Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
AN: This was first posted in 2009. I felt some minor changes were necessary, so I'm re-posting. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I wrote this before the whole TS debacle. Think about pre-Serena Tripp. He was a charmer, right?
Why you keep me around?
When you can have any guy in this town
Am I the best you hope for
Just the best that you found
-Tyler Hilton "Kicking My Heels"
June
Sometimes I wonder if he knew he was going to be taken from me. I think about how long it took for him to actually open up to me, the years before we actually got together. Now I spend my time wondering on what could have been.
After all, I have forever. Loneliness is hard to escape in this eternity.
It was supposed to be a simple family reunion, as simple as their family could get. This one was being held during the summertime, when the sun is bright and the green grass plentiful.
Blair arrives on time with the majority of the family. He is supposed to come later. A senior partner mentions a case that would boost his career.
He never comes.
It was a double funeral. Both brother and sister worked hard. He, so he could come home to me. She, so she could go home to her husband.
Maureen and I had never been close, even though I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. When I look back on those memories, I often sigh with disdain. How carefree I had been back then, only superficial worries on my mind and Nate Archibald on my arm.
Of course, he was pained with this loss, but not nearly as much as I was. I couldn't even say his name.
She dives into work like she used to dive into school. Long hours require her brain to dwell on other matters, matters not relating to the heart. She relishes the feeling, taking on more and more.
She doesn't need rest. Sleep is for the weak and the weak spend their time mourning. She grieves in the unwelcome beating of her heart, a telltale sign that she is still alive. Without the sound, she isn't sure anybody can classify her as living.
A year.
It's been a year and they expect me to come as if nothing has changed. I'm not even officially part of the family and they expect me to come celebrate the fact that I never will.
I will come because they ask. I will come because I make no plans outside of work. I will come because I have nothing left.
It has all become the same to me, every passing day. Sometimes, the thought of living without him becomes almost unbearable. The second my thoughts dwell on anything remotely desperate with despair, I can clearly hear his voice in my head telling me to live for him.
All I can ever do is cry, hoping that the next day will be better. It's a hopeless cause.
Her husband is here. Blair supposes he has to come because he is a part of the family. Or rather, she was a part of his.
Tripp looks old and weary, far more grownup than his thirty three years. He barely gives her a passing glance as he peeks past his Tolstoy. Her eyes linger a bit longer when she realizes he reads it in its native Russian.
She makes her way back to the party, talking to people she feels obligated to talk to. She may still be in deep distress, but she can put on an act like Keira Knightley during the awards show season.
I don't want to remember, but I think it would hurt too much to forget.
Sometimes the pain gets to be too much that I want to let some of it out, but I know these are not healthy thoughts. It is times like these that I distinctly hear his voice scolding me, calling me selfish. I don't know whether I like these near visions or not.
I think I want to think bad things just so I know he still cares.
Nate comes to see Blair a year and two months after the accident. What starts as a random visit begins spawning into more visits. Monthly visits turn into weekly ones. Soon enough, a tradition is born.
He thinks she's getting better when she cuts back her hours at work to sixty in order to make time for him. They eat, watch movies, and drink plenty of red wine, but he doesn't push her to talk until she's ready.
Sometimes, she wishes he had been this attentive when they had been dating.
It was an accident.
It was a long day at work, so I rushed to get home. It was a Wednesday, which meant Nate was coming over at eight o'clock for risotto and wine.
I fumbled for my keys as I balanced a quilted tote and the sizeable Serafina's bag that housed our food. When I got through the door, I forgot about the fresh flowers in the vase by the door.
One second, I was worrying about dinner. The next, it was two days later and a new vase greeted me in Lenox Hill.
His parents looked worried. Serena was crying. Nate was angry, his fists curled into balls. There was a shadow of someone else, someone familiar, but he slipped through the cracks before I could identify him properly.
It didn't matter. I could hear him again. He was yelling at me to pull it together for him.
I fell asleep smiling.
It is just another day at work. Most days are the same. They rarely change. This one is slightly different because Blair has to go meet prospective clients.
They are important. The unimportant ones stop by the office.
It is just a day. She steps out of her office on West 58th Street to enjoy the cool autumn air, when she slows down from her brisk New York pace to a slower, more tourist-like speed. She feels relaxed as she breathes in the air, more calm than she has been in months.
She steps into the street to hail a cab when one almost fishtails into her. An arm yanks her out of the way at near inhuman speed as she gasps in shock.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Blair looks into Tripp's stormy eyes, not able to say anything. He sighs, not thrilled by her silence. He tells the cab driver they're suing before leading her to his Maserati. He ushers her into the car before following her in. Blair thinks she whispers some directions to the driver, but she isn't really listening.
She doesn't really pay attention to anything anymore.
I can't seem to stop thinking about my near death experience with the cab. I know I don't want to die, but sometimes I just feel like it'd be easier on everybody else if I could just get over it.
But, I don't want to get over it. I don't want to get over him.
