In the end, she doesn't choose you.
It's not like you expected her to; she doesn't even know you were in the running. There was Louis, her fiancée and prince, a predictable stability she always coveted. There was Chuck, always Chuck, an epic passion she thought meant destiny and forever. So your expectations, for once, finally amount.
Your love is as invisible to her as you were to everyone in high school.
Lonely Boy has never been so apt.
You don't remember when you fell in love with Blair Waldorf. Blair fucking Waldorf—the Queen B(itch) of the Upper East Side. She threw yogurt in your hair, belittled your ego and mocked your lack of wealth. She banished your little sister like a petty and jealous ex-girlfriend. She ruled the top steps at the Met only because she could, afforded a decadence when the rest of the county and world barely made ends meet.
You wanted to write her as the privileged elitist bitch. Strangely, she's loyal and surprisingly kind. She's more insecure and flawed than evil and envious. Her father left her mother for another man. Her mother would rather work than spend time with her. Her best friend slept with her boyfriend. She didn't get Yale. She didn't get to bake her cake and eat it too.
So again: you are surprised you don't remember when you fell for this she-demon. You're a writer; you document memories like a stenographer documents court hearings. And you don't know how you end up at MoMa together, how she rests her head on your shoulder in Brooklyn at 2 AM, how you argue about nothing and everything, how you laugh about little, how you expect her to come barging in the loft at all hours.
It felt natural.
And now she's going to be a princess.
The Queen 'B' of the Upper East Side is promoted to princess on a cool day in January. Blair Waldorf marries Louis Grimaldi in front of nearly 400 people in the largest Catholic Church in New York.
They wanted a small, intimate wedding it seems.
The guest list is as prestigious and elite as expected. Monaco royalty and friends traveled to New York for the grand affair as well as all of their friends, acquaintances, and business associates. The Upper East Side is oddly proud to be invited: it's the hottest event since last month's grand party. Only the best of the best have been invited to the latest social event of the season.
Nearly 700 people arrive for the reception to pretend-to-eat-cake, dance awkwardly, drink too much champagne, assess and destroy the outfits, mingle with the best and brightest and take advantage of the open bar. You are not one of these people.
The day Blair Waldorf is married you take a taxi to JFK and pick the first flight out of New York.
You remember how simple it used to be. It was you, your dad, your mom, and you sister together in one happy, middle class family from Brooklyn. Or at least, it felt happy. You had a dad for a best guy friend, Vanessa as your fellow artistic and deep soul, your mom to hold the family together, and a sister to keep you grounded.
So it didn't matter much that you took the train an hour each day to learn around a bunch of trust-fund elitist insiders. And it definitely didn't matter that they treated you like scum, grim of the earth. It didn't matter that you had one other friend in the world until she moved away.
Except, it did.
Because dad was struggling to make rent with the private school education for you and Jen. Mom decided to bail but dad and Jen have failed to realize she left us. Jenny was changing more and more into less of a kid sister and more into a social climber.
It was before junior year of St. Jude's but after you fell in love with Serena at first sight. You thought it was the worst time in your life.
It doesn't even begin to compare right now.
In an ironic twist of fate, the destination is Philadelphia.
You haven't been to Philadelphia since the school field trips and the awkward family trip your dad planned to try and save his marriage when you were in ninth grade.
Granted, you could just drive or take the train: it is two and a half hours at most. But you are determined to stick to impulsive (which has never been your thing) and that means taking a flight that will take longer form being on the tarmac and waiting for the plane than it would from driving or taking the train.
The flight is nice enough, the flight attendant staring at you strangely for your formal wear. You want to think of how the price of the ticket surely ate away your bank account, but you don't care.
You're just glad you've landed down.
Several months after the accident that killed her baby and nearly killed her lover, Blair gets married. In some swear/prayer to God for Chuck Bass's life, she decides to marry Louis. She insists that this is out of love and respect to this great man. She confesses to you it's because Chuck took himself out of the running. Chuck can't be with her because he blames himself for the accident. You kind of pity her that she doesn't see she can be happy without them and that she isn't even willing to try.
Before the wedding and the planning, you end up going to therapy with her for support. Really, you've taken it upon yourself to be the white knight for the princess-to-be (all the girls you love, really).
"So you must be Dan," the therapist assumes.
Blair interrupts, as per usual. "Yes, he's Humphrey. Now, why did I have to bring him again?"
The therapist looks on blankly, professionally. "I thought it would be wise to have someone here for support. I only suggested Dan because he has been through all of this with you. If Dan feels uncomfortable being here…"
They turn on you, looking for something. You stutter out, "Uh, no. This is fine. Great really. Thanks for inviting me to one of these…things."
