Summer Break
Chapter 3 (August, Part 2)
At 8:55 AM, Dan was in the lobby of Blair's building, two cups of hot coffee and warm croissants in hand, when she emerged from the elevator, like she was stepping out of a fashion magazine, a brunette Aphrodite emerging from the sea foam. Had she ever worn the same outfit twice? He had shaved, but worried briefly about how he was dressed, not knowing what the day's activities would entail. He knew if she hadn't given a critique in the first two minutes he was in the clear.
"Great, you are already here. Mmm, coffee. And croissants. How very Audrey! Thank you. So today. You are my assistant. Since you are the flower market expert-"
"Blair, one trip down there as an accidental drug mule hardly makes me an expert."
"Yes, but you have been down there more than me. And I may need you to carry some things. Work with me here, Humphrey. But first, we have a much more pressing matter to attend. Where do you get your haircut?"
"Wait, what?" he asked, completely taken aback.
"Humphrey, your hair is world's better than that dreadful buzz cut you had in high school. But come on, this," she gestured dramatically, "is out of hand. Who is your barber? That is the right term, isn't it? I know you don't have a stylist."
"Blair, I don't know about this."
"Do you go to the same place? Or do you just let random people cut your hair?"
"Well, actually, the last few times I have had it cut at a place near NYU. Blair, this is a really weird conversation."
"Shut up and quit stalling. The Village? Well, at least we don't have to go all the way to Brooklyn. I was already imagining you inside schmoozing the elder customers with your Brooklyn everyman persona and me outside playing checkers with an old Mafioso."
"I never should have made you watch 'The Godfather again."
Blair finally coaxed the name of the shop (more of a salon, than a barbershop, thank goodness, she thought) from him, and was completely charmed that he was embarrassed that it was not a no frills barbershop, with an old-timey barber pole, but rather a salon, and that his "barber" was named Jill. From the cab, she had called ahead and convinced Jill that this was, indeed, an emergency.
Jill was waiting for them when they arrived. Blair breezed in, with Dan in tow, and insisted first on what Dan could only describe as an assessment. Mortified, he sat in the barber chair while Blair and Jill got all handsie with his hair. Blair surprised him by complimenting Jill on her previous efforts to try and tame his hair. Did she actually say "it really had never looked better"? Of course, that was followed up with an exasperated, "But now look at it!"
Blair insisted on a shampoo for him first. He was convinced this was all a part of some grand torture scheme, but acquiesced, if nothing else, to expedite the process. Once he was back in the barber chair, Blair more or less let Jill do her thing. Ironically, as badly as she wanted it cut, she was insistent it not be cut too close. There was something about wanting to preserve the integrity of the curl, but not the whole curl. (Upon his skeptical face, she smarted, "Not everyone is blessed with such luxurious, thick, curly hair, Humphrey. No complaints from you!" Jill quickly agreed.)
He mostly tried to keep his head down, wishing for a fast-forward button. Jill kept leveling his head to make sure her cuts were even. Twice he looked up in the mirror to see Blair gazing at him intently from her perch behind him. He smiled sheepishly; she regarded him studiously.
Jill finished, but did not ask him what he thought. Instead, she turned him 180 degrees for final approval, towards his very own personal dictator of taste. "Jill, you are a miracle worker! See, Humphrey. That wasn't so bad, was it? Jill you should send him some sort of reminder so we don't have a repeat of that natural disaster."
Jill turned him again, so that he could face the mirror, and assess for himself. Instead, he found Blair's gaze in the mirror. He smiled, shy and nervous. She held his gaze, strong and steady, and remarked again, quietly, how pleased she was.
Blair stepped out to hail a cab while Dan paid. He started to leave when Jill said, "I hope you like the cut. She really seemed pleased. Your fiancée was a little intense at first, but is sweet. I think she just really likes teasing you. And you are a really good sport."
"Oh, uh, she isn't my, uh, girlfriend. We are just friends."
"I'm sorry. That ring on her finger is hard to miss. I just assumed-"
"No, no, you are right about that. She is engaged. Not to me...we are, uh, just old friends."
"That's too bad. You make a cute couple."
"Thanks for working me in" is all he could muster. He found his way out of the cool salon and was immediately blinded by the bright, mid-day sun. Out of sorts, he heard a horn, and then Blair, "Over here, Humphrey. Chop, chop!"
