

An hour went by.

She wandered down the hallway to Ryan’s room and knocked.

“Yeah,” he called, which she took to mean come in.

He was on the floor doing sit-ups when she pushed the door open, his muscles glistening.

“Give me ten,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he meant minutes, seconds, or reps, but soon enough, he rolled to the side, splayed out on the ground and panting.

Ryan’s room was larger than hers, with space for a king-size bed and a small sofa. It was only fair, she supposed, though she briefly regretted how quickly she’d taken the smaller one.

“You don’t need more abs,” she said.

“Counterpoint: I always need more abs,” he said, catching his breath. “What’s up? Why do you look like your dog died?”

“Aly’s not texting me back. Should I walk into the ocean?”

He grimaced. “No suicide today, please. Sometimes people are just slow to text. It happens.” He chugged some water, while Lola paced his bedroom.

“She hates me,” Lola declared. “It’s over.”

“Hey, I have an idea,” he said, arranging himself into cobbler’s pose. “Why don’t you come to dinner with me and Emmett tonight? Somewhere nice. It’ll be a good distraction.”

Lola stopped pacing. “Who the fuck is Emmett?”

He dropped his water bottle, eyebrows in an angry, straight line. “Seriously?”

She racked her brain. She was pretty sure she didn’t know anyone named Emmett.

“Lola, the guy I’ve spent all summer falling in love with?”

By the way he said it, she knew she had fucked up. She tilted her head to the side, thinking. And came up empty.

“Are you sure you’ve told me about him?”

“Oh my fucking god,” he groaned. “I’m sure! We analyzed his profile before we even got here! You’ve just been on Aly Island and clearly not paying attention to a word I’ve said for weeks.”

He was right.

At least he must have been, because Lola had no memory of ever hearing about this guy, save for the notes Ryan left her when he vanished for days on end.

“Fuck me,” she exhaled. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I bet you are,” he said, still sounding annoyed.

“There’s just so much going on, you know? I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind. This girl doesn’t text me back for a few hours and I’m considering offing myself? Clearly something is really, really wrong with me.”

He shook his head, but Lola could feel him loosening. “We already knew that.”

She laughed, mildly relieved, but it was cut short by her own freak-out—she wanted to meet this Emmett; she wanted to spend time with Ryan and work on her soul makeover and feel good again. She wanted to make clothes and gain back the trust of her followers. She wanted to influence (right?) and come out of this summer better. She even wanted to prove to Justin that her plan was the right one.

But she also wanted Aly. She didn’t want Aly to ignore her. And she was worried that the latter wants felt…bigger. More demanding. And was that right? Was that supposed to be how this was? She could feel her panic stirring high in her chest.

“You can make it up to me by meeting him,” Ryan said, interrupting her brain chaos, “and being really, really nice to him.”

She nodded, eager to make it right, though she could still feel her worry about Aly trying to take hold of her brain. “Yes, let’s absolutely have dinner. I am dying to meet him.”

She hoped she could remember one single detail about Emmett first.

Ryan pulled out his phone. “I’m pulling strings to get us a reservation at Le Bilboquet,” he said. “Seven. Okay? Don’t dress like a hooker.”

She flinched. He was kidding, but it stung.

Was that who she was without Aly? Still that same post-breakup, post-career, post-life-having poser who overthought everything, embarrassed herself in the wrong outfits, and made the wrong choices? If you took out the Aly piece of the summer, was Lola still in the same place as when she first arrived in East Hampton? She wasn’t sure. And that was what scared her most of all.

“I’ll be there,” she promised. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

A few hours later, Lola went to the downstairs window and peered out at Aly’s house. There were no signs of life. Maybe, she thought with a sudden panic, something had happened. Maybe Aly had slipped or choked.

She should go over and check, she decided. Aly was a single woman in a huge house, alone. Which could be dangerous.

Still clad in just her bikini, she made her way to the neighboring house, where she knocked on the door and waited.

No answer. The lights were all off.

That was when she realized Aly’s car was gone. Huh , she thought. She wondered when Aly had left. The car had definitely been there this morning. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed Aly’s departure. Maybe when she was painting her nails? Had Aly seen her texts before she left?

There were a few places Aly could be—lunch, not looking at her phone, having some sort of work meeting maybe.

Or hiding from Lola.

Maybe she even went back to Brooklyn to avoid her.

Maybe they would never see each other again.

Maybe Lola would be left on read forever.

The rational and irrational parts of her brain warred with each other as she went back to Giancarlo’s and paced the living room.

