Page 21 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Hector held the door for Lola with a warm smile on his face.

“It’s so nice to see you, Ms. Fine,” he said as she wheeled her suitcases through the threshold. “I hope you had a lovely summer.”

“It was definitely full of surprises.” Lola grimaced.

The Lower East Side lobby was exactly as Lola had left it: lit beautifully with mid-century modern wall sconces, the concrete floors pristine, a lit Diptyque candle at the front desk that smelled of bitter orange. It felt strange being back in this unchanged space when she had changed so much. Like a decade had gone by, not one summer.

Behind her, Ryan was struggling with the huge Amazon Prime box that contained her sewing machine, likely regretting his offer to carry it.

“Do you want us to have someone send that up for you?” Hector asked.

Ryan promptly put it on the ground. “That would be great,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

They were both a little gross from their journey; they’d hit horrible traffic on the LIE, and it had taken them nearly five hours instead of the estimated three. Ryan had wanted to drive the whole way, which was fine with her. They’d stopped for lunch at a truck stop Burger King, which Ryan made a fuss about and Lola secretly loved. She could eat fries forever. Back in the car, though, they both smelled like fast food.

Other than that, Lola had been surprised at how emotional the drive back to the city was. The moment she saw the skyline stretching out across the horizon, she felt a pull toward it. Like the city itself had actually missed her. Like it had been different because of her absence.

She forgot how good it felt to belong somewhere—how important to be grounded.

Ryan hugged her goodbye and left, saying he was double-parked. “Call me later,” he said, blowing a kiss before disappearing.

She stepped into the elevator and, as she pressed the button for the penthouse, wondered if Justin would be there. Her heart pounded harder with each floor she ascended.

Emmett had had to go back to the city a few days before them, which meant Lola and Ryan had spent their last three days in East Hampton doing everything they’d neglected to do together this summer. They went kayaking in Montauk. They spent an afternoon walking around Longhouse Reserve, with its lush gardens and sculptures. They rented Jet Skis and zoomed around the ocean waves, racing each other. They ate clam chowder at a local diner, far away from Main Street’s hiked-up prices.

She’d avoided Aly for those three days, which hadn’t been hard—Aly was nowhere in sight. They didn’t see each other across their respective lawns, didn’t run into each other on the sidewalk. It was like Aly had gone into hiding.

Lola missed her terribly but was also too pissed off to reach out again. The ball was in Aly’s court; Lola was fine to spend her final days with Ryan instead. With Ryan, she knew where she stood.

And then, when they’d exhausted all the tourist attractions and felt convinced they’d maxed out their time, they packed up all their stuff, cleaned Giancarlo’s house, and Uber’d to the rental car place. She didn’t try to say goodbye. There was no point.

Now, finally back home and ready to face her shit, Lola held her breath as she unlocked the door to her apartment, pushing it open with her shoulder and lugging her bags inside.

Justin’s shoes were not by the door, the telltale sign of his whereabouts. She exhaled.

The apartment was empty.

It was also quiet. So clean.

She left her things in the entryway and entered the kitchen, running her hand along the countertop. She checked the fridge for food and found it was totally empty but for some artisanal ketchup and a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay, both definitely no longer safe to consume. She started a grocery order on her phone while absent-mindedly walking through each room. Justin was everywhere: his clothes in his closet, his water bottle near his gym equipment, his soap in the bathroom. The photos of his family still hung on the walls. It was like their break never happened, like he was just at work and would come home in a few hours to kiss her neck and cook her steak.

But it had happened. And she knew there was no going back.

She opened all the curtains, letting the light in.

There was a knock on the door. “Delivery,” she heard a voice call.

It was someone who worked for the building, carrying her sewing machine.

“In here is great, thank you so much,” she said, directing him to set it in the living room.

When he was gone, she sat on the floor and pulled it from its box. The heavy-duty, high-speed Singer was gray and not very aesthetically pleasing. But the pretty ones weren’t as good, and this was the best one under a thousand.

She traced her finger along its knobs and dials. “Hello, friend,” she said.

She placed it on the coffee table, where she could use it while sitting on the floor.

Lola knew she had more important things to do—deciding between Justin and Aly, for one and two, figuring out what the fuck to do with the rest of her life—but all she could think about was finally using that damn machine.

