Ava sat on her windowsill, trying to keep all traces of smoke outside of her bedroom. She glanced at her phone, trying to seem disinterested. There were a few texts from Seth, and a text from Stella, thanking her for her concern about Claire. But nothing from Carter.

It wasn't as though he'd said he was going to text her. After Ava had managed to calm down a little, an awkward silence had settled over them. Ava had focused on crunching dead leaves on the ground while they finished their drinks, then Carter had stood up, saying he really did need to visit his grandfather. Then he'd said 'see you later'.

What did 'see you later' even mean? That had been Saturday, now it was Wednesday evening – it was later. She hadn't seen him around school, although they both had a penchant for skipping the odd (or most) class. She still had his number saved in her phone – didn't he have hers?

Ava kicked the dark grey shingle with the heel of her black boot, stubbed out her cigarette, then climbed back into her room. She could try and finish the few sketches she had to complete for art class…except she hated sketching for art class because it became a task. Artists were supposed to draw what they wanted, when they wanted. And she didn't even want to think about the World History assignment that was due next week.

Maybe she should text Carter…except what if he had deleted her number? Or what if he'd only said 'see you later' because she'd foolishly started crying in front of him and he was being polite. Ava gazed at her reflection in the full length mirror beside her closet door. She looked the same as she always did – shiny chestnut curls despite Ava never getting a blowout, bright blue eyes framed by dark lashes, a smattering of barely visible freckles across her slightly upturned nose. But instead of the impassive stare she usually wore, a questioning, almost vulnerable look graced her features.

Ava frowned at her reflection. There was only one person she could go to with this issue, as much as it killed her. "Harper?" she knocked on her sister's closed door. There was no answer, so she cracked it open and looked in. Harper sat at her desk, staring vacantly out the window. "Harper."

Harper jumped slightly. "What?" she turned around, looking tired.

"Are you busy?"

"Yes," Harper snapped, more irritable than usual. "What do you want?"

"I need your help."

For a moment, Harper's face softened. Then a second later, her features were hard again. Ava stared at her sister, lips parted slightly. Harper could look so much like their mother, it was downright scary. "I'm busy, Ava." She snapped.

"Doing what? You're staring out the window."

"Oh my god," Harper sounded more irritated than usual. "Just get out of my room."

"Christ," Ava muttered, shutting Harper's door much harder than necessary. What was up with her? Sure, they didn't really see eye to eye on most things, and they tended to be a little too snappy with each other, but that was just unnecessary.

Ava wandered back to her own room, dialing Seth's number. Who better to explain the language of boys than an actual boy?

"I'll have a gin and tonic please. With lemon."

"It's eleven–thirty," Olivia raised an eyebrow as their waiter retreated.

"We're celebrating," Massie opened her menu. "Claire's alive, your marriage is no longer crumbling, and –" she paused, frowning. "Well. I don't have anything to be celebrating, I suppose. I haven't bounced back from anything"

"That's because your life is perfect, Mass," Olivia rolled her eyes and grinned. "You don't have anything to bounce back from."

Claire stirred her coffee with one hand and supported her face with the other. "Do you think everyone here is talking about me?"

Olivia stretched, using that as an excuse to glance around the country club's bright dining room. "Claire," Massie rolled her eyes. "Everyone is always talking about you. You've always ignored it."

"That was before I had a heart attack. Now everyone is treating me like I'm made of glass."

"Excuse me," Olivia called to a passing waiter. "Could we get a small pillow, perhaps a down one? My friend here needs to sit on it," she lowered her voice, "She's very fragile right now." Massie and Olivia cracked up as the waiter walked away, exchanging a confused glance with another waiter.

"Guys, it's not funny," Claire dropped her spoon on the table with a little force. "The valet asked me if I would like him to drive me home after brunch!"

"Should you be driving, though, C?" Massie sobered, exchanging a concerned look with Olivia. She and Olivia could joke, sure, but when it came down to it, Massie saw why people were concerned. "Did the doctor okay it?"

"Yes," Claire said firmly. "I wouldn't be doing it if he hadn't."

"Is this decaffeinated?" Olivia pointed at Claire's cup of coffee with her spoon. "Because the doctor said –"

"I know what he said!" Claire rubbed her temples. "Yes, it's decaffeinated and it's killing me. The things I would do for an espresso. And for the record, you two are stressing me out right now. And you'll never guess what the doctor told me to avoid – stress."