She was not usually this girl. She didn’t freak out when someone didn’t text her back. Come to think of it, though, she was also not used to being ignored. Men in the city had just about lined up to date her. And Justin was a lot of things, but he wasn’t toxic like that.

Was Aly toxic?

Maybe , she thought. But she also knew that her privacy and poise, that cool girl veneer, were what made Aly so attractive.

Or maybe Lola was the toxic one.

That still didn’t mean she deserved to be ghosted.

Just as she was about to totally lose it, she finally got a text back.

Sorry, can’t talk.

Sorry, can’t talk?

What the fuck?

Lola wanted to throw her phone into the pool. She’d never been blown off so thoroughly. She didn’t know how to respond. Should she say nothing? No, that wasn’t an option. Aly owed her an explanation.

She wrote back Why not?

The three dots appeared and then disappeared. Appeared and then disappeared. Lola wasn’t breathing.

Finally: Just give me some time, okay?

Lola felt like vomiting.

Never before had anyone requested time away from her.

Well, no, that wasn’t true.

Justin had requested the whole summer off. Had she pushed Aly away in the same way? Was she just so unlovable that no one wanted to stick around? Was that why her followers were so eager to abandon her too?

Her phone buzzed with another text from Aly. Sorry. I am mind-fucking.

Lola’s fingers flew over the keyboard. About what??

I just wish you weren’t straight.

Her heart thundered in her chest. This again? she sent. Where are you?

Aly replied, Can I please have some space? I have a lot to process.

Lola flopped on the cream bouclé sofa. She gave Aly’s text a thumbs-up and forced herself not to send another text.

Then she did the one thing she knew would make her feel better.

She called her mom.

“Lola!” Jeanette answered on the first ring. “There you are.”

“Hi, Mom,” Lola said, feeling herself relax.

“How’s my East Hampton girl?”

Lola paused, and in the pause, her mom heard everything. “What happened?”

“I like someone,” she said, starting to cry. “And I think it got all fucked up, and I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“Slow down,” Jeanette said. Lola could hear the sound of the French doors sliding open as her mom went into the backyard and sat in her favorite rattan chair. Picturing it made Lola ache with homesickness. “You like someone? Not Justin?”

Lola was usually good about keeping her parents in the loop of her life. She flushed as she realized she hadn’t even talked to them after Aly’s article came out.

“I have a lot to tell you,” she said.

“Well then, you better start,” Jeanette laughed.

They’d read the article, of course. Jeanette gasped as Lola detailed the aftermath, how her team had dropped her. She made little noises of empathetic support as Lola described her breakup with Justin, how he demanded marriage and then walked out on her. She murmured appreciatively at how Ryan had taken care of her, and she laughed as Lola described the luxury and beauty of the place she was staying for the summer.

“Let’s get to the fun stuff,” Jeanette said. “Who’s the new guy?”

Lola’s eyes filled with tears again. She had not imagined this sort of conversation. Not a coming out conversation but not not that either. It wasn’t that she expected her parents to shun her; they were her role models for acceptance. It was just that it was always hard to tell your parents something new about yourself when you’ve spent a lifetime as one kind of person.

“It’s a girl,” she whispered.

“Oh!” Jeanette didn’t miss a beat. “You know, I dated a girl once.”

Lola sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You what ?”

Jeanette laughed. “After college. Before I met your father, obviously. She was this superhot, really butch babe. I was powerless against her charms. Powerless!”

“So what happened?”

“Oh, you know. We had a lot of fun for a few weeks. But as it turns out, I’m not gay.”

Lola slapped her knee. “See, that’s exactly it! Why do you have to be gay to have a relationship with another woman?”

“Is that not the definition of the word?”

Lola groaned. “Mom, not helpful.”

“Sorry, honey. I know your generation is a lot more fluid than mine was. It’s different for you. You’re not as caught up with labels as we were.”

“Well, some of us aren’t caught up with labels,” Lola said. “I think that’s why she’s not speaking to me. Because her friends wanted me to say I was bisexual, and I wouldn’t, and I think she got in her head about it.”

“Well, who cares what her friends say? She should just trust her feelings for you and your feelings for her. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“ Thank you,” Lola replied, finally vindicated.

“So what do you want? What’s your ideal situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want to be with her ? Or is it just a fling?”

“I don’t know,” Lola said. Yes, she’d considered a future with Aly, but she hadn’t exactly landed on anything definitive.

