Page 23 of Hotter in the Hamptons
It was late morning on her thirtieth birthday, and every surface of Lola’s apartment was covered in flowers.
There were bouquets of roses, sunflowers, lilies, tulips, peonies, sweet peas. Every time she put a new bunch into a vase of water, there would be another knock on her door with a delivery for her. Soon the floor was covered in petals like there had been a parade.
Eventually the air became so thick with sweet pollen that she had to open a window, and as she pushed the glass up, the comforting, dissonant sounds of Soho traffic and pedestrians floated in on a cool autumn breeze.
Lola’s heart felt so full, she wasn’t sure it could be contained in her chest.
Some of the senders, she knew. Her parents had sent a particularly cute bunch of daisies and a card that said, “Happiest birthday to our favorite girl. Can’t wait to celebrate you tonight. Every year you amaze us with your strength, heart, and creative soul. We love you so much.”
Her team—well, her ex-team—had sent white roses and a simple card that read: “Happy birthday, Lola!” They were still so thirsty for her, despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken since she broke up with them.
Other senders she had to strain to remember—old clients and other influencers that felt like they belonged in someone else’s life.
She took a picture of her living room spilling over with bouquets and posted it to Instagram with the caption: Goodbye 29, and thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. I’m feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
She hit Post and then tossed her phone onto the couch, not immediately refreshing it like she used to in order to watch the likes and comments roll in. Instead, she went to the kitchen and began prepping to make her perfect birthday breakfast: French toast with strawberries.
Her mom had taught her how to make French toast when she was little, how to soak the bread in a mix of cream, eggs, and cinnamon before frying in butter. The warm smell made her homesick for lazy California Sundays with her family. She was so glad Ryan had invited her parents to dinner tonight and that they were actually coming. They’d arrive at JFK this afternoon and stay nearby at the Crosby Street Hotel, which Ryan had booked for them with his PR discount.
In fact, Ryan had put himself in charge of her whole birthday dinner too, which was his present to her. Not that there was much to do this time around other than make the reservation.
Last year for her birthday, Lola had rented out the downstairs of Jean’s, a swanky secret club under a restaurant on Lafayette, and asked Veronica to blast the invite out to basically everyone who mattered in NYC, whether Lola knew them personally or not. A discerning publicist managed the list at the door. Lola, clad in a slinky, silver Rabanne dress that barely contained her curves, had gotten blackout drunk on vodka shots and thrown up in the Uber on the way home. Justin later held her hair back while she retched over the toilet. He had really been a good sport for that one.
She would not, she decided, flipping her French toast over, miss her twenties.
This year was more grown-up and intimate. They had a reservation at 7:00 p.m. at a nice restaurant. No private room. She’d wear a red silk Victoria Beckham dress that had been in her closet for a while. She would not, under any circumstance, be throwing up in an Uber. Or anywhere.
She was surprised by how excited she was to turn thirty, an age that once felt like it represented so much—like when you hit it, you were supposed to have checked all the boxes of adult milestones. She had, at the very least, expected to be married by now, to be settled in her career. And here she was, starting over instead. What an incredible gift.
Part of the problem, she thought, chopping strawberries and then sprinkling them on top of the golden-brown slices, was that to a young person, thirty sounds like the end of something—not just youth but its potential, as though you better have it all figured out by the end of your twenties, because nothing can ever change after that.
Of course, as Lola now knew, thirty was only the beginning.
Her whole life stretched out ahead of her, glittering with promise. She heated up some maple syrup and then drowned the French toast in it.
While she ate breakfast, she doodled idly in her new drafting notebook, a sketch of a dress design copied from one of her textbooks. She was still working up the courage to fully commit to fashion drawing, but what she’d created so far was encouraging, and her professors were enthusiastic about the talent she was already showing two weeks into her certificate courses.
She finished drawing the dress, and then, because it was her birthday, she drew a huge bow at its waist.
***
Lola spent the afternoon doing her favorite things. She went to the Beacon’s Closet near NYU, trying on Gen Z’s trendy castoffs; she got a manicure at Salon M, choosing Big Apple Red for her short, round nails; she got a blowout at Jenna Perry; she stopped into some of the interior design boutiques near her apartment, looking for inspiration.