"Claire," Massie reached a hand out to her best friend, but Claire ignored it. "We're worried, that's all. You had us really scared."

"We had no idea you had an irregular heart beat," Olivia's lower lip trembled. "We had no idea what brought this on, and –" she broke off, exhaling a shaky breath. "Claire, we didn't know if you were going to live or die, or what."

"I'm sorry," Claire said softly. "I know, I know. Stella has given me the same spiel about twenty times. The worst is over now though, I promise. Now I just have to focus on getting back to normal and doing what I used to do. And you guys have to let me do that."

"We will," Massie sipped her gin and tonic. "But you have to let us worry. If it makes you feel better, we'll worry behind your back, won't we, Liv?"

"You won't even know we're worrying about you," Olivia confirmed with a nod.

"Okay," Claire giggled. "Deal."

Another Friday night, another night for Westchester's elite to dress up and pretend to care about someone other than themselves. Seth wasn't sure what the benefit was for this week – whales? Or was it starving children in Wales… He sat alone at a table, people watching. How was it that he had group of friends, but always wound up alone at these things? His parents were off mingling, but the elegant script on the place cards showed that the Cranes were also seated at this table – so where were they?

As if summoned by his thoughts, Harper sank into a chair across from him, looking bored. She looked pretty in a strapless emerald dress and tiny emerald stud earrings. He'd hardly had the chance to have a real conversation with her since Claire's heart attack. "Hi."

Harper looked up from her phone. "Hi."

"Having fun?"

"Mmm," she murmured, looking back at her phone.

Seth tapped his fingers on the silk tablecloth nervously. What was up with her? Conversation with Harper hadn't been this forced since he'd first come home after getting kicked out of school. Seth had thought they'd gotten over that. "That Stella?" he nodded toward her sleek white iPhone.

"What?"

"Who you're texting."

"Mark, actually."

"How is he?"

"Fine, thank you."

Well then. Seth pulled out his own phone, sending a text to Thomas, begging him to join them at the table. This silence was killing him. Maybe he could get up and pretend to make a phone call? Or he could knock his water glass over to create a little action or –

"Daydreaming about me?" Ava purred in his ear, making Seth realize he'd been staring blankly at his water glass.

"Of course," Seth straightened his tie, watching Ava slide into the chair beside him. Her hair was a wild mess of dark curls, a stark contrast to Harper's sleek blowout.

"When is this thing going to end?" She pretended to yawn.

"Did I tell you guys that Mark is making a speech later?" Harper sat up a little straighter, her voice taking on a slightly haughty edge.

"You don't say," Ava sipped her water. "Someone taught him words other than 'recycling', 'bush people', and 'Africa'?"

"Well," Harper paused, fiddling with the emerald stud in her ear. Seth knew she did that whenever she was a little uncertain. Once, at her family's chateau in France, he'd watched her twirl a vintage pearl earring over and over and over until, finally, he kissed her. That had made her stop. "The speech is about, um, how some bush people in Africa use only biodegradable materials since garbage is making its way into the ocean and hurting the whales."

"Ah," Ava smirked. "Fascinating."

"This is a charity function for whales, Ava," Harper looked pissed, and Seth couldn't help taking a peek at Ava to see if she was shrinking away. Harper was scary when she got mad. But then again, Ava was her twin sister and could be equally scary. She wore the same bored expression, a slightly amused smirk on her face, not backing down. "Besides," Harper continued. "It doesn't hurt to be aware of what's going on in the world."

"I'm aware," Ava said. "But you do know where those emeralds are from, right?" She nodded at Harper's earrings.

"They're from Tiffany's."

Ava shot a 'you've got to be kidding me' look to Seth, but truthfully, he'd been thinking the exact same thing. "Before that they were from Colombia. Maybe you should look into that, seeing as it doesn't hurt to be aware of what's going on in the world."

Seth cleared his throat. "So you and Mark are good then, yeah?" he said before Harper and Ava could get into it anymore.

Harper's jaw clenched for a millisecond. Most people wouldn't have even noticed it, but most people didn't pay attention to Harper the way Seth did. It was ingrained in him, ever since he'd been two and a half years old, and Massie and Landon had brought over two little bundled up babies. Ava had slept the entire visit, but Harper had been wide awake, cooing and looking around.

Harper smiled benignly at him, absently touching her left earring. "Things are great." Her gaze dropped back to her phone, meaning the conversation was over.