She opened her suitcase there in the living room and pulled out the vintage, polka-dot Moschino shift dress. It was good quality, but the sleeves needed to feel current. She dug around until she found the floral Gucci scarf. She would probably never wear the scarf if she was being honest with herself. But it could serve a different purpose.

The little voice in her head that liked to tell her she wouldn’t know how to do this anymore was starting to whisper to her, but she shook it off. It wasn’t helpful to hold herself back, to stand in her own way. Not now, when she had nothing left to lose.

Humming to herself, she retrieved the little bag from her office that contained scissors, pins, and thread and then plopped down on the floor. She cut the scarf in two and then created puff sleeves for the dress with it, pinning them on. She pinned the waistline in so it was less of an A-line and more form flattering.

Cute , she thought, pleased with herself. The floral silk looked nice next to the polka dots, and the silhouette now felt more like Hill House—nap dress but make it designer vintage. She could make the neckline a little lower too, she thought, cutting farther into the frock, maybe a square shape.

Lola loaded thread into the machine, feeling a happy rush in her stomach when it whirred to life. And then she began sewing.

It was like she’d never stopped.

As her fingers fed the fabric through, the needle moving in and out, she entered a sort of meditative state, and she thought of the current dilemma of Aly versus Justin.

There were pros and cons to both.

Justin, she had history with. She knew what to expect from him. He’d take care of her forever. But to keep him happy, she’d have to eventually cave to what he wanted: getting married, having kids, moving to LA. Otherwise, he’d be miserable, she knew, stuck in a life he resented, which would make him resent her . Was a happy marriage just constantly choosing between her misery or his? She didn’t want to believe that. Her parents didn’t live like that. They wanted the same things. Their life together was harmonious.

That was what Lola wanted too. It was what she knew she deserved.

Not to mention the little ways she’d always had to cave to Justin—the cleanliness, the aesthetic choices, the family vacations.

Plus, there was the way he’d left her when she’d needed him the most. She could forgive him for that, but she couldn’t trust he wouldn’t do it again. Besides, if Justin hadn’t wanted her at her worst—her messy, figuring-it-out phase—why did he deserve her now, at her best? She always hoped that her true love would accept all parts of her, the bad stuff included. Justin only wanted her when she was okay. That was not a good foundation for a life together.

Lola didn’t know what to expect from a life with Aly, who was moody and unpredictable. But Aly also pushed her to be better in almost every way, opened her eyes to a whole new world of people and culture and feelings. However, Aly wanted Lola to say she was bi and would probably never stop pushing for it. Lola hated the idea of someone else deciding who she was. And the way Aly hadn’t cared at all about the Stepped Out post was unsettling.

If Justin cared too much what other people thought, Aly didn’t seem to care enough. It was why she’d been able to write the article about Lola in the first place; she didn’t think about its impact. No—she didn’t care about its impact. Because Aly thought Lola’s career and her aspirations were beneath her, and because of that, Lola hadn’t been able to figure herself out during an entire summer spent with Aly. Would she be signing up for that dynamic for the rest of her life if she stayed with Aly?

Still, she could see a future with both of them. It would be as easy as picking up the phone and saying, “I want you. Let’s do this.” Either one would welcome her back, she knew.

But in each scenario, she was sacrificing part of herself to make them happy.

She turned the dress over and began sewing the other side.

She didn’t want to have to appease Justin and his family by getting married and having kids. She didn’t want to appease Aly and her friends by coming out as bisexual when the truth was she still had no idea what identity, if any, felt right to her.

She wanted to be herself.

She wasn’t sure she could do that with either of them.

She stopped sewing as something abruptly clicked into place.

She’d been thinking about this as a choice between two people. But Aly and Justin were not the only other two people on earth. She’d left out the third option: neither of them.

Or, put differently, she could choose herself .

Which would mean being alone, something that had previously been her worst-case scenario. Come to think of it, the whole reason she’d gone to East Hampton with Ryan was to avoid being alone in this apartment—alone with her thoughts, her existence, her future. Alone with herself.

But maybe being alone wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe if she was alone, she could finally have the space to think about who she was.

Or maybe she’d been alone this whole time, regardless of who she was with.

Because what was more lonely than not being seen by the people you love?

And then, before she could think any further about what to do, she got a text from Justin.

Can I come by to talk?