"What took you so long? Were you flirting with Jill? Don't you dare jeopardize your client/customer relationship. A good stylist (off his look, she modified to "barber") is hard to find. You have finally found someone who knows how to make those curls work for you. I hope you tipped her."
"Of course I tipped her."
"Good. You know, I was worried she took too much off the front. I couldn't see as well up there, as I could see the back." Suddenly, her hands were on his head, in his hair, testing the wavy lengths, examining the haircut closely. She firmly grasped his jaw so she could move his head side to side for closer inspection. Inches away, yet she failed to see his eyes slam shut involuntarily from the pleasure of her touch.
For as long as he could remember, Blair had never hesitated to man-handle him (ironic, considering her petite frame). She was forever maneuvering him in and out of rooms, behind curtains, on and off elevators. She bought him ties and straightened his collars. She snatched staplers and tackled him once in the middle of a party.
He tried to take her hand one time to comfort her, knowing it was a doomed endeavor, but tried anyway, wanting to ease her hurt and pain. The appearance of weakness in front of him was too much for her to bear, and she pulled away. So when he finally determined to kiss her, he still sought her approval first, and then still could not, not without her grabbing him first.
Dan had learned to adapt. He was a keen, stealthy observer; it was easy with his anonymity. Besides, it was usually how nice she smelled that he noticed most, something he could do from a safe distance, and he was very much enjoying that sensation in the confines of the cab. But this was a new experience, and he realized now just how sensitive he was to her touch, even if that meant via the incidental touches of her appraisal of his freshly shorn locks.
She released his jaw, but then her left hand gently swept through the wave of curls across his forehead, and lingered at his temple. Time slowed down. She smiled at him then, her face soft and tender, and said, "But no, I see now that it is perfect." Her eyes narrowed as her thumb traced his sideburn down the side of his face, and back up to his cheekbone, where it lingered languidly. He sat there in stunned silence, unable to breathe.
The cab came to a stop and then, suddenly, take charge, to do list Blair was back. "Oh, we are already here. Come on, Humphrey." She patted him on the knee. What else could he do? He followed her into the flower market.
Blair was on a mission, and true to character, had done her homework. Dan smiled when he realized the "urgency" of Blair's pretty, pink rose. It was named Audrey, a domestic variety of rose created in honor of Audrey Hepburn, and it was to be the showcase of her wedding flowers. If she could not wear Givenchy, Audrey would have to be present at the wedding in some other iteration.
Dan watched as Blair negotiated the order. The volume needed concerned the vendor, but Blair convinced him that he would have no other customer for that variety of rose in the month of November as she was prepared to buy every last stem. When he expressed concern about customs and location (this wasn't some wedding on Long Island, it was across a much larger body of water after all), Blair assured the man that shipping, via the royal jet (Monaco customs would NOT be a problem), would not be a concern.
She wandered over to look at some calla lilies. The vendor looked up at Dan from his order book, and asked, "Is she for real?"
Dan regarded him earnestly and said, "You have no idea."
Her phone rang, and she moved a little further into the stall to take the call. She was all smiles at first, but Dan knew something was amiss when the conversation moved from her charming, chipper French to discreet whispers in English.
If anything was the matter, she was determined not to let on. She ordered an enormous bouquet of the calla lilies to be delivered to Lily Friday afternoon, before dinner. She made Dan promise, twice, not to spoil the surprise. He was a little insulted at her mistrust. "Don't be so sensitive," she admonished with an eye roll.
Dan sensed something was bothering her, but knew Blair well enough that if she wanted to talk about it with him, she would, but on her terms. If he raised the question, it would be shut down forever.
Instead, he decided to try another avenue. He led them out of the flower market. "Humphrey, this isn't the way we came in, is it?'
"I know. But I thought you might like some tulips, and a visit to the scene of my almost crime."
She could not help but smile when he bought her pink and purple tulips, and laughed when he tossed the plant food packets in a trashcan on the street. "You can't be too careful," he cautioned.
"Where do you want to have lunch?" she asked, while he hailed them a cab.
"You should pick. You aren't in town much longer."
But she insisted he pick, this was more his end of town than hers, she determined. (Only Blair could cede all of lower Manhattan to him. Very generous.) He always worried when the choice was his. While a good choice was rewarded with her rare praise, the fear of her disappointment made him a nervous wreck. He finally just settled on this little Thai place near NYU, mostly because it was next door to an ice cream parlor with killer gelato that she had enjoyed before.