I'm being unfair, sounding like the petulant monster I was at Constance. I know this, but I can't stop it. Maybe I should finally do what he wanted me to. I would live for him. I would live for me.
At least, I could try.
It is a cloudy day in the Hamptons when Nate tries to usher Blair to the door, hoping they can spend the day together. She isn't eager to leave the house. She's never eager to do anything.
But, he pushes her to do it for him – for Nate him, not him him – so she merely sighs lazily and heads outside with him.
She asks, "What are we going to do, anyway? The day is getting grayer by the minute. I don't want to be outside."
Nate points out, "You don't want to be inside, either. Let's go for a drive."
She argues weakly, "There's one street," but he shakes his head at her.
"You're driving," he smiles.
She replies, "I'm not following."
"Come on," he tugs on her arm, "I'll teach you."
It is here that her feet feel like they are attached to the ground with some superior form of superglue. She shakes her head vehemently, her hair dangerous in the westbound wind.
Her voice is flat, but even when she tells him, "I don't want to."
"Blair," Nate sighs, "You've always wanted to know how to drive."
"No, I haven't," she quietly lies, hoping her calm façade won't fade, "I want to go inside."
Another sigh, then, "Blair."
She blurts out, "I only ever wanted to learn from Carter," faster than she can hold it in, before turning on her heel and heading back inside.
It is the first time she has said his name in over a year. This fact is not lost on Nate, but Blair seems to forget it as fast as it comes. On her way in, she barely avoids brushing shoulders with Tripp who watches on with cool curiosity.
I don't know what Nate was thinking. He knows I don't want to learn how to drive. Not from him, anyway. He pushes too hard and I fear I'm not ready to go yet.
I don't think I want to hang out with Nate as often anymore.
I wonder if learning a language will help pass the time. I already know French. Maybe I can learn Italian. It would come in handy during fashion week in Milan. Or maybe I can learn Spanish. Barcelona's pretty this time of year.
Or maybe I can do something completely different, like enroll in a Russian course at Columbia. That would be enjoyable, right? I think I want to learn a completely different tongue that's written in a vastly different alphabet. I could take it one step further and sign up for Mandarin or Japanese.
Or I could do what I've been doing since he passed: absolutely nothing worthy of noting on paper, or otherwise. It's the easiest thing to do. I like to drift about through life easily now. It's simpler. Simple doesn't hurt my heart.
Everyone turns to look when Chuck takes time from his busy schedule to try to get Blair to eat. She's visibly thinner, a fact he clearly states aloud to her. She merely seems to ignore him as he tries to whisk her away to lunch.
They make it to the Central Park Boathouse where he tries to force feed her crab cakes and his pork tenderloin, but she barely makes it past her chilled soup. Her snapper remains untouched as she greedily gulps on sauvignon blanc.
It's not lost on him that she doesn't even like white wine.
Chuck begins to raise his voice at her, telling her to get over this, when she raises her eyes to meet his. She wants to say something, anything, but her tongue is tied in her mouth and she can't speak.
She doesn't go to lunch with Chuck again.
I thought I was fine. I can't even get lunch with an old friend. I suppose you can't really call it lunch if you don't eat, though. I guess I can't even get drinks with an old friend.
Calling Chuck an old friend brings an expression to my face that I haven't felt in a long time. Maybe I'll apologize one day. It won't be too soon. I'm not ready and I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
There's nothing I hate more than that smug look on his face when he's right. Goddamnit, why is he always right?
It reminds me of someone else I don't want to think about, someone I think about every second of every day.
September
I know it's partially my fault, but when Serena supposedly disappears off the face of the earth, I can't help but wonder what sent her away. It couldn't just be me.
Maybe she'll come back one day. It's not unheard of, for her to drop everything and just go. He was like that, too. They were always the same, like me and Chuck.
Maybe that's why they could never work out, because they were always fleeing. It worked out for me anyway, until it didn't.
Blair gets hungry later because she barely eats throughout the day. It's getting quite late, but it's New York, so everything that matters is still open.
She has never been one for hole in the wall Italian eateries, but this one is situated between two shops and seems cozy enough, so she steps inside.
What she finds there startles her. Tripp sits in the corner to her left, his back against the window and his nose pressed in a book. This time he's reading Pushkin, also in Russian. She briefly wonders where he learned it, then dismisses the thought of ever learning it. Maybe she should start small with Italian.
"Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come sit?" Tripp calls, his eyes still trained on his book.
Blair moves left, glad the lights are dim to hide her light blush. She sits across from him and he finally closes his book.
She asks, "Aren't you going to use a bookmark?"
He shrugs, "Sometimes I don't like to pick up where I left off."
The look in his eyes tells her he's not talking about the book, but she doesn't want to delve into any deeper meanings tonight, so she stays silent.
A young boy comes over to take her order, but she hasn't even had time to look over the menu before Tripp orders for her, "Uno marsala bovine, per favore."