Now that Justin had moved all his stuff out, her home felt alarmingly bare. She was itching to redecorate. She had filled several Pinterest boards with photos of other people’s homes. She gravitated toward images with lots of rich colors and decadent patterns, power clashing. But she was also trying to be more financially responsible now that she wasn’t taking on new brand deals. So for now, her walls remained bare.
It was not lost on her that she was spending the entire afternoon of her birthday alone, something that would have horrified her just a year ago. But it was exactly what she wanted. She loved the feeling of spontaneity, of following her instincts as she wandered in and out of shops, not having to consult with anyone else on the series of micro-decisions and content opportunities that make up a day. She felt free.
Finally, it was almost 5:00 p.m., and she couldn’t kill any more time. She went back home to get ready for dinner.
As she did her makeup in the bathroom mirror, she got a text from Colette: Can’t wait to celebrate you tonight!
Over the past few weeks, Lola and Colette had hung out so many times, she’d lost count. The first time was to meet over coffee to discuss their work together. They’d stayed so long, talking about everything from their childhoods to their dating histories to their favorite designers, the coffee shop asked them to leave because it was closing time. After that, they simply got together to walk around different neighborhoods, popping into little vintage stores as Lola began to assemble Colette’s book tour looks.
Colette apologized several times to Lola for her behavior in Cherry Grove. The first time, while they walked down Mulberry Street drinking oat milk lattes, Colette said, “I think I was so mean to you at first because it freaked me out to see Carter with another girl who looked like a model. It really had nothing to do with you. I just kept thinking, if that’s her type, why did she ever date me? Did she even like me at all? I couldn’t stop comparing myself to you, and I’m really sorry.”
Lola had already forgiven Colette, but it was nice to hear. “It’s really okay,” she promised. “For the record, you do look like a model. But I get it. None of us should be judged by our worst moments.”
Colette had narrowed her eyes at Lola and then grinned. “You’re kind of wise,” she’d said.
Colette apologized two more times after that, until Lola told her to stop. “I’m not dwelling on it, and neither should you,” Lola said and hugged her.
Lola had never really been a girl’s girl, and she was starting to realize how much she’d missed out on because of that. Having Colette as a friend was one of her favorite parts of her new single life.
Even Aly was okay with it. I had a feeling you’d become friends , Aly texted Colette after Lola had begged Colette to get Aly’s official blessing on the situation. Lola felt weird about them hanging out so much without Aly knowing. Aly had added: It makes me happy. Don’t worry. Have fun. Maybe someday I’ll tag along too. I’m not ready yet, but I hope someday I will be.
“See?” Colette had waved her phone in Lola’s face, showing her the texts. “She’s much chiller than she makes herself seem.”
Lola had laughed. With the worry about Aly’s feelings lifted, they became even closer.
Now, she texted back, Thanks, love. See you so soon!
***
Lola wore her pink Miu Miu flats so she could walk the ten minutes to Café Altro Paradiso without getting blisters.
It was one of those perfect September evenings when it’s finally cool enough for a leather jacket but warm enough that you’re not shivering. She’d recently scored an oversized black motorcycle jacket from L Train Vintage in Williamsburg, one of the only destinations that could make a trip into Brooklyn worth it. She thought it looked cool with her red, bias-cut silk dress; it signaled that she was chic, but she was still fun .
The sun was setting over Soho, reflecting off the concrete in gold and lilac. Lola couldn’t help smiling to herself as she walked up to the blue awning of the restaurant, and people walking by her smiled back. It was contagious, this kind of joy.
A handsome man with thick, black hair and dimples leaving the restaurant held the door for Lola with a twinkle in his eye. She smirked at him, her face growing hot as she entered, but didn’t turn to look back at him once she was inside because there, in the center of the dining room, at a long table lit by candles, were the people she loved most in this world.
Her parents wore their reading glasses as they peered over a menu together, her mom in a purple knit cardigan and her dad in a blue button-down. Across from them were Ryan and Emmett, holding hands, looking fashionable as hell in their designer T-shirts. Down the table, Colette, in a black slip dress, was there with Jess, who wore a navy chore jacket.
Lola took a sly picture of them before approaching. She wanted to remember her friends and family like this, waiting for her.