Blair smiled when they got out of the cab and realized no matter how lunch went, gelato was in her future. She would never admit it, but she reveled in the choices he made for her. Time and again, he always picked places that he thought she would like based on some movie they had seen, some late night craving she might have had the week before that she had long forgotten, or a meal he had enjoyed that he wanted her to try. This was Dan Humphrey after all, so they were not all winners, not even close. She never let him off easy if the place ended up being a disaster; she had to standards to uphold. Besides, it was too much fun teasing him. But somehow she always had a good time, even if the food was horrible.
They went inside the restaurant, which was near empty at the end of the lunch service. A nice table by the picture window was declined by Blair for a more discreet location in the back. "Old habits die hard," thought Dan.
Her phone started ringing soon after the food arrived. "Are you gonna get that?" he asked, mouth full of Pad Thai, after the second call.
"I'm sure it can wait. Can I have a taste?" she asked, already reaching with her chopsticks.
"Only if you share your Chicken Satay."
The check and her third phone call came at the same time. Dan took the check, while Blair took the call.
"Blair, do you want me to..." Dan pointed across the room, offering to move to give her some privacy. She shook her head emphatically no.
"Salut, Louis. We've taken care of the flowers this morning...I promised the vendor we could ship them on the jet, and bypass customs. I hope that is okay…..I spoke with her earlier this afternoon...Oh, I am having a late lunch with Dan. He helped me at the flower market earlier...No, I ran into him at the Givenchy exhibit yesterday. Remember, I told you about the retrospective at the Cooper Hewitt...Still Monday. I have lots left to do..."
Blair was sinking further and further down in her chair, while her voice was trilling higher and higher, like when she is trying to persuade someone she deems important without losing her temper. Dan felt like an intruder, and retreated to the other side of the restaurant. He ordered them coffee, went ahead and paid the bill, and realizing she was going to need some time, asked a small favor of the waitress.
He returned from next door bearing six small cups of gelato. The waitress brought them their coffee.
"I thought you might have left." She was quiet, calm.
"Well, I figured you deserved a little privacy. Besides, when do I ever get to pick the gelato?"
"I let you pick."
"No, you always get what you want, and you 'suggest' to me to get your second choice, and we always end up swapping." His smile was warm and indulgent.
Eyeing the many selections with an arched eyebrow, "So do you think you got enough?"
"I think we'll manage."
She dove into the chocolate first, as he knew she would, and she made a dent in the vanilla hazelnut, which he finished. He tried to get her to try the fig, and she just laughed at him. Neither cared much for the pistachio. He started on the mango, but the raspberry was the star.
"Humphrey, you HAVE to try this."
"I'm happy with mine."
"No really, taste." She offered him her spoon from across the table. He took her hand in his and guided the spoon to his mouth. The taste barely registered under her unflinching gaze. She started to pull the spoon back, but he hesitated, not wanting to relinquish her hand.
Her gaze shifted from the full lips of his mouth to his warm, brown eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and he could no longer mask his desire.
"Dan-" his name a word of caution, hitched in her throat.
"Blair, what are we doing? Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?" His voice was low and ragged.
She struggled to rein in her emotions, as well as control his. She sat up straight, her tone mimicking her posture. "I am going to finish my raspberry gelato. And I suggest you finish yours before I get any more imperialistic ideas. And then we are going to the printer, to straighten out my wedding invitations."
"Blair, please..."
Her stoicism was gone in an instant, replaced with wild-eyed, pleading desperation. "Dan, please, please, please doesn't say anything. Don't ask me anything. Not here. Please let me have this lunch, and this gelato, with you. Okay?"
He nodded, recognizing the cliff's edge upon which they stood. One step too many and they were over. So he would have to wait her out (again). She had a couple more bites of gelato, while he nursed his coffee. Before leaving, she asked him if he wouldn't mind hailing a cab while she waited inside.
With the cab secured, he ducked back in the restaurant to get her. She seemed very much her old self, with a fresh application of lipstick and powder. He opened the cab door for her and slid in beside her.
"I didn't know the address of the printer," he said, motioning towards the cabbie.
"Driver, we need to go to 455 Water Street in Brooklyn. Take the Manhattan Bridge, and circle back down below it."
Dan limited his reaction to the address...his address...to a raised eyebrow.
Quietly, looking out the window, she said to him, "Change of plans. The printer can wait." She sought out his right hand with her left, which he gladly surrendered. He asked her no questions, just made a few comments about the buildings they passed, the passersby he observed, just to fill the silence of the cab. Her quiet made him uneasy, but he found comfort with her hand on his.