Her mom laughed warmly. “Oh, honey. My sweet girl. Being in the moment is one of your great strengths. But when other people are involved, you do have to think about the future. It’s not nice to be with someone you don’t see a future with. It’s a waste of their time, you know?”

Lola cocked her head to the side. That was exactly what she’d done to Justin.

She imagined her and Aly in bed together, holding hands on a date, making dinner in Aly’s kitchen. There was nothing better.

It didn’t feel like just a fling. It felt like something she could sink into. For a long time, at least—maybe forever? She considered it, and it didn’t freak her out. Which had to mean something.

She did want to be with her.

She grinned into the phone, relieved to finally feel sure.

“Just be yourself,” her mom added. “Everyone who knows you loves you. I think if you just start prioritizing Lola and the things you want to be doing, you’ll attract the right sort of energy.”

It was so LA to talk about things in terms of energy. She was really overdue for a visit home, she realized with a pang. But already, Lola’s mind was stirring with ideas—she needed to find Aly, to tell her what she wanted—Aly.

“Speaking of which,” her mom said, “are you doing anything to take care of you this summer? It’s been a hard couple of months.”

Lola’s train of thought crashed to a halt. She hesitated. “I mean…I ordered a sewing machine,” she said. “I was thinking of maybe trying to get back into designing.”

She could hear her mom smiling. “I think that’s great, honey,” she said.

Lola smiled, albeit a little shakily. Taking care of herself was a nice thought, but it seemed beside the point. The point was Aly—she needed to make things right with her.

“Okay, tell me about you and Dad. What are you guys doing this summer?”

While her mom talked, Lola put her on speakerphone so she could redownload Instagram, not to post—she wasn’t ready for that yet—but to see if she could find out where Aly was.

She logged in, gritting her teeth as she ignored the barrage of notifications and DMs, and searched for Aly’s profile. They did not follow each other, but luckily, Aly’s profile was public. She only had 9k followers, which Lola found endearing. Someone should really create a social media strategy for the poor girl. She couldn’t stay mysterious forever.

Aly’s most recent post was a flyer for a group reading. Lola zoomed in. It was that night. At Bookhampton. Lola had one hour before it began.

For a brief moment, she allowed her feelings to be hurt that Aly hadn’t invited her. Then she shook it off. She understood why Aly didn’t tell her about it. She would fix this. She had to.

Lola was hatching a plan when Jeanette interrupted her thoughts again. “Honey? Are you still there?” She realized she’d missed everything her mom had told her.

With a pang of guilt, she said, “Sorry. I lost service I think. Can you start over?”

***

Flowers. Lola needed flowers. And big ones too.

She probably wouldn’t have time to come home after going to the florist, so she got ready for the evening as quickly as she could, showering so fast she might as well not have showered at all. Knowing Aly liked her dressed down, she wore her Levi’s and her softest T-shirt. She pulled her hair into a topknot and kept her face bare but for some tinted Chapstick. At the last minute, she remembered deodorant.

Then she hopped on her bike and flew down the street.

It took her ten minutes to get to East Hampton Florist, narrowly avoiding getting hit by several cars along the way. She leaned the bike against the store and burst inside, startling the florist, who looked up at her through reading glasses and said, “You okay, honey?”

“Great!” Lola said, panting and sweating. “I need a big bouquet of roses.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Lola paused. “Telling someone I want to be with them.”

The florist smiled. “Lucky guy. What color and how many?”

“Girl!” Lola corrected so loudly the florist jumped. “She’s a girl.”

“Good for you,” the florist replied, nonplussed. “Color? And how many?”

“Red,” Lola said, trying to calm down. “A dozen. Please. No, two dozen. Is that crazy?”

The florist shrugged. “I’ve heard crazier.”

***

Lola followed Google Maps to Bookhampton, her bike basket overflowing with roses. The wind teased strands of her hair loose from her topknot. Sweat stains began to form under her arms. But it didn’t matter. She just needed to get to where she was going and fast.

The charming, little, brick bookshop was sandwiched between a Starbucks and an Italian clothing boutique. A crowd of bookish-looking summer people gathered in the dappled light of the sidewalk outside it, dressed simply in linens with branded canvas tote bags and oversized glasses. Lola didn’t not fit in, in her jeans and T-shirt, though she got a few side-eyes as she entered the bookstore with her enormous bouquet of roses. That was fine, though. Let them look. She was on a mission.

Inside, there were rows of folding chairs arranged facing a microphone. Lola planted herself in the front row and waited.

Aly was nowhere in sight, but that was okay. She was probably in some sort of green room, if bookstores had green rooms. Lola wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember the last reading she’d been to or if she’d ever been to one at all.

