Setting: Summer, A Couple Weeks Later, Bea's Perspective
In the next few weeks, the physical side of their romance continued to heat up alongside some record-breaking temperatures June days. Who could blame them, really? They were two young adults, relatively unchaperoned, with some fairly off-the-charts chemistry, and all the time in the world on their hands.
Yet the emotional side of their relationship developed at an equal, if not faster, rate.
At first, this might have been surprising—especially to Logan, who had made it a point in the past not to open up to any girlfriends. But Bea and Logan weren't exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, and this grey area, rather than halting progress between the two of them, actually allowed their relationship to flourish.
The fact that they were building upon their friendship of their younger years only helped matters. Plus, hooking up only took up so much time in a long summer day before they had to fill the hours with something else to do or grow bored. Really, them growing as close as they did in the space of time was inevitable, if they thought about it.
At least, that's how Bea felt about things, as she reflected back on the past couple weeks. She was in an introspective state, mesmerized, watching the water speed by her, trees seeming to glide along the shoreline, birds hovering above, above, the sun glimmering faintly in the mildly overcast day. A boat was the perfect place for such deep reflections.
She'd been actively avoiding looking at Logan as he sailed the boat—if she looked, she'd be reminded of her simultaneous fear that he'd sink the boat (after all, he wasn't the most responsible person she knew) and also her undeniable attraction to see him capable of sailing a whole freaking boat (if that wasn't an appealing skill, what else was?).
After a moment, Bea couldn't resist the temptation to broach her concern again. She'd voiced her worries on land, in the process of getting on the boat, and while leaving the docks, but felt you couldn't be too careful.
"To confirm—you're sure you know how to sail this boat on your own?" Bea hollered over the sound of wind and waves. Logan waved a hand at her, along with a roll of his eyes, which gave her the sense that he was busy with boat-related things (she lacked the sailing vocabulary to even describe his actions in her mind).
Once he had navigated the boat to an intimate inlet, dropped and secured the anchor, (that she could name) he came over and sprawled out next to her. She was reclined on her beach towel and applying a second coat of sunscreen—necessary for her, even on an overcast day. She adjusted the floppy, wide-brim of her sunhat to make eye contact.
Logan met her eyes with a playfully confident, told-you-so look. "Yes, I'm more than qualified to sail this boat. I told you—the only bonding time with my father that I actually learned something was sailing."
"Sailing and womanizing, you think?" Bea prodded.
She'd recently been reading through the Stanford fall course catalogue and was thinking about adding a psychology minor. In particular, a course description of a class on developmental psychology about children, childhood, and parenting caught her eye. In this question, she might've been unconsciously testing out her own hypothesis about the Huntzberger family—in what world was it possible that Logan hadn't been affected by his childhood with his overbearing and, to put it frankly, asshole of a father?
"Hey, I'm offended by that." Logan protested, laughing, but then continued with a serious, thoughtful look on his face.
"You know, I once caught him in the driveway in the back of his town car with his secretary—and they certainly weren't talking business. I was probably 10 years old. I had to have the birds and the bees with our nanny later that day because of it. I think my dad told her to, but I can't know for sure because they drove back to the New York office shortly after I saw them. At no point in all of that did I think, 'hey, Mitchum Huntzberger seems like a great role model for relationships.'"
Hearing this personal childhood story was unexpected. Bea observed Logan as he spoke, noticing notes of embarrassment, frustration, and bitterness as he relayed the events. He looked off in the distance as he spoke, not looking toward her. She slipped her hand in his and rested her head against his shoulder, joining him in looking out at the water as she replied.
"If it makes you feel better, I rarely see my parents in the same room together unless it's an arranged social gathering. At the start of the summer, my dad came home on Friday afternoons and left after dinner on Sunday night. These days, I see the arrival headlights of his car reflect on the pool water at, like, 11PM on Saturday and he heads out after Sunday brunch half the time. It makes me wonder, what's the point, you know? Is every relationship, every person, every interaction, fake in my family?"
Logan shifted closer to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I've wondered something similar in the past. You know, I'm not sure what drew my dad to my mom in the first place, but it definitely seems like a hollow obligation now. I worry that's what they want for me someday—when they want me to continue the family legacy, they won't really care if I'd be happy or not as long as a wind up with a suitable match for the Huntzberger name."
Their conversation had struck a nerve of a whole suit of things that had irked Bea for years now. Listening, feeling more and more fired up, Bea sat up straight and twisted to look directly at Logan.
"What does this stuff even matter? Legacies? Reputations? At the end of the day, isn't what they really care about money? As long as they have that, they get to have everything else." Bea asked heatedly.