He felt her hand tense when they pulled up to his building. Then he noticed her glancing around nervously, when they got out of the cab, and realized she was on alert. Gossip Girl informants maybe? No, this had come on since the calls at lunch. Paparazzi alert probably.
While unlocking the loft door, he laughed and told her about how he thought she had been there Monday night. He held the door open for her to let her pass, and noticed a strange expression on her face as she entered the loft.
"Blair, what did I say? What is wrong?"
"How did you know?" she demanded.
"Wait, what?"
"That I was here."
"You were?" The nose knows, he thought. He could barely meet her eyes. He stammered, eyes down on his feet. "I thought I had smelled your perfume."
The subterfuge was over in that instant, and he knew it, even if she did not yet. She had ignored his reaction after lunch, but this was different. For him to know her like that, to know her by the smell of her perfume, was too intimate. She would have no control over that. She dictated their time together, when they interacted, how they interacted. That fine line she balanced for both of them, their friendship and her engagement, her two worlds, had just been breached. Blair could no longer hide behind the cover of the plausible deniability that what they shared was just a friendship, at least on his end. They had danced around it and always, always ignored their feelings for each other. Their kiss, the only tangible evidence to the contrary, had been tossed aside as a "social experiment gone awry." Now all he could do was wait for the pronouncement.
"Blair, I'm sorry-"
"I need a drink."
He found an old bottle of Rufus's scotch and poured her a glass. Restless and anxious, she slowly made her way through the loft, taking in much of the art for the first time. She found herself in his office, and stopped. Standing amongst his bookcases, she wondered how it was possible for this man of twenty to have so many books. She knew he had read them all, and that pleased her enormously. She ran her fingers along the edges of a few well-worn covers.
"Humphrey, you know you need taller shelves, right? It is crazy the way your have the books stacked horizontally when they should be situated vertically."
"I know. But I am working with what I have."
"Mind if I borrow a couple, or are they like your children, too precious to let out of your sight?"
"What's mine is yours. Please take what you want. What do you have in mind?"
"Something for the flight back. Maybe Jazz Age/Lost Generation? Not Hemingway-one of the Fitzgeralds maybe? She pointed to The Beautiful and Damned and remarked, "This is Serena's favorite book."
"I know," he said neutrally. "She gave that copy to me."
Blair nervously asked, "Have you talked to her much this summer?"
"Hardly at all, actually. Usually just to answer Eric's phone when he has been away. A few postcards from her. It sounds like she is really enjoying herself and her work."
"I miss her terribly."
"I am sure you do; have you thought about going to see her?"
"We've talked about it, but our schedules just haven't meshed. It was hard enough to slip away to get to see...to get to Manhattan...Do you think she will stay in California?"
"She seems much more suited to sunny California, than you and me," he said with a knowing smile. "But I'm not sure. Lily thinks she will be back at Columbia in the fall, for what it is worth. But Blair, what about you? Will you even keep your place in New York if you are splitting your time between France and Monaco? Serena in California or New York. It doesn't matter much, does it, if you are in Europe?"
Blair looked up from Dan's very worn copy of Tender Is the Night she was thumbing through and sighed. "I don't know. That is one of the issues we are trying to sort out. I mean, I doubt that my mother and Cyrus sell the penthouse; they still have too much business in New York. But I don't think Louis wants a place here. I am not even sure what to do about Columbia," her voice trailed off.
"Then let's focus on the task at hand, then, okay? I think you should take this collection of Fitzgerald short stories. Please forgive my notes; I have had this copy awhile. Now you pick something. Maybe Gertrude Stein or Dos Passos if you want something else from that generation? Or maybe go a little further back. I think maybe some Wharton and New York in the Gilded Age-"
"Humphrey!"
"Okay, I sense I am influencing you. I recuse myself and will see you back in living room. Take your time."
Later, reunited in the living room, he pressed a glass of red wine into her hand before she could even protest. "Movie?" he asked, hopefully.
"Of course," she responded, as if there was any doubt.
"I'm sorry I don't have all of your Hepburn movies...Audrey that is. I may have Charade." Or you could check Netflix on my laptop.
"Charade would be great."
Despite the tension, they settled into their normal movie watching routine. Both sat on the sofa, close so they could both see the movie play on Dan's laptop on the coffee table. He forgot that the movie was set mostly in Paris, and worried she might react. But she seemed unfazed. She quickly pointed out one of Hepburn's suits they had just seen the day before, and admired the character's beautiful, albeit empty, Parisian apartment. ("Look at those closets, Humphrey!") Towards the end, during the Palais Royale and Colonnade scenes, she sighed and admitted it really is beautiful there.