The boy in turn asks, "E da bere?"
"Il miglior vino rosso," Tripp answers, without ever looking at her.
Blair laughs lightly, asking, "Should I even bother asking what you ordered?"
Tripp half shrugs again, telling her, "Veal marsala and red wine."
"What if I don't like that?" she questions.
He smiles, "You do."
She raises an eyebrow before responding, "How can you be so sure?"
This earns a chuckle from him, before he tells her, "It was the summer I graduated from Yale. You and Nate were already at Grandfather's when Maureen and I got there. You tried cooking, but eventually ended up ordering Italian. You ordered veal and red wine."
Blair wonders, "You remember that?"
Another shrug, then, "I remember everything."
Dinner with Tripp wasn't bad. I've known him for practically all my life, but I still don't feel like I know him. This doesn't make any sense. I guess it doesn't have to, since no one will ever read this. They better not, anyway.
The veal was the first full meal I ate in such a long time that I don't have the desire to throw up. Maybe it's because I finally feel like I tasted something. Everything has been tasteless for so long that I don't feel that it's right to keep it down.
And maybe it was the company; Tripp has always been an enigma to me. He's always been the most elusive of the plentiful Vanderbilt heirs, and yet he's always the one that's in the spotlight.
I've gotten pieces in the past, but nothing concrete enough to form a puzzle. I suppose it's easier to solve a puzzle when you've seen the original picture. I don't know if I'm halfway there or barely an eighth of the way done. I'm not even sure why I want to finish.
This year, it's the Baizen family's turn to hold Thanksgiving dinner again. Lily volunteers to take over, but Victoria assures her that it's alright. Blair supposes if Victoria can keep it together, she can keep it together, too.
She's trying. She hopes he's noticing.
Dinner is a brilliant affair with multiple courses and lots of wine, but it's the same every year, so she doesn't act surprised. Daddy and Roman bring pumpkin pie and smiles. For the first time since, she can smile back. It doesn't reach her eyes, but it's enough for them as they witness her try to move past.
When dinner is over and there is no need to make idle small talk, Blair explores the upstairs of the expansive Baizen townhouse. She hasn't been up here in what feels like forever, but she feels like it might be time.
Maureen's room is the first on the left. She wasn't going to go in, but there is a light on inside that makes her curious.
She doesn't knock before walking in. Tripp doesn't seem to notice, because yet again, his nose is pressed into a book. This time it is Krylov and Blair wonders out loud about his fascination with Russian literature.
He merely responds, "I took a course at Yale."
"Just a course? That got you hooked?" she questions.
His eyes are still glued to the page when he replies honestly, "It's the lecture where I met Maureen."
Blair's lips form an 'o,' but it never escapes her lips, because she decides to ask instead, "Do you mind if I sit?"
He shakes his head and points at the bed, "Sit."
She is next to him, but they aren't touching when she begins to talk again, "I meant to go into his room."
He closes his book – he doesn't mark the page this time, either – and gazes at her before saying, "Why didn't you?"
Blair answers, "I saw the light on and decided to see who was in here. Now I don't know if I want to go in."
"You want to," Tripp tells her, reopening the book to a different page, "You're just not ready."
"Will I ever be?" she asks.
He continues reading, but he responds quietly, "I did it."
I still have no idea what to make of Tripp. Just when I finally think I understand him, he completely shocks me into disbelief. It's not a bad thing, per se, I just never know what to expect.
Sometimes, I think it's nice to have a friend with a certain degree of unpredictability to them.
Sure, Serena was wild in the past, but she was inherently predictable. She always did the same things and went back to the same people for help when she needed it. I can probably map Nate and Chuck as well as I can walk through Central Park blindfolded.
Still, it's unnerving and I never know what to do or say when he's around. It's like I'm twelve years old and just barely Nate's girlfriend. I don't want to feel like that child anymore.
Spring cleaning with Victoria isn't really spring cleaning at all, because none of them do the actual cleaning. Blair surprises herself by volunteering for the task, but Victoria seems to know better, not letting her anywhere near Carter's doorway.
She absentmindedly looks into Maureen's room for a telltale dirty blond head, but when she finds nothing but a dark atmosphere, Victoria comes in to tell her he's having a drink with Christian. Blair is unsure of why she feels so disappointed, but she lets the feeling pass, evolving into something very different, something she doesn't want to think about.
When they – but not really they, she muses, because she hasn't gotten her hands dirty at all – finish the townhouse, she insists on doing something else. Victoria idly lets her know the vacation homes haven't been properly attended to, but at the look on Blair's face, she tells her not to do the work.
"Please," Blair begs her third mother – she still reserves the second spot for Lily – because she needs something to do, "I'll just organize a little bit. I promise."
Blair gives her a sweet smile that used to melt her son's heart, until Victoria relents, "Oh, fine, Blair. But, you should know that smile only works on my husband and son."
Blair uncharacteristically shrugs, wondering if she has been spending too much time with Tripp, "You agreed, didn't you?"
