Page 83 of Summer and the City (The Carrie Diaries 2)

“You mean like if you married a Yankee.”

“Exactly.”

“What do all these Yankee girls you date think? Or do you just not tell them?”

“I figure most women know what they’re getting into when they date me. I never lie about my intentions.”

I look down at the sidewalk, wondering what I’m doing standing on a corner in the middle of nowhere, arguing with Capote Duncan. “I guess I should tell you the truth too. I’m the one who’s responsible for Teensie’s accident.”

“You?”

“I knew Colin had pills. He said they were aspirin. So I told Teensie to get an aspirin from him.”

It takes a moment for Capote to process this information. He rubs his eyes while I worry he’s going to turn me in. But then he tips back his head and laughs, his long curls falling over his shoulders.

“Pretty funny, huh?” I boast, preening in his approval. “I never thought she’d actually take the damn thing—”

Without warning, he cuts me off with a kiss.

I’m so surprised, I don’t respond at first as his mouth presses on mine, pushing eagerly at my lips. Then my brain catches up. I’m confounded by how nice and natural it feels, like we’ve been kissing forever. Then I get it: this is how he gets all those women. He’s a pouncer. He kisses a woman when she least expects it and once he’s got her off-balance, he maneuvers her into bed.

Not going to happen this time, though. Although a terrible part of me wishes it would.

“No.” I push him away.

“Carrie,” he says.

“I can’t.” Have I just cheated on Bernard?

Am I even with Bernard?

A lone taxi snakes down the street, light on. It’s available. I’m not. I flag it down.

Capote opens the door for me.

“Thanks,” I say.

“See ya,” he replies, as if nothing at all just happened.

I sag into the backseat, shaking my head.

What a night. Maybe it’s a good time to get out of Dodge after all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Oh,” my youngest sister, Dorrit, says, looking up from a magazine. “You’re home.”

“Yes, I am,” I say, stating the obvious. I drop my bag and open the refrigerator, more out of habit than hunger. There’s an almost-empty container of milk and a package of moldy cheese. I take out the bottle of milk and hold it up. “Doesn’t anyone bother to shop around here?”

“No,” Dorrit says sullenly. Her eyes go to my father, but he seems oblivious to her displeasure.

“I’ve got all my girls home!” he exclaims, overcome with emotion.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about my father: his excessive sentimentality. I’m glad there’s still a remnant of my old father left. Because otherwise, he appears to have been taken over by an alien.

First off, he’s wearing jeans. My father has never worn jeans in his life. My mother wouldn’t allow it. And he’s sporting Ray-Ban sunglasses. But most bewildering of all is his jacket. It’s by Members Only and it’s orange. When I stepped off the train, I barely recognized him.

He must be going through a midlife crisis.