Logan shrugged his shoulders in response, remaining unruffled for the most part. "I think you're wrong about that, actually. Financial credit is one thing, but they're an old-fashioned pretentious type in thinking that social wealth, or status, is just as important as actual wealth. Remember when you made us read The Great Gatsby last week? They're exactly like the old money families looking down on Gatsby for his new wealth but secretly wanting to attend all of his parties."
That explanation made a lot of sense to Bea. She relaxed again somewhat, now that the conversation was moving away from the personal to the intellectual.
"Now that you mention it, I'm thinking about the idea of the Gilded Age. A gilded object appears to be pure gold, but really it's just a thin gold coating covering boring wood, or metal, or something like that. False extravagance! That's such a metaphor for our parents. Edith Wharton could write a novel about our families, easily."
"Your future English-major side is showing, Bea." Logan joked lightly.
"Touché." She grinned, pausing, then voiced a random thought that suddenly popped into her head. "What major do you think you'll be?"
"What, do you mean I can't graduate as undecided?" He paused as she laughed and shook her head. He pretended to look deep in thought before responding with a face too serious to be actually serious, "How about party planning?"
Bea rolled her eyes. "You're too intelligent to not take college at least a little seriously, Logan."
"I'm sure I'll learn a few things, at a few points. I'm most interested in the social scene—we're adults now. I want to take risks, get the most out of life. You know, I heard from my grandfather that there's a secret society that I'll get to join. Can you imagine that?" Now Logan was sitting up, animated, eyes glowing at this future college scene he was describing.
"I'm counting on having no connections to anyone on the West Coast and hoping for the best. I hope there are no societies, secret or otherwise, that will connect themselves to me through my family out there." Bea responded. Her determined and somewhat bitter tone caught his attention, pulling him back from the daydreams of future parties.
"So you're really determined then, to cut ties like that, from your family?" He asked, eyebrows raised slightly, reaching out to hold her hand again, as if to keep her steady through that small contact.
Bea took a deep breath, plunging forward with the absolute truth she hadn't really gotten to express to anyone else before. "I want—no, need—to get away from them. You're better at rebelling and defying your parents; I'm far too passive for that. If I stay, I'm afraid I'll become malleable over time and become everything they want me to be. A superficial, dependent ornament—useless, helping no one else, making no difference."
He listened attentively as she spoke, occasionally soothingly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. He responded thoughtfully, "I'm not sure I am better at rebelling. You're the one who's actually taking a stand. I'm just making the most of every free moment I have until they reel me in."
This caught Bea's attention. She'd always perceived of Logan as not having a care in the word, having an ultimate kind of independence. She'd never once thought of herself as the defiant one. Now, though, she pondered this possibility—was it true that she was planning to break away in the truly meaningful way? And what did it suggest about Logan, that he was willing to stay?
"If that's the life you want, there's nothing wrong with that strategy I guess. Our parents, their friends, some of them seem happy—at least all of them seem committed to their choice of that life. They must have their reasons. Maybe they'll fulfill what you want from life too." Bea mused.
"Maybe." Logan said in equally thoughtful and doubtful tones, looking off in the distance once again.
"The water out here really makes us think deep thoughts, huh? What are we supposed to do out here, anyways?" Bea responded lightly, hoping to pull him back in with a topic change.
"Well, when it's my dad and I, he usually lectures me loudly, scaring all the fish away, while I sit in stoic silence, willing the trip to be over." Logan replied sarcastically, grimacing at the memory.
"That doesn't seem like it would work for us. Maybe we could go the Melville route and keep an eye out for the White Whale?" Bea suggested, referencing the huge, water-stained novel next to her beach towel. She'd been trying to get through it all summer long with only minor success.
"Or we could lounge, sunbathe, and nap like walruses do on the sea ice. Or swim, also like walruses." Mirroring this picture of relaxation, Logan reclined backward, folding his hands behind his head, stretching luxuriously.
"Did you watch a nature documentary about walruses or listen to that Beatles walrus song recently or something?" Bea asked, even knowing Logan was messing with her, but still thoroughly confounded by the sudden references to walruses.
Logan continued with the bit, suddenly bolting up as though experiencing an aha moment. "Hey! Maybe I will major in walrus studies."
"Glad that's solved." Bea said, rolling her eyes, laughing, and realizing that there was no real need to plan the rest of the afternoon—the two of them would always inevitably wind up finding ways to amuse or engage each other.
A/N: Wow, school has kept me super busy the last few weeks! I'm still interested in this story, but as a result of my hectic schedule, fanfiction chapters might be posted every couple weeks (rather than once per week). Hope you enjoyed the developments in this chapter—I had a lot of fun writing Logan and Bea talking about some deep stuff that's quite important to their characters' views of the families and society/the world in general, as well as their relationship. Please consider reviewing, favoriting, and/or following if you're liking the fanfiction. I appreciate any and all positive vibes right now! 😊