"I suppose I did," Victoria answers, a light smile gracing her lips.
I don't even know where to start, because everything at the Newport house is so outdated. I feel like I should leave it, because it's evocative of a different time, a simpler time, but then I will have little to nothing to do.
I spend the entire first day in Rhode Island arguing with myself, finally coming to the conclusion that I will do one room at a time, simply organizing unless I run into something that needs to be thrown or given away.
Yes, that is what I'll do. The Blair with a plan is back and she's back with a vengeance. If only I could apply this to other parts of my life. Small steps, right?
At the end of the third day, Blair is startled to hear a knock on the door.
She calls out, "Victoria, I told you I wanted to do this by myself!" before unlocking the front door to see a slightly disheveled Tripp.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "Christian told me what you were doing and I thought I could help. If you don't want me here, I'll leave."
Blair shakes her head before replying, "Don't be silly. Come on in."
A small smirk, then, "You would let me in, but not Victoria?"
Blair shrugs – she really must learn to stop, she muses – and tells him, "You're not as pushy."
He laughs, "I can be pushy."
"Please don't be," she replies honestly.
Nate's called countless times, but I haven't answered once. By the look on Tripp's face when he called that last time, I can only assume what Nate has told him. I don't care.
Or, maybe I do. Maybe I care too much, but right now, there isn't anything I want to do about it. Maybe I should have taken a course in psychology to delve into the inner workings of my brain. I might not want to know what I find there.
I don't want to speak, so I merely text him, 'I'll do it soon,' in reference to everything he wants me to accomplish even though I don't particularly feel like it. I will, too, but soon is relative, anyway.
January
When Blair checks her Gmail account for the first time in months – she only ever checks her work email now – her inbox is filled with dozens of unread messages. The spam is filtered out accordingly, but every page is filled with the name Serena van der Woodsen repeated many times over.
Blair closes her eyes and clicks a random message in the middle of the page. It's surprisingly short. She supposes even exuberant Serena gets tired of sending messages after a while.
B,
It's been a while since my last message. Actually, it's been several days. Why haven't you replied to any of them? I'm worried about you, you know. I'm sure no one else says it, but they worry, too.
Nate tells me you've stopped responding to his calls. He'll keep trying until you're ready. I hope you're ready soon.
S
Blair vaguely wonders if she's a bad friend, having ignored 52 messages. Actually, she knows she is, because she ignores those that used to be closest to her. Serena, Nate, and Chuck are put on the backburner as she tries to piece herself together. For what, she is still unsure.
She begins to filter through the messages, but each one looks a little like the last. They all mention the need to rejoin the world, but none of them mention Serena's whereabouts.
As she is deleting the messages, she stops when she gets to the last one. It is the first one Serena writes.
B,
I know you're in so much pain right now and I'm sorry, but please understand why I can't stay. They're the last words you want to hear, but I loved him, too.
It's funny how much we love each other, and yet we always fall in love with the same boys. Maybe it's not funny. Maybe it's life telling us something, but I don't want to lose you, too. I know you're probably thinking I got over it a long time ago, but on the other hand, you know me better than I know myself.
Know I am thinking of you. I won't tell you where I'm going, so please don't try to follow. To be honest, I really don't know where I'm headed, either. That's me, right? Spontaneous to a tee. That's why you loved him. Someday, I know you can love me for it, too.
I've told Nate to look after you. It's still too hard for Chuck – I don't know if it will ever get easier, but we both know how unrequited love goes – but he will find his way back to you eventually, even if you just accept him as a friend.
Accept us as your friends. We all have our flaws – and we seem to have so many of them – but we do love you unconditionally in this time of need. We love you always.
I will be back one day. Maybe then you'll be ready to move on.
S
Serena was right. I do know her better than she knows herself, but I can say this about so many others. I'm a good people judger. That's what I do. I sit and I judge.
On the other hand, maybe I loved him so much that I pushed her feelings aside. He was hers first like Nate was mine first. Now that I think about it, was Nate ever really mine? Was he really hers?
He felt so much like mine. Sometimes, when I close my eyes I still feel him around me. I think he is inherently with me, always. Is forever that long to dwell about love?
I miss him. I continue to miss him every day.
Blair eventually calls Nate. Luckily, he answers on the first ring and doesn't push her into plans. She apologizes anyway.
"Don't bother," he mentions, "We have a reunion this weekend anyway. Come up with me."
She laughs, the sound surprising even her, "I suppose I could be convinced to watch a little touch football."
He laughs, too, and she relishes the sound as he tells her, "Root for me this time, okay?"
"I always root for you," she replies, but as she thinks about this information, she realizes it isn't exactly true.
Others may find standing on the Vanderbilt balcony to be tiresome, but I've always found myself most comfortable there. Maybe it's because I've always felt comfortable with the family.