All throughout the restaurant, groups of people were leaning toward each other, laughing warmly over bottles of wine and plates of pasta. The golden light from the sunset trickling through the big windows combined with the candlelight on the tables gave the space an enchanted feeling, like anything could happen here. The air itself seemed to sparkle. Every face that Lola’s eyes landed on was more beautiful than the next.
“There she is!” Ryan cried, leaping out of his chair and hugging her. “The birthday girl has arrived.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for organizing this,” she said.
He waved her gratitude away. “Anything for you.”
She hugged both her parents at once, letting them envelop her with their softness and warmth.
“You look great, honey,” Jeanette said.
“So do you,” Lola said. “Was the flight okay?”
“Totally fine.”
Her mom’s hair was dyed auburn and cut into a chin-length bob; her reading glasses hung from a chain on her neck. She smelled like Chanel No. 5 and Dove soap—like home.
“Happy birthday, kiddo,” Roger, whose graying hair had receded significantly since the last time she saw him, said. “The big three-oh. Jesus. Last I checked, it was your mother’s thirtieth birthday, so I’m really not sure where the time went.”
Lola laughed. “Mom still looks thirty.”
“No, I definitely don’t.” Jeanette grinned, her face full of deep laugh lines that told a thousand stories.
Lola hugged Colette and Jess. “I’m obsessed with your parents,” Jess said.
“Me too,” Lola replied.
After Lola finished hugging everyone around the table, she finally sat down and then eyed an open chair.
“Ryan, who is that for?”
“Oh, I totally forgot to tell you,” he said sheepishly. “I hope it’s okay. Giancarlo’s in town and wanted to have dinner with me. I told him I could only see him if he came to my best friend’s birthday, not thinking he’d actually come, but…” Before he could finish, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a perfectly tailored suit and Prada loafers, approached.
“Giancarlo!” Ryan said, standing up to shake the man’s hand. “I was just telling Lola you might come.”
“Happy birthday, Lola,” Giancarlo said, sitting next to her. “Thanks for letting me crash your dinner.”
“Wow, hi,” Lola said, grinning. “I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.”
He laughed. “Why’s that?”
“Your East Hampton house. It’s amazing. Thank you so much for letting us stay there this summer.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” he said. “I was glad it was occupied by someone I trust.” He patted Ryan’s arm.
“What are you doing in town?” Lola asked. “Ryan said you live full-time in…” She trailed off, unable to remember where he called home.
“I wouldn’t say I’m really full-time anywhere these days,” he replied. “But my husband’s work keeps us in Los Angeles mostly. I’m here with our daughter. She just graduated college and insisted on moving to the big city.”
Lola’s parents perked up. “Sounds familiar.” Jeanette smiled. “They always want to go as far away as possible, don’t they?”
Lola rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “It’s not my fault California and New York are on opposite sides of the country,” she said.
“Where is she moving to?” Emmett asked.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Giancarlo said, taking a sip of water. “We spent all day looking at one-bedrooms downtown, and I swear, this girl is Goldilocks. Nothing was just right for her.”
“What is she looking for?” Ryan asked. “I’m sure between everyone at this table, we can ask around. Sometimes in New York, you just have to know the right people.”
Before Giancarlo could answer, the waiter came over and took their drink orders. Lola ordered a bottle of champagne for the table and a round of martinis for everyone.
She wasn’t going to get blackout drunk, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to have fun.
When the waiter left, Giancarlo said, “She thinks she’s going to be able to find a roomy loft in Soho with natural light, in a doorman building. Imagine? In the year 2024, finding something like that?”
Lola tilted her head to the side.
“A loft in Soho,” Colette echoed. “That sounds like where Lola lives.”
“Oh, you’ll have to give me your Realtor’s info,” Giancarlo said.
Lola nodded. “I will,” she said, though even as she said it, she felt another idea brewing.
Their drinks came, and the champagne was poured around the table.
Lola clinked her fork on her flute and everyone looked at her. “Thank you all so much for coming,” she said, beaming at the people around her. “I love you all so much. I know I’ve been a lot over the past year. Well, maybe I’ve always been a lot.”
Her parents laughed.