The movie ended, but neither really moved to get up. It had gotten dark, and the only light he had left on was in the kitchen.
"Are you hungry?" He doubted it, but wanted to be sure.
"No, but I would have some more wine."
He was up and back in a flash, with her wine and another beer for himself. He started to turn on one of the lamps, but she asked him to leave it off.
"Do you want to watch another movie?"
"No thanks. Can we just sit here for a little while? I think the jetlag may be catching up with me. It is nearly 4:00 in Paris."
"We've had a pretty busy day, too. I'm sorry we didn't get more off your list done, though."
"Don't worry about it. Thank you for coming with me today," she said sincerely.
"Thank you for the haircut."
"Promise me you'll keep it cut?"
"If it means that much to you."
"More than you know." Her voice was low, and her entire demeanor seemed spent.
"Blair, what is going on? It is not just the haircut. I'm sorry, but I need to know what this is, what we are doing. You keep changing the rules. And I am lost."
She was silent for an eternity. She turned to face him, finally, and her answer spilled out in a rush of emotions. "I need to know you are okay, and I know there are some things you don't always think about. I saw a picture of you from the Fourth of July, and you were just a mess. At first, I was irritated that you just didn't seem to care, Humphrey thumbing his nose at high society. But deep down I just sort of knew that you were unhappy, that it wasn't just some act of social protest. It was unsettling. And then I was mad at myself for it bothering me."
Off his look of hurt after her last statement, she said, "Please just hear me out. I tried to ignore it. And I realized that I couldn't. You had looked so nice when I last saw you; we had such a wonderful time that day. I knew I might be able to persuade you to shave from afar, but short of having you kidnapped (and don't think I didn't consider it), I couldn't figure out the haircut. I know it sounds crazy, but I needed to see it done before I could go back because I'm not here to keep an eye on you, and I won't be after the wedding. And I know that appearance isn't something you really worry about, but I do-"
"Blair, I'm sorry. It is okay. I'll be okay."
"Will you? How can you know? I don't. I just miss the city and everyone so much. Serena is in California. And you are here, in Brooklyn...I just can't reconcile it anymore."
"It? Do you mean us?"
"No, well, I don't know what I mean-it is just that Louis thinks we are more than friends. He doesn't really understand our movie-watching. And I know we talk a lot. I'm over there, but my friends are in New York. What does he expect me to do? I almost lost him because of Chuck, and I know that is always in the back of his mind. And now he has this idea about you and me. And I know he is about to make me choose. So now I feel like I am under constant scrutiny. His sister hates me, and his mother probably has someone outside watching the building right now-"
"Blair, are you serious? That is insane!"
"And the constantly having to prove my worth, it is humiliating. And yet, this journey I am on, it wouldn't be what it is if it were easily achieved, right? I keep telling myself that, anyway. It is so close that I can finally see it happening. I know this is what I am supposed to do, destined to do. But...there is this lingering doubt I can't shake. I have given up so much already to be with him. But you are my...friend...and I don't know what else I can sacrifice to marry him, and still be me."
"Blair, I know you think this illusion, this fairytale come to life, is what your future should be. You have had an amazing life, and you are truly the exception, the woman's whose wildest little girl's dreams are about to come true. You have your prince. But are you marrying him because he is the love of your life, or because you think it is your birthright, your destiny?"
"Louis is very kind, sweet, cultured, and urbane. He loves me. This is my life, real life, Dan, not a fairytale."
"Are you sure about that? Blair, I want to do the right thing and not try to influence you. The decision is yours alone. But it is hard for me to remain impartial. I see our window closing, I see now that everything we share is about to be sacrificed-"
"Wait, Dan, that isn't fair. I have done everything in my power to preserve our relationship-"
"That may be, but it is slipping away faster than you can see. Please hear me out. I...care...for you so much. More than I should. I know that. I know that. Please don't pretend you don't. Do you think this has been easy for me? Watching you return to Chuck, knowing what he has done to you, and both of us having to suffer his humiliations. And now Louis. You and I, we said and did hurtful things when we were young and immature and ignorant. We made a lot of assumptions about each other based entirely on where we were from and what we thought that meant about the other. Do you know how much time we wasted doing that? Because when we found each other, and really saw each other for the first time, I mean really connected, it was immediate and life-changing, wasn't it? Or am I just delusional, imagining that? We are worlds away from high school, Blair. I KNOW you now, and I am so grateful for that. And I think I understand you better than most because we are so much alike in so many ways, except for that one way of particular significance for you. And, my God, if my being from Brooklyn is what is keeping us apart...that is just so wrong. There isn't a thing I can do about it, not that I should even have to."