It's true. I one day thought this would be the only family for me, the only lifestyle I would ever want. Sometimes, I still think I want it, but somewhere along the line my Nate became grownup Nate. Grownup Nate has a whole new set of responsibilities that my Nate never did.
I think I miss the easy days of being his girlfriend. I think I just miss being twelve years old, with all the freedom in the world to do whatever I pleased. It was a happier time, at least.
I think being at the Vanderbilt estate is good for me. I'm more relaxed than I have been in ages.
With the reunion looming outside, Blair sneaks away to the library. It is quiet here, peaceful. She pulls a first edition Jane Austen from the bookshelf and makes her way to the plush navy armchair that graces the corner of the room.
"I seem to be seeing you everywhere," Tripp announces with a light rap on the door.
Blair smiles, "Yes, well, one might begin to think you're stalking me."
He questions, "And if I am?"
She gently lifts a shoulder in an attempt at a ladylike shrug and answers, "At least someone is."
He laughs lightly, replying, "Here I thought dear ole Nathaniel was doing so well in that department."
Tripp makes his way over to Blair, but she picks up her book and waves it in his face, saying, "I'm reading. Don't you have some contact sport to play?"
This time he shrugs, with a smirk on his face that puts Chuck to shame, "I find sports boring. I wanted something more — entertaining."
"Books?" she looks incredulous.
He shakes his head, "Not exactly. Come here."
When he boldly extends a hand, she's too surprised not to take it. In seconds, her book is placed back on the shelf and he is pulling her through the hallway. They're at a door she's only gone through once all the time she's been here – it's not her fault the house is larger than most country clubs – when he opens it to reveal the most extensive garage she's ever seen.
There are new additions, like Nate's Ferrari and Grandfather's latest S-class, but the left side of the garage looks more familiar to her.
She asks, "What are we doing?" even though she has a fair idea.
He doesn't reply, only pulling her to the furthest car in the garage. She chuckles lightly until he looks at her strangely.
She responds, "What? I thought you would have replaced that by now."
"It's classic," he insists, "Besides, I don't have much need for a car in New York. Get in."
Blair is about to climb into the passenger side when Tripp shakes his head, ushering her into the driver's side. She is slightly taken aback by the fact that she doesn't argue.
Driving is like no other feeling in the world. Even exhilarating is too simple a word to describe it.
I can see why he enjoyed it now. It was nice to ease my foot onto the pedal and feel the car accelerate underneath me.
For all that I made fun of it, Tripp's Maserati still smelled new, the leather in pristine condition. The sleek black paint made me feel important like heading Constance used to make me feel important. It's a strange feeling, one I haven't felt in a long time.
I know it's just a car, but I don't know. I think I'd like to drive again sometime.
I wrote Serena back, but I suppose it doesn't amount to anything if I leave the email sitting in the draft folder. I wonder if I'll ever hit send.
Maybe they're right. Maybe I need to get out and do something, just live. I could book a trip somewhere, but everywhere reminds me of him. Paris is for the romantics, London businessmen in gray remind me too much of his favorite Hermes blazer, Asia has him written all over it, and it's not on my itinerary to ever touch Greece.
When Cyrus forced me to have dinner with the family last week, Aaron mentioned South America. I've never actually been, but it would be something different. There was a whisper of Buenos Aires amongst his lips, but I wasn't close enough to hear what he had to say. Perhaps I didn't want to hear it, anyway.
It will be almost winter in the southern hemisphere at this time of year, so I'll pack dark jeans and tons of jackets. Scarves and shoes are haphazardly thrown into my luggage as I hastily try to pack. I wonder if I'll enjoy it.
South America is refreshing. Blair thinks she finds a piece of herself that got lost when Carter died. She willingly breathes in the warm air of New York when she returns, the sun slightly harsh on her wind burned face.
Blair dives into work as usual, but the tenacity of her lost stare is gone. She takes the time to appreciate the things going on around her. At lunch, she even eats with some of the other associates.
They make no comment, just idle chitchat as they sit and discuss their days. Alex from accounting has a baby due five months from now, Tom from the tax department just proposed to his longtime girlfriend, Harry from HR got a promotion, and Carrie from the corporate sector is working on the newsworthy Murdoch case.
I check my email weekly now, because Serena usually sends one per week. They're just little updates of her life, snapshots as opposed to the film reel.
I suppose I made it this way, so my best friend couldn't even talk to me, but is love a sin? If it is, I'm guilty of the crime. I wonder if this is how she and Nate felt so long ago, but we were fifteen, nothing like the adults we are now.
Perhaps I shouldn't belittle old feelings. The past is always there to remind us of the future we can attend to. I should look to the future and stop living in the past. The future is bright, right?
I don't know if I'll ever send her that email. Maybe someday.
May
Summer means the Hamptons which means schmoozing with the older adults. Blair supposes she is an adult now, too, but she still can't quite grasp that she is in the same age demographic as her parents' friends.