“The truth is I’ve always been so afraid to be alone. But looking at all of you here, what I’m realizing is that I’ve never been alone, and I never will be, no matter what.”
Her mom took her reading glasses off to wipe a tear away. Across the table, Colette beamed at her. Ryan squeezed her knee.
“I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be making toasts about you ,” her dad said, raising his glass. “To Lola. Who is only just getting started.”
Lola’s throat constricted like she might cry, but it was canceled out by the warm, floaty sort of glow she felt in her chest.
They clinked their glasses, every combination of people making sure to look in each other’s eyes as they did for good luck, and then they all took a sip. Bright, sweet champagne bubbles fizzed in Lola’s mouth.
“So what are you two doing while you’re in town?” Colette asked Jeanette and Roger.
“Lola is going to take us to all her favorite places,” Jeanette replied. “So I think we’re about to spend a lot of money.”
Everyone laughed. “It’s not my fault I have good taste.” Lola shrugged, amused. She loved going shopping with her mom.
“And maybe a museum or two if there’s time,” Roger added. “And we also have some old friends to see, so we won’t be in Lola’s hair for too long.”
“I want you guys in my hair,” Lola said, though she also appreciated that they had their own plans.
The waiter came to take their food orders. Lola let Ryan handle it.
While Ryan talked to the waiter about the specials and everyone’s various dietary restrictions, Jeanette asked Colette about her book. Emmett and Giancarlo talked about work. Roger and Jess discovered they had mutual friends in production. And Lola simply sat there, vibrating with happiness just looking at all of them together.
***
When the meal was done, the waiter brought a slice of flourless chocolate cake with a single lit candle in it and placed it in front of Lola.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to sing,” Ryan said. “You do have to make a wish, though.”
Lola closed her eyes.
The only wish she could think of was that her thirties would be full of as much joy as she felt in that moment.
She blew the candle out.
Everyone clapped, including a few people at nearby tables. She grinned goofily at an attractive woman with short, brown hair sitting at the table next to them, who smiled back and then held her eye contact for a few seconds longer.
Colette, clocking the exchange, gave Lola a friendly nudge under the table.
Lola was blushing as she pushed the cake into the center of the table. “You guys do have to help me eat this,” she said. Then she turned to Giancarlo. “So would your daughter be interested in a sublet?”
Ryan gasped.
Giancarlo looked interested, tapping his fingers on the table. “Tell me more.”
“I’ve been thinking of moving somewhere more modest while I’m in school. But I don’t want to give up my loft altogether. It’s a dream apartment. I’d love to hang on to the lease until I feel like it’s financially responsible to live there again.”
“I’m sure we’d love to come see it,” he replied. “How’s tomorrow?”
After they made plans for Giancarlo and his daughter to come by in the morning, Ryan said, “Where would you move to?”
“Brooklyn?” Colette suggested.
At the same time, Ryan and Lola said, “Not Brooklyn.”
Jess snorted.
“I was thinking maybe Alphabet City,” Lola said.
“What about Dimes Square?” Jess asked.
“Oh, I am so not hip enough for Dimes Square,” Lola replied, shoveling a forkful of cake into her mouth.
“I don’t know about that,” Colette replied. “You’re about to be an up-and-coming fashion designer. You’re cool, Lola. Get used to it.”
Lola shrugged, quietly thrilled. She liked the idea that she was cool enough for Manhattan’s hippest downtown neighborhood, but she still didn’t want to live there. She didn’t want to be in an area where she was constantly trying to prove herself.
Her parents insisted on paying for dinner, despite the fact that every single other person at the table offered to handle the bill.
Afterward, everyone hugged goodbye, and Lola felt an old pang watching all the other couples break off and go into the night together. She shook it off quickly. This was what she’d wanted. And she didn’t feel bad for herself, not really. She loved herself. And until she found someone who would love this new version of her too, that was enough.
***
When Lola got to her building, Hector was not at his usual post by the front door. She yanked it open herself, and when she got inside, she saw him, the super, and a few of her neighbors gathered around the front desk, looking at something she couldn’t see.
She approached them. “What’s that?” she asked, and someone moved over to let her into the circle.
On the desk was a cardboard box. It was lined with a rumpled plaid shirt.
And full of kittens.