"Dan, please, it is not that simple. Have you ever felt like you were destined for something? Of course you have. You are a writer...it has been your life's dream and it is what you are. Now imagine giving that up. I know it sounds archaic, but this life is what I have wanted more than anything. How do I turn my back on something that is meant to be?"
"Blair, you don't have to be someone's princess to fulfill your dreams. I see the strength and determination and kindness in you to affect worlds of change, but on your own terms. Why if it is meant to be, this path that you see for yourself, do you have to sacrifice everything to do it?"
"If it is something greater than us, isn't it worth the sacrifice?"
"At the cost of your happiness and self? Blair, I think you already answered your question."
She was exhausted, and had no more words, offered up no other argument, and they both sat in silence for some time, inches and miles away from each other, on Dan's blue sofa.
He eventually broke the prolonged quiet. "Blair?"
"Yeah," her voice was a whisper.
"I need you to know that more than anything, I want you to be happy. Please know that. I am sorry I have muddled things for you tonight. Try and forget what I said. I mean, well I know you really can't, but just...Blair, I couldn't live with myself if I wasn't honest with you about how I feel. That kiss, our kiss, meant so much, but you dismissed it without a thought, and in front of me, to Chuck, of all people to Chuck. I have spent this entire summer trying to get over you when there wasn't even a hint of reciprocity from you, beyond our being friends, save a few vague overtones that I was sure I had overinterpreted. But Blair, with these last two days, maybe I wasn't wrong...I think Louis is right. This is so much deeper. And I just couldn't let you leave without telling you how I feel, even if you don't feel the same."
She could not meet his gaze. But finally she said, "You said something similar to me a million years ago in a grungy hallway. Do you remember?"
Dan leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek. "I remember everything about you Blair."
"And Blair, I don't mean for this to be a referendum. Take me out of the equation and consider everything else though, and then ask yourself if the sacrifice is worth the reward."
He got up and started moving through the loft. Blair watched him turn on a couple of lamps, put his laptop away, clear her wine glass and the beer bottles.
"I should go."
"Blair, I know you are tired and it is late. You are welcome to stay." He smiled bashfully. "I can stay out here."
"Thanks, Humphrey. But, no, I should go home. Louis might...it doesn't matter. I have to go. Mind if I freshen up first?"
"Sure."
"I'll just be a minute."
Blair emerged like a phoenix. He wondered what she kept in those giant purses she always carried. He had her books and tulips waiting for her at the end of the kitchen counter.
"I called a car service for you. This late, I thought it might be better than a cab. That okay? Are you okay going by yourself? I can go with you."
"Thanks, Humphrey. I'll be fine. I'll head on down-"
"Wait, no. I gave the driver my cell. He'll call when he is downstairs. Will you...just text me when you are home safe?"
"I will. Are you going to Lily's for dinner tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure, probably."
"Please don't skip on my account."
"Don't forget, here are your books and your tulips. You'll be okay tomorrow without your assistant?" he asked with a rueful smile.
And then suddenly she was crying, messy, weepy crying. She seemed more surprised than him. He took the books and flowers from her, and wrapped her up in a giant hug. He felt her hands holding tight around his back, while she sobbed into his neck. He pressed a long, tender kiss to her temple. They stood that way several minutes until Dan's cell phone ringing cut through the sobs.
With his right arm still around her, he pulled out his cell phone. "Hello. Yes, thank you. She will be down in a minute."
He repocketed the phone. "Blair?" She looked up at him. "You ready?" She nodded at him, wiping away tears.
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"Dan, you know I have to."
"It is going to be alright. Okay?"
She managed to nod again.
They let go, and he handed her back the books and tulips. From the hallway, she asked again, "Will you be at Lily's tomorrow?"
"Yes," he lied.
She walked to the elevator on her own. She heard the beer bottle hit the brick wall of his living room as the elevator doors closed.
Later, before bed, while brushing his teeth, he found her bottle of Chanel #5 on the bathroom vanity where she left it for him.
He was in bed when her text finally hit his phone, "I'm home."
"Goodnight, Blair," he responded.