She heard Colette’s voice in her head accusing her of not being literary.

It wasn’t untrue.

But everyone had to start somewhere, right?

She pulled the flyer for tonight’s event back up, taking in details she’d missed before. It was all women writers. Aly was third in the lineup. The theme was “Stories of Summer.” Lola didn’t recognize the other names, but that wasn’t surprising. This really wasn’t her scene.

A bookseller walked to the front and said into the microphone, “If everyone will take their seats, we’ll start shortly.”

The room filled up, though no one sat next to Lola. She blamed the roses.

She had trouble concentrating on the first two readers, older writers with glasses, one of them wearing a big statement necklace that made her look more like a nineties art teacher. She nodded along anyway, though, participating in the performance of listening, all the while looking for a flash of Aly.

The bookseller returned to the microphone. “Our next reader comes to us all the way from the big city,” he said to some scattered laughter, then began reading off his phone. “Aly Ray Carter is an award-winning journalist. Her bylines have appeared in New York Magazine , The New Yorker , The New York Times , Vanity Fair , the Los Angeles Times , and more. She’s working on a book, but who isn’t?” The bookseller paused, looking up at the crowd. “Obviously, Aly wrote her own bio.” There was some scattered laughter at Aly’s self-deprecating words. “All right, everyone. Please welcome Aly.”

Applause.

Lola held her breath.

Aly, who must have been sitting in the back this whole time, walked up to the front, her eyes landing on Lola and then on the flowers.

Lola waved and then felt herself redden.

Don’t be such a fucking dork.

Aly smiled uncertainly at her and then looked away, speaking into the microphone and addressing the audience. “Thanks, everyone, for coming, and thanks to Bookhampton for having me.” Lola was surprised to hear her voice shake. Aly? Nervous? To read? It seemed unfathomable.

“You got this,” someone called from the back, and the audience laughed. So did Aly.

“Thanks,” she said. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “I’m going to read something new. It’s about…” She trailed off and then grinned. “It’s about the girl in the front row, actually. Who, for the record, I didn’t know would be here. But it’s too late to read something else.” Lola felt all eyes on her and beamed. “This isn’t the kind of thing I usually write, so…go easy on me.”

Aly took a breath and then began.

“You wanted to spend the summer in isolation—no plans, no friends, no obligations. You had a vision of yourself writing by the sea. You were going to drink wine on the dock while inspiration took hold, finally start that fucking novel everyone expects you to have published by now, find a therapist who will see you on Zoom, apologize to your mother for the way you’ve acted for the past twenty years. You were going to get in shape, get a tan, stop eating gluten.” She paused, and the audience laughed.

“You came here to find yourself, and instead you seem to have lost your mind.”

She looked up then, right at Lola, before continuing.

“It was like the world was drained of color. You deleted the apps. You didn’t smile back at beautiful women. You closed yourself off to the idea of…” She paused for a long time before saying, “Love.”

Love? Lola’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest.

“Sorry.” Aly paused, breaking character. “This is unedited and unfinished.” She flashed a nervous smile and then continued. “But love doesn’t care what you had planned to do for the summer. It just wants to pin you against the door and hold you there until you’re not sure if you’ve passed away from want. Love wants to come meet all your friends and pick fights with you the entire time.” She stopped, looking at Lola again. “Love, I guess, wants to show up with too many roses after you’ve asked for space.”

There was laughter. Lola’s heart sank. She wondered if this was a mistake. She couldn’t be sure where Aly’s reading was heading. Foolish of her to think Aly would want her here when she hadn’t been invited. When she had asked to be alone.

But then Aly kept going: “Love wants to insist you talk to her because you’re doing what you always do. The truth is that you’re terrified. The truth is that you’re not sure you can survive getting your heart broken again. But she doesn’t care about your reasons. She doesn’t care about your summer plans. She doesn’t care if you eat gluten. She demands to be taken seriously. And now that you’ve felt love, even if you totally fuck it up, you’ll still never be the same. So you might as well stop being a pussy and give it a chance.”

It was an odd and abrupt ending, and for a few beats, the audience was still, waiting for more. Then they realized it was over and broke into supportive applause.

Aly took the seat beside Lola and put her hand on Lola’s knee.

I’m sorry , she mouthed.

In reply, Lola rested her head on Aly’s shoulder, snuggling into her.

She didn’t hear a single thing that was read after that. All she could think about was Aly’s body heat, the smell of her skin, and the way she’d kept saying the word love .

***