She wondered how he knew she was home and then remembered the Ring camera he’d insisted they install on the front door. How annoying, to be kept track of like that. He must have gotten a notification, seen a recording of her coming home. Could he tell she had been holding her breath as she entered? Was her trepidation visible through the Ring’s lens?

She didn’t want to write back. She didn’t want to stop sewing. She wanted alone time.

But she also knew it was now or never. She might as well get this over with. She put her pins down.

Give me a couple hours to shower and get settled , she replied. But then yes. Come over.

Just tell me when , he said.

***

A few hours later, Lola’s groceries—too many, probably—had arrived. She’d then taken a much-needed shower, blow-dried her hair, actually unpacked all the way, ignored the groceries and ordered a dinner of soup dumplings (which she ate standing up), and put her sweatpants on. Finally, she couldn’t put it off any longer. She texted Justin.

While she waited for him to come by, she wondered idly if he’d knock on the door or if he’d let himself in. She already felt like he should knock, even though this was still his apartment too. Both of their names were on the lease.

With a pang, she remembered how excited they’d been to find it, how they’d walked into this empty, sparkling loft holding hands, mouthing oh my god at each other. They’d looked at a dozen or so places before finding this one, no apartment checking all their boxes until the Realtor called and said, “I think I have something perfect in Soho for you.” She remembered how they’d carried their things in together, laughing as they knocked into the walls, then eaten pizza sitting on this floor surrounded by boxes and had sex there too.

She knew many people who stayed in relationships out of a need for good housing. It was a classic NYC conundrum and understandable, given the market. She did not want to be one of those people, though she also knew she probably shouldn’t live in her dream loft by herself. It would be a colossal waste of money.

Maybe it was time to get some new dreams.

She was sitting on the couch in the living room when, within twenty minutes, she heard the sound of his key in the door. So not going to knock, then. That was fair, she supposed.

She wondered where he’d been staying—at a hotel, with a friend, or maybe with another girl? Though that last one felt unlikely after everything he’d said. Still, it was odd to imagine him with someone else, but if she was really going to go through with this, he eventually would be. Would he look at this new other person the way he’d looked at her? Probably yes. She’d find a way to be okay with it when there was someone new in the picture for Justin to love.

And then there he was. He looked a little out of breath, but otherwise not a hair was out of place, his pleated khakis crisp and his sneakers so white, it was as though they’d never been outside. He unlaced them and left them by the door before approaching her.

“Can I sit down?”

She nodded and made room for him.

“So,” he said.

Out of habit, she put her feet in his lap.

He looked pleasantly surprised. “Oh,” he said and clutched them, beginning to rub her feet between his hands.

It felt so good to be touched by him.

But she didn’t want to send mixed signals.

She pulled her legs back. “Sorry,” she said. “Muscle memory.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “So I guess I’m not moving back in.”

She steeled herself to tell him the truth.

He frowned, bracing for it.

“This is really hard to say,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Just say it,” he said softly. “Please.”

“What we had was really special,” she began. “I think in a lot of ways, I’ll always love you. But we want different things. And you shouldn’t have to compromise what you want in order to keep me.”

“But, Lola, love is about compromise,” he pressed.

She was worried this was going to turn into an argument when what she needed was for him, for once, to hear her out. “To a certain extent, sure,” she agreed, trying to be gentle so he’d stay open. “But I’m not sure you should be expected to compromise your entire lifestyle. And honestly, I wouldn’t want you to. Because I don’t want to do that either.”

“Is this because of Aly Ray Carter?” he asked, his voice rising. “Are you in love with her?”

“It’s not because of Aly,” Lola said, sidestepping the second question. “Though it’s not not , I guess. Being with her made me realize that I have so much to learn about myself. And I’m not sure I can learn those things while in a relationship.”

“With me,” he added.

“With anyone,” she corrected.

“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind,” he said, less a question than an observation.

“I’m so sorry, Justin,” she said.

“So you’re breaking up with me.” His voice was flat.

“I think we’re breaking up with each other,” she pointed out. “This was never on the table before you put it there.”

He looked at his hands. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “This is all my fault. I wish I could take it all back.”

“It’s not about fault,” she said, a wave of relief coming over her now that she’d gotten the words out. “This was going to happen sooner or later. I’m glad it’s happening now and not when we’re, like, married with five children and living in the Valley.”

“We would never live in the Valley,” he laughed.

It felt good to hear that sound. It told her that he didn’t hate her. On the contrary, he loved her and maybe even understood where she was coming from.