“Oh my god.” Lola’s heart swelled.
There were six of them, each a different color. Black, gray, calico, tabby, orange, white. A couple were sleeping in little balls, but the rest were wiggling around, meowing at each other and the people who gazed down at them.
“I found them in the basement,” the super told Lola. “Mama Cat nowhere in sight.”
“Animal control is on its way,” Hector said.
“Animal control?” Lola gasped. “They’re not going to kill them, are they?”
“No, no,” Hector reassured her. “They’re taking them to a shelter.”
Lola leaned her face closer to the kittens and made eye contact with the calico one. And then, out of nowhere, it pounced on her, landing on her chest.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Hello, little friend.”
The kitten rubbed its face under her chin and began to vibrate.
“I think you just got claimed,” one of the neighbors, a younger woman in yoga pants and a ponytail, said.
“Well, shit,” Lola laughed. The kitten continued to burrow into her, purring. “I think you might be right.” She rested her hands on its warm, little body. She was overcome by the affection. By how small it was. By how much it seemed to need her and how good that felt.
She could not imagine putting the kitten back in the box and walking away.
She knew, in no uncertain terms, that she would be going through the next fifteen to twenty years of her life with this kitten—well, cat soon—curled up next to her. The cat would see her go through life’s ups and downs, experience things she couldn’t even yet imagine. The decision made itself.
Hector beamed at her. “Happy birthday, Lola.”
She tickled the kitten. “What do you think, pal? You want to come live with me?” The kitten dug its talons into her dress, which she took to mean yes.
“I guess I’m a cat mom now,” she said. “Or what are we saying these days? A childless cat lady?”
The neighbors laughed. The kitten let out a high-pitched meow.
She zipped the kitten up into her jacket, where it nestled itself into a little ball, purring the whole elevator ride up to her apartment.
In the morning, after Giancarlo came by, she’d take it to a vet to make sure it was okay. Then she’d scour the city for the best pet products. A litter box. All-natural cat food. Some sort of scratchy tower so it wouldn’t destroy her couch. She’d name it something cute. Tabitha, maybe.
She’d set Zillow to show her pet-friendly apartments in Alphabet City, and when Giancarlo’s daughter sublet her apartment—as Lola knew she would; the loft was perfect, even for Goldilocks—she and Tabitha would move in somewhere cozy and start a new life together.
She lay on the couch and felt the kitten’s little body melting into hers. This tiny creature, so trusting of her that it had leapt into her arms. The kitten wasn’t afraid of love. Lola wasn’t either. On the contrary, she was wide open to it.
After a few minutes, she got up, gently placing Tabitha on the sofa. The kitten glanced up at her before curling up in the corner and falling back asleep.
Lola went to the window. The city sprawled out below, thrumming with the promise of a new beginning. She should probably go to bed soon, but she was too wired to sleep, too happy.
Then, remembering she had an assignment due Monday morning, she went to her sewing machine and resumed working on a ruffled blouse she’d be presenting for critique. It was a more complicated design than she’d ever tried, and she’d already had to start over a few times before getting it right. She still wasn’t sure this version would be the final one, if it would fall the way she wanted it to, if it would feel both classic and unique. But if not, she’d just start again. It was more important to get it right than to declare it finished just for the sake of being done. At any rate, she loved the process. She realized she was smiling to herself as she flipped the garment over to sew the other side.
She wondered as she worked what she would tell herself at twenty-two if she could go back in time and give herself advice. If she would tell herself to focus on a career that made her happy, not what was making her money the fastest; if she would tell herself not to date someone who wanted different things. But if she’d known all that in her twenties, she’d probably have less gratitude for where she’d landed at thirty. As it was, she knew how lucky she was, how hard-won the layout of her life was.
So, she thought, finishing the blouse’s left shoulder, she supposed that meant that even if she could, she wouldn’t change a thing about her life so far. Not even the hard parts. The hard parts had made her who she was. She was at once stronger and more vulnerable than she’d been when she was younger. And she was so thankful for all the heartbreak that had broken down her walls and allowed her to rebuild herself as someone better. She hoped the rest of her life would be full of such opportunities for change and growth. She had a feeling it would be—as long as she was open to it.
And she was.