Blair nearly groans. "God, Humphrey. Could you be more socially awkward? It's like you cannot not embarrass me." She makes a show of turning to the therapist. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"
You kind of smile at that, charmed against your will but not ready to back down. "Naturally, my sole purpose in life is to heel at your insults."
The therapist smiles at the two of you. Blair holds her tongue from another insult, tries to glare you to death when the therapist writes something in her notes. "Let's get to business."
Philadelphia is a good place for a story, you determine. Better than New York.
All good stories (except your favorites) are set in New York. It's a New York love affair, a New York crime scene, a New York comedy, a New York drama. New York is big, timeless, romantic, loud, adventurous, wealthy, extravagant. The city never sleeps.
New York is home. The last place you want to be.
You go to Philadelphia—the city of brotherly love. It's not big, not timeless, not romantic, not loud, not adventurous, not wealthy, not extravagant. It is a lot smaller than New York, set in its history, pragmatic, quieter, quainter, more working class than anything. You're not sure if it sleeps, but it probably hibernates from time to time.
It's not home. You are eternally grateful.
The day of the wedding has all the jittery nerves he expects from Louis, and none from Blair. For the happiest day in her life, she seems rather resigned for this marriage.
She looks absolutely gorgeous though, a beautiful fitted dress from some famous designer you sort of met (fitted so perfectly too, you note, that she doesn't even look like she was ever pregnant). Her hair is up, makeup on, but there is no spark. She looks like any other girl on her wedding day.
She doesn't look like Blair.
"Humphrey, why are you lurking about?" She can see your reflection from the mirror, doesn't turn around to greet. She's looking for flaws that aren't there. "Shouldn't you be with Louis and the other groomsmen?" That's right. You almost forgot you were a groomsmen; a pity role you are sure that Louis did not come up with on his own.
Your hands are in your pockets, you barely move an inch. You're mesmerized at her beauty and stature, how lost it seems. How lost she seems. Blair has never seen you so quiet, it throws her a little.
"I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. But I suppose that doesn't apply to unkempt groomsmen with Jeff Buckley hair."
"I like breaking Upper East Side laws. It makes me feel young."
She turns around, the dress swooshing with her. A rare smile on her face. "It feels like such a long time ago, doesn't it?"
It does, in a way. Blair is getting married. You've been published. You are both friends now. Both of your wildest dreams are coming true. It's everything imaginable.
It doesn't, in a way. Blair's trading one crown for another. You are trading one secretly-pining-love-for-a-girl for another. You aren't happy. You hope Blair is, at least.
"It's called growing up," you finally say. "We're both getting what we always wanted. We're both choosing everything we always wanted. We're both happy."
Raw pain. You can see it in her eyes. Feel it in her aura.
"Yeah, happy." She looks like she will cry. You embrace her in a hug you revel in too much; she doesn't reject it or ruin the moment. You kiss her on the cheek, something that surprises her. You rub her hand soothingly before you hear Serena and Eleanor calling for her.
You walk away, looking for your place.
Philadelphia, on a cool night in January, is full of possibilities. The only possessions on you are this stupid Monaco tuxedo, your cell phone, your wallet and a crushed up flower. You walk in the city aimlessly; it's easy enough to figure out a place to buy new clothes. Easily navigable by a compass; it is not nearly as complicated as New York.
That's why you're here after all.
You walked down the aisle with Serena, who seemed so bubbly and happy and Serena it is no wonder how you fell in love with her all those years ago. It feels natural, walking down the aisle with your oldest friend.
You listen to the wedding march begin, you watch as Blair is accompanied down the aisle by not one but two father figures.
You wait for the inevitable objections Chuck will say, you wait for them to run off together.
You suspect Blair and Louis are waiting too. It never comes.
You hear Louis say the vows you wrote, watch Blair become enamored and more confident when she says yes.
You take it all in as the girl you are in love with for almost a year marries another man.
Philadelphia has a very different vibe about it than New York. In New York, you can walk down the streets and everything will be open. Philadelphia isn't like that. You are walking in the Chestnut shopping square, watching stores close up one by one at no later than 10 o'clock. You manage to find one store before it closes; buy some normal middle-class clothes, change. You leave your three thousand dollar tuxedo in the dressing room, to the amusement of the hipster employees.
You exit the store, check your phone for the first time. 2 missed phone calls in the four hours you have been missing. One was from the local library, the other from your dad.
It's about time you found a bar.
Author's Note:
So, I started this in like December, and realized it will become really stupid to publish this later than the wedding air date. Whatever.
I really like Dan and his point of view on the world; I relate to him and Blair a lot when they aren't marrying princes or taking care of Russian mob babies.
This can be considered a Dair story, I suppose, but I think it's more about growing up. Not sure how long it will go for.
Updated: I figured out how to in-edit this bitch. Sorry about the line breaks before. Also, reviews are cool.