Two year old Seth hadn't been able to take his eyes off little Harper with her dark head of hair and big, shiny blue eyes. Now, fifteen years later, he was in the exact same place.

Landon stared out the window at the bustling downtown street below him. The boutique across the street was putting up Halloween decorations, reminding Landon that he needed to go over the costume rules with Ava and Harper. He didn't really need to worry about Harper's costume, but Ava sometimes liked to dress for shock value.

His thoughts wandered back to the main issue at hand though: Massie's drinking. Perhaps he was overthinking it – after all, Landon himself enjoyed a glass of scotch in his office, and a few glasses of wine with dinner. But he wasn't polishing off the entire bottle, or starting the morning off with tomato juice and vodka.

Landon sighed, abandoning his spot at the window to sink into the small couch in the corner of his office. When and how had things even gotten to this point? Was this even a big deal, or was he making it seem worse than it actually was? The kids hadn't noticed anything, or if they had, they hadn't commented. Then again, they'd been brought up to judge silently. He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss.

"You look tired, boss," Paige entered the office without knocking.

"Watch yourself," Landon chuckled. "My wife says 'tired' is just a synonym for 'terrible'."

"You could never look terrible," Paige sat beside him on the couch without being invited. "I've just got a few questions, if you've got time."

Landon glanced down at the Rolex on his wrist. "I actually should get going. Dinner time." It had been a little over a month since the five of them had sat down to dinner, just the five of them. Lately, Massie had been spending evenings at her studio, or one of the kids was out, or Landon was working late. But tonight they'd all promised to make being home for dinner a priority.

"Cute," Paige leaned back into the couch, her skirt riding up a little. "I'm surprised your kids even come home for dinner. I guess we can deal with this tomorrow…" she frowned at the papers in her hand. "Just Bank of London stuff…by the time we get in tomorrow at seven, it'll already be noon there…"

"Bank of London?" Landon sat up, grabbing the papers from Paige's hands. He'd been trying to nail the BoL as a client forever, and it was proving more and more impossible every day. Then finally, the board had agreed to a meeting with him, so they could hear him out. Landon had been stressing about it for weeks.

He glanced at his watch again – six-forty. If he left now, he'd be home a little after seven, which was pushing dinner too late. It was better for Massie and the children if they just ate now, without him. "We've got time," Landon said. "Make yourself comfy. I've just got to call Massie."

"What do you mean you've got to stay late? You're the boss, Landon, you leave when you want to," Massie snapped.

"Massie, you've been in your studio until ten most nights, then you work in your office for another few hours. You understand what it's like."

"Do I?" Massie sounded angry, which made Landon feel a little less bad. If she'd been hurt and on the verge of tears, he'd have rushed home, had dinner, then return to the office to deal with the BoL. Well, maybe. But lately Massie had been snapping at everything Landon said, and he found himself doing the same. "Evidently, Landon, I don't know what it's like. Because I'm at home, about to sit down to a family dinner. I'll tell the kids you've chosen work over their company." With that, the line went dead.

Landon slipped his Blackberry back into his pocket. He supposed it was too late to change his mind and go home; Massie was already angry with him.

"So you haven't eaten?" Paige asked him, laying out different folders on the conference table. "I just put it an order for linguini and clams at Sorriso's. Not too late to call and order a second plate."

Landon hesitated a moment. Now it truly was like he was choosing a dinner in his office over a dinner with his children. But he was famished and wasn't about to watch Paige eat. "Alright," he allowed. "Put it on the company Visa. You might as well request a bottle of white wine while you're at it."

Stella walked absentmindedly down Fifth Avenue, looking in the odd shop window. She was in the city to surprise her mother with a bouquet of flowers from Claire's favourite shop, Belle Fleur. She'd asked Harper if she wanted to come, so the two of them could spend the day shopping and gossiping and drinking at the Plaza, which was infamous for not carding, before catching the train home. Stella had been hoping Harper would say yes, since it had been a while since they'd had a good girls day, and for the past week or so, Harper had been moody and distant. Stella wondered if she was secretly pissed at her for some reason, but with Harper, it was sometimes better to let her simmer by herself than to ask what was up.

"Excuse me, miss?" A woman dressed in an 'I ❤ NY' shirt and New Balance sneakers stopped her, looking slightly sheepish. "Could I take your picture?"

"Oh," Stella tucked a golden curl behind her ear. "Sure." She smiled into the camera as she snapped a few photos.

"Thank you," the woman gushed. "What was your name again?"