She steals away for some champagne, but ends up walking toward the lot behind Lily's yard. Rufus's old Cadillac sits in the driveway, calmly hidden away from everybody. It's rusty and appears unused, but he hasn't gotten rid of it.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted to drive again," mentions Tripp.
Without turning around, Blair replies, "Maybe I do."
He says, "Surely you have better taste than this."
She finally turns around, facing him, "Of course. Did you bring a car?"
His smile answers her question and he leads her through the grass as they make their way toward the front of the house. There's a glass of scotch in his hand, but he downs it in one gulp before setting it down by the front door. There are keys in his pocket that he hands to her, their fingers lingering for mere seconds.
They drive.
I just realized they never look at me like I'm a burden. I'm sure my behavior is suggestive of a child, but no one ever mentions it.
They don't smile, but they never frown, either.
His parents continue to invite me to dinner and various other social gatherings, Nate has resumed our dinner and a movie nights, and even Chuck has left the past in the past. Maybe Serena was right after all.
Blair goes around the curve too quickly, causing the car to spin. It seems like hours before it finally stops, but it was really only several seconds.
She opens her eyes – she hadn't realized that she shut them – to look over at Tripp, who was looking over at her. He was out of the car in an instant and on her side in no time at all. She thinks she would've missed it, if she had shut her eyes again.
He asks, "Are you alright?" as he gently pulls her out of the car.
"Your car," she begins, but he silences her with a finger to her lips.
There is a lingering feeling of something, something she can't quite place, but it's gone before she can continue dwelling about it.
He's not speaking, so she decides to question, "Can we go again?"
To this, he laughs before responding, "I'll need to get this fixed. Or, maybe—" but he doesn't finish his sentence.
"Maybe what?" she wonders.
He looks down at her, smiling. With a delicate touch to her head, he fingers a few strands of her hair before tucking it behind her ear.
He hasn't answered her question, but she's nearly forgotten about it, anyway.
I feel bad about the car, but Tripp won't even let me talk about it. I wonder if he'd be angry if I replaced it. Probably. He was raised to be even tempered, but even the best of us get angry when provoked.
Maybe I'll get my own car, but nothing looks right when I look. Everything is too big, too small, too slow, and not black enough.
I don't know why I'm so picky.
When Nate takes a trip to Southern Europe, he unwittingly finds Serena and comes home a married man. The world is shocked, although not, because they feel like this is inevitable, anyway.
Serena seeks out her lost best friend, asking, "Did you get any of my emails?"
Blair nods, throwing her arms around Serena, "I'm sorry I didn't reply. There's a draft I wrote, but I wasn't brave enough to press send."
Serena looks at her, wondering, "Were you afraid?"
Blair replies, "Only of what you would think of me."
I keep wondering if my life is a book. I thought it was finished, but now I think I'm not even a third of the way done. Lately, it seems like someone is narrating it and I'm just living their words.
Nate and Serena don't bother me. I can honestly say this. They look happy – so, so happy – and I can't bear to take that away from them. It's predestined, isn't it? Fated?
There's just that look they get when they stare at each other from across a room. I've experienced that look. I still miss him. I'll always miss him.
Anne and Lily are less okay with the idea of eloping than they let on, for they plan a grandiose wedding that is more Blair than Serena. Everyone who is anyone is invited and the affair is featured in every possible society section.
They travel by limousine to the estate in Connecticut. It's raining – the pitter patter slowly growing to astronomical levels – as Blair stares out the window, trying to drown out the terrible noise. The rain doesn't stop, but Nate and Serena don't seem to notice, only focused on one another.
Blair takes deep breathes each time the thunder sounds, trying to calm herself through the impending storm. Soon enough, there is someone by her side, ushering her into silence.
Tripp offers her his headphones, tenderly putting them into her ears. When the sounds of Pachelbel effectively mute the rain outside, she falls into a restful slumber for the rest of the ride.
I've always enjoyed honesty. I like nothing less than a dishonest person. I may not like the answer you give me, but I will appreciate the blatant truth.
The world seems to shine a little brighter every time Serena walks into a room, but for once I don't want to take that glow away from her. I've had my turn at happiness. It's time for her to experience it as well. I truly hope they are happy together.
Sometimes, a little mystery is good, but sometimes, it is unnerving. I find myself bored – I'm usually not so perpetually tiresome here – so to take over my time, I try to find out how many layers Tripp has hidden behind. Every time I peel another one back, three more seem to be in its place.
It would be nice to know if I've even scratched the surface or if I'm near his very core. I have a feeling it's the former.
I don't know why this information disappoints me so much.
Serena's dress wraps around her body like spun silk, leaving everyone to wonder where the dress ends and her body begins. She makes a beautiful bride, but this is no surprise. She smiles dutifully at the wedding photographers, the Times photographers, and snaps a photo of herself with the disposable camera on table 15.
Blair has never seen anyone more beautiful in her entire life.
The reception is held outside, as the sun goes down. The natural light hits Serena's dress just perfectly, sinking into the crevices where satin folds against satin. The guests find her happiness contagious, smiling brightly as well.