It gave her hope that even though their relationship was ending, she wasn’t losing him. Maybe someday they could figure out a way to be friends.

“Can I hug you?” he asked.

She nodded, and he pulled her close. She nestled her face into his neck and breathed him in. His arms tightened around her.

Their cheeks brushed as she pulled her face back to look at him. His beautiful, familiar face.

She was really going to miss it. She looked at his mouth.

His lips parted. “Lola,” he said.

She was surprised to find that she really wanted to kiss him.

She knew she shouldn’t. They were breaking up, after all. It would be irresponsible. It would send the wrong message. It would be giving into the desires of her body and neglecting her heart—and her brain, for that matter. She had come so far. Was she really going to backslide like this?

Before she could spiral any further, he kissed her .

She should stop this. It wasn’t right. But…

Their lips pressed together. She felt herself melting into him. Their tongues met. He ran his hands through her hair. He breathed into her mouth hungrily.

She pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she said, breathless and guilty. “We shouldn’t have done that. We’re breaking up.”

“I know,” he said sadly. “I just wanted to say goodbye in a way that felt…” He trailed us.

“Like us,” she said, completing his sentence.

“Like us,” he repeated, his voice low and soft.

Tears sprang out of her eyes. She wiped them away and then realized he was crying too.

“If we do this, it doesn’t negate everything we just said,” she said. “We still need to end this before anyone gets more hurt.”

“We are ending it,” he said. “It’s over. I can just leave if you want.”

She shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted. “I want closure,” she said.

“So breakup sex.” He smiled, though he was still crying.

“I’ve never had it before,” she replied.

“I’ve never had my heart broken like this before,” he said. “First time for everything, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lola said. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I never meant to hurt you either.”

And suddenly, they were kissing again. Tears mixed with saliva. She found herself in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist. He stood up, holding her, and walked them into the bedroom.

When he lowered her onto the bed, she was still holding tightly with all four limbs. He lay on top of her and kissed her deeply. She felt him hard against her, and she lifted her hips into him.

He tugged his shirt off and tossed it on the ground. She ran her hands along his biceps, which flexed as he held himself up.

She wiggled out of her shirt and her sweatpants, and then she unbuttoned his khakis. Her hands grazed the stiff top of his dick, which strained toward her under the waistband of his briefs. He kicked his pants to the ground. His underwear too.

He stretched his neck down to suck her nipple, sending shock waves through her whole body. She gasped.

He brought his mouth back to hers, his tongue pressing into her a little too firmly, but she appreciated the urgency. She felt it too.

She guided him inside her.

She was wet as hell, and he slid in easily. It felt familiar and new all at once. It made her want to cry more, the feeling of him filling her up like this. She tilted her pelvis to make room for more of him.

He buried his face into her neck. He kept a slow, steady pace. So much self-control, always. She clawed his back desperately. He was swearing under his breath. She felt his heart thundering in his chest, a slick of sweat sliding between them.

Every time they’d ever had sex in this bed played like a montage in Lola’s brain.

All their fun experiments—the handcuffs, the vibrators, the blindfolds, the body chocolate—and all their passion. Her on top. Him flipping her over. Them coming at the same time over and over and over. All the times he’d moaned her name. The way he sometimes lightly choked her. The sheets damp with their puddles of sweat. Soft caresses as well as bite marks, hickeys, scratch marks. The way she enjoyed the vanilla as much as the kink. How good it felt just to feel his skin on hers, his weight.

Not just sex in this bed, of course, but also whispered conversations. Making each other laugh until tears leaked from their eyes. Her waking in the night to feel him scooting up against her, warm and solid at her back. The smell of him on the sheets even when he was at work.

All of that was contained in this moment, her on her back, him above her, for what was probably the last time.

It was so, so sad. But there was also something so beautiful about it all. About being able to say goodbye in the same language they’d so often said I love you.

Something so final shouldn’t feel so sweet, but it did. She could feel all the pleasure that had ever transpired between them at once.

Lola felt her orgasm start to build. “Justin,” she cried. “Oh, fuck.”

He bit her neck.

And then, finally, he started going faster and harder. She felt like she was going to go blind with how good it felt. She arched her neck back. She felt him start to throb inside her.

When she came, it was less like an explosion and more like the period at the end of a sentence.

***