"Stella Harrington," she shot her a polite smile before continuing walking.

She wondered if the woman would be disappointed with her search results. A quick Google search of Stella's name would pull up countless newspaper archives and pictures from throughout the years. The newspaper in Greenwich, Connecticut, where her family summered, featured her in their weekly issues almost every summer. And then there were all the mentions on Page Six… not to mention a small piece from a Spanish gossip website about her dancing the bar last summer in Madrid. But aside from all that, she was just a high school student from Westchester, which wasn't interesting in the least.

Although that hadn't stopped two girls from taking her picture when she'd gotten off the train that morning, swearing they'd seen her close the Marc Jacobs show at Paris Fashion Week.

A few blocks and a cappuccino later, Stella caught sight of a familiar head of wavy, nearly black hair. No way. She pushed past a few people to get right behind him, then said "Could you walk any slower?"

Thomas turned around, looking annoyed. When he realized it was Stella nearly stepping on the backs of his YSL boots, a smile broke out on his handsome features. "Shut up," He laughed, stepping to the left a little so Stella could walk beside him. "How on earth do we manage to run into each other in the busiest city in the world?"

"Must be fate," she joked as Thomas slipped his hand into hers. "What are you doing here?"

"Touring NYU," Thomas rolled his eyes. "Boring. I stayed for all of eight minutes." Stella smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. She couldn't really picture Thomas wandering around the campus with a group of nervous, gawking, soon-to-be freshman, like a big herd of nervous, gawking sheep. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wandering around. Wanna wander together?"

"Yeah," Thomas slowed to look in the window of Tiffany & Co. "Those would like pretty on you," he pointed to a pair of diamond earrings. "Want 'em?"

Stella couldn't help but snort, tugging Thomas's hand to drag him away from the window. "God, who do you think we are?"

"Point taken," Thomas laughed, placing a gentle kiss on her temple as they walked away. "Anyway. Lunch?"

"Yeah," Stella sighed happily. "Sounds good."

Thomas watched as a tall brunette who desperately

needed a sandwich or two strode across the bar. She'd been glancing at him on an off for the past fifteen minutes, and finally at the constant probing of her group of equally tall and skinny friends, she was walking past him. He lowered his gaze to his glass of whiskey, wishing he drank it with ice so that he could rattle the cubes around in the glass.

He and Stella had had an incredible day in the city after accidentally bumping into each other. They'd walked for ages, looking in window displays, stopping for cappuccinos when they got chilly. They'd stopped at Dean & Deluca for some cheese and crackers and dark chocolate covered macadamia nuts, then had a little picnic in Central Park before Stella caught the train home.

Thomas was staying in a suite upstairs for the weekend and had invited Stella to join him, but she'd declined, saying she had to get flowers to Claire and that Thomas really should give the NYU tour a second chance. He'd compromised, promising to do the tour on his own terms tomorrow. Maybe he'd go read in the library for an hour or two. That was surely good enough.

"Excuse me," Tall Skinny Brunette finally stopped at the bar stool next to him. Plum coloured tights covered her thin legs, and thick black glasses framed her large green eyes. "Weren't you on the NYU tour this morning? I swear I saw you in the courtyard. And I never forget a face," she glanced back at her friends' table, where they were failing to pretend they weren't watching intently. "Especially one as good looking as yours," she finished, looking pleased with her line.

Thomas chuckled, looking down at his nearly empty glass of whiskey. How predictable. "I was," he finished his drink. He'd need about four more before he could actually pretend to find this girl funny. "Could I get you a drink?" he offered.

"A Cosmo, please," she fluttered her lashes at him. Thomas ordered the Cosmo and a second whiskey for himself, trying not to grit his teeth. Of course this girl drank Cosmos. "That's Carrie Bradshaw's signature drink," she informed him.

"You don't say. So. Are you a Carrie then? Charlotte? Miranda?"

"I like to consider myself a Samantha, actually," she raised her eyebrows at him over her glass. "Familiar with the character?"

"You know," Thomas leaned forward. "I skipped out on the tour a little early today."

"Oh," she frowned. "Well…I could give you a tour tomorrow…if you wanted."

Thomas took a sip of his whiskey. "Have you ever seen the nineteenth floor of this hotel?" Tall Skinny Brunette shook her head. "I could give you a tour tonight. If you wanted," his gaze travelled back to her friends. "If your friends don't mind."

Tall Skinny Brunette stood up, not giving her friends a parting glance. "What friends?"