Blair finds an empty chair, carefully folding her dress beneath her before she sits. Her dress is navy, a mix of Nate's eyes and Serena's, draping carefully down her back. The string quartet plays Bach and she shuts her eyes to enjoy the soothing sounds.
When a shadow passes before her eyes, she opens them to find Tripp.
He holds out a hand and asks, "May I have this dance, Miss Waldorf?"
She is suddenly nervous, but she can't quite feel why.
She apologizes, "I'm not the best—"
He interrupts her, "Don't lie to me, Blair. I've seen you dance before."
She nods once. He takes her hand before she can change her mind.
They move with utter ease, his right hand on her hip in an intimate caress. He pulls her ever closer to him, until her head rests on his shoulder. She shuts her eyes again to smell him more clearly, basking in the scent of him.
They dance until the music stops, then, "Thank you for the dance, Tripp."
He chuckles, not ready to let go of her, "That wasn't a dance. That wasn't even a full song."
"I'll give you half of this one," she offers.
He raises an eyebrow at her, before pulling her closely to him again. They stay together for the full song, but not before Nate gives her a little wink.
I don't know.
I just don't know anymore. I have no idea what to write and I'm so confused all the time. Does the confusion ever end? Will this ever end?
I almost feel happy – I think – but it's been so long since I've felt it that I'm not sure what to look for anymore. Does that make any sense?
When the phone rings, Blair picks up. It's Nate.
He cheerfully greets her, "Hey, Blair!"
She laughs at him, grinning at his happiness, "Hi, Nate. Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?"
"I am," he tells her, "Serena's showering. I wanted to check on you."
"I'm fine," she tells him.
"Yeah, sure," he says, "How did you enjoy wedding part two?"
"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just said wedding part two. And it was lovely."
Nate admits, "So were you."
"Excuse me?" she questions, because surely she has not heard him correctly.
He defends himself anyway, "Tripp's words, not mine."
She asks again, "Excuse me?" but he interrupts her.
"Oh, Serena's done. I have to go."
She's about to whine, "Nate—" but he's already hung up and she wonders what the hell just happened.
When Nate and Serena got back, I'm not surprised to see they hadn't upgraded their simple gold bands. Serena was never one for anything overly extravagant. Nate just didn't care.
It is strange, spending time with them like we used to, but now it is Nate and Serena and not Nate and me. I would get used to it eventually.
That wasn't even the strangest of the happenings. When Tripp stopped by to drop off some paperwork for Nate, Serena laughed and told him his dancing was sloppy. His eyes got dark, before he turned and left. He didn't even look at me.
July
Serena is barely back, but she tries her best to infiltrate herself into every aspect of Blair's life. There's a look, a less than gentle prod, and a blind date that Blair is pretty sure she never signed up for.
He's boring, but Blair expects this. She expects so many things out of life.
His name is Andrew. He's a banker that grew up in Connecticut. He went to Andover, Dartmouth, and Yale Law. If she was the person she was five years ago, she would have been all for him, but right now he kind of bores her.
Blair makes her way to the bar so she can get a brief reprieve from this underwhelming dinner that should not stress her out as much as it is doing. She spots the telling blond hair she seems to be so fond of lately and waves over at Tripp.
He smiles at her, ushering her over. She gladly takes the barstool next to his.
He asks, "Bad night?"
When she responds, "Bad date," his eyes go from their usual blasé manner to something different, but then the look is gone before she can pinpoint it.
She blinks, trying to make something of him.
He nods once, even though he isn't sure what he is agreeing to, before saying, "That's a nice dress."
She only shrugs. She knows she looks good in the plum Alexander Wang mini. He had said so, when he bought it so very long ago. It's not in her nature to wear seasons-old dresses, but she likes the way she feels when she puts it on.
It's the only time she's ever worn it.
They drink until Andrew notices she is gone. When he walks over to her, fake smile plastered on his face, he introduces himself to Tripp. Predictably, Tripp downs the rest of his scotch, gives Blair that look she doesn't quite recognize, and then leaves.
She replays it over and over until she finally gets it. 'That's a nice dress' brings her back to the night he gave her the dress. He said, 'You look — sexy,' in a way that only he could.
Andrew takes her home. She doesn't call.
I'm going to kill Nate. Then, I'm going to kill Serena. Or maybe I'll kill her first.
Together. That's how I'll do it. They'll never know what hit them.
I'm so mad I can't even think. Every time I try to call Nate and convince him Tripp is just a friend, I find the words can't leave my lips. What's wrong with me? Is this even something to worry over?
I hate them.
Blair is still wearing the plum dress when she stops in at Nate and Serena's townhouse on Park Avenue. She knocks and knocks until someone answers the door. She's about to slap Nate before he ushers her inside.
He comments, "Nice dress."
When she tries to slap him again, he holds her hands together so she can't.
"I hate you!" she screams.
He has the decency to look hurt before he asks, "What for?"
"For not telling me!"
He is confused when he mentions, "About Andrew?"
"No!" Blair responds, "About Tripp!"
"I thought you went on a date with Andrew," he tells her calmly.
"I did," Blair nods, "You're changing the subject."
"So what if he is?" Serena comes out, her hands on her hips, "You weren't doing anything about it, so we did."
"Wait," Nate asks his wife, "This was a scheme?"
"Oh my God," Blair exclaims, "You did not just pull a Blair on me. You can't do that. I'm Blair."
Serena smirks, "I know. How did I do?"
"Your plan sucks," Blair tells her.
Nate asks again, "Seriously, we just schemed?"
Serena rushes over to him to kiss him lightly, mentioning, "Don't worry, baby. Next time I'll just ask Chuck."
Blair turns around, telling her best friend firmly, "There will be no next time."
Serena shrugs. She and Nate turn around to go back to the living room, but not before pulling a bottle of gin with them.
"Coming?" Serena asks.
Blair only nods.
I meant to kill them, I did, but stupid Serena had to pull that bottle of Tanqueray into the living room. Damn her, she knows my favorite alcohol.
I'll just have to come up with a new plan. It has to be foolproof. Since I'm the better schemer in this scenario, I'll win. She's wrong, though. I don't need a partner. I don't need Chuck.
I'll do this by myself and I'll get them so hard they won't even know what hit them.
Tripp is sitting in the hallway outside Blair's apartment when she returns from Nate and Serena's. They drink until morning, so she borrows a navy tunic that is looser on her than it is on Serena. It slides down her shoulder as she reaches for her keys.
He leans over to help her, apologizing, "Blair, I'm sorry."
She turns to face him as her keys are pressed into his palm, answering, "It's not like you wanted this to happen."
He laughs cruelly when he asks, "So are you my inopportune circumstance?"
"I was thinking about the dress," she responds, "But I guess I can take credit where it's fitting."
They make their way inside when Blair decides to apologize as well.
Tripp looks at her oddly, but she points out, "I just ran away."
He shrugs, "I left the bar first."
"You're the closest thing I have to a best friend anymore," she tells him quietly, but he hears her anyway.
My spiteful plan for revenge never ends up working out, because as usual, I forgive them like I always do.
Serena looks at me like she is disappointed in me, but what does she know? Nothing. She knows nothing. I can only say the same for Nate. He has no idea what I feel. He never has, if I'm truthful.
That night with the dress, I thought I had finally pieced together the enigma that is Tripp Vanderbilt. Now, I think I'm wrong. I think I'm missing a fragment, but I have no idea what I'm looking for.
There is a knock on Blair's door, but no one is there when she opens it. Frustrated, she begins to close the door, but not before picking up the photograph on the ground.
Nate is holding Serena with so much love that Blair has to blink back tears as she looks at it. There's a note on the back when she flips it over.
B,
Look past us and see how happy you could be.
S (& N)
When she looks at the photograph again, she sees what she missed the first time. It was so easy to miss it, but now that she looks, it is all she can see.
As she had danced at their wedding, her eyes were shut to the world. Now, when she sees herself, she sees what everyone else sees. She is nestled into the crook of Tripp's neck, her arm carelessly thrown across his shoulder, her fingers playing with the lapel of his Armani blazer.
Their hands seem to meld together, where two are one. When she looks at his right hand situated at her hip, she is taken back to that night, almost feeling his hands on hers.
Blair's reverie is broken when her phone buzzes once.
Do you see now? –S
But, it can't be. They can't be.
She replies anyway.
I can't just make feelings happen. –B
I thought it was just a dance. If that wasn't just a dance, were those not just car rides?
Maybe all these clues I've built up about him aren't really clues at all. Maybe I've jumbled the puzzle beyond recognition.
Tripp is there when Blair steps out on the street, like he was there to save her so very long ago. He looks the same as she steps toward him.
Now it made sense, the dark looks he gave as he glanced her over. He wasn't just being protective, he was longing.
It was how he used to look at her. It was the look Nate gave Serena every time he saw her shining face, the look Cyrus gave Eleanor when they went away together.
Tripp must have felt it erupt out of her, for he held her arms steady as she stood mere inches away from him. They were close, but nothing felt close enough.
Her fingers cling to his shirt, trying desperately to feel him against her. She feels people walk around them, but nobody really looks. He only holds her closer to him, pressing her into him so she can't get away.
In her head, she hears Bach amongst the din of the city. She closes her eyes as his hands move to her waist, his arms encircling her until she feels like she is a part of him. She hears his calm breath as she opens her eyes to look at his.
"I've wanted this for so long," he quietly whispers to her, but she hushes him with her lips pressed against his.
They stand there comfortably for what feels like forever when they feel something come upon them.
It is raining.
I know he will always be with me, guiding me. I know he is the one pushing me to live for him, but now I am finally ready.
Today, I said goodbye to Carter.