Mansion upon the sand
"All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon the sand." -EllaWheelerWilcox
"Pick me up, at mine. Right now. With a car!"
He stands there and nods like an idiot, confused, bemused, surprised. He only got half a hello ("hel") in before she barked her orders and then hung up. Never mind that they hadn't spoken in over two months, since the book debacle actually, never mind that she was supposed to be in Monaco or at the very least on her way to Monaco seeing as her wedding is, like, the day after tomorrow. Never mind that her last words to him prior to this phone call had been some rather pointed insult. He could ignore her, could do what he had planned to do today, which is hanging around the loft drinking coffee and maybe talking to his dad on the phone. Pretend to write an essay for his lit class. He grabs his coat as he thinks of all his plans for today, or lack thereof, then his keys and wallet and goes down to grab a cab to get to his dad and Lily's place, get the car and drive to hers, hating himself for being such a lacquey and hating the traffic in New York for being so slow.
She is sitting on the little bench in her foyer, a suitcase by her feet, her coat folded in her lap, a beret carefully arranged to be askew on her head, looking like a French school girl waiting for the train to boarding school. The elevator ping makes her look up, see him and she rolls her eyes, stands up and scoffs "Did you crawl here? Over an hour! Let's go!". She walks into the elevator, and he grabs her suitcase that she left there, clearly for him to carry, and follows her. On second glance she does not really look like a French school girl at all. There are deep shadows under her eyes, which are puffy and red rimmed, like someone who has cried and tried to hide the evidence. And he can't help but notice that her belly, though hidden under the flowy dress, has rounded considerably since he last saw her. Not to a balloon or anything, she can't be more than 4 months along… or maybe 5, but to a little bump. They ride down in complete silence and only once they are sitting in his father's little car he speaks up. "Where are we going?"
"Suriname? Fiji? Anywhere far, far away from here." He looks confused and is going to crack a joke about the car and its very questionable capacity of getting them to Suriname, but her stern face stops him in his tracks. "Ok, stop looking so stupid, Humphrey, it was merely an expression of how desperately I need to get away from here. How about Amagansett? Is the house there still empty?" He nods, checks on his key ring to make sure Cece's spare set is still attached and starts to slowly inch forward on the busy Manhattan streets. She is looking out of the window, lost in thought, and he concentrates on driving. And on wondering. What on earth happened?
They hit the freeway and he can't keep it in longer: "What happened? You were supposed to get married on Saturday!" It takes her so long to look at him that he starts to wonder if he said that out loud. "Yes, Humphrey, I know that. But you messed it all up, so now I need you to take me somewhere where Louis can't find me, or Chuck, or the paparazzi. Or my mom."
"How could I have messed it up, I haven't seen in you in weeks… hell, months! I haven't spoken to Louis or Chuck… or your mom." He shakes his head, he knows that she loves to make him feel like she is worse off for having him in her life, but blaming him for her fleeing her fiancé, mother and ex a mere 48 hours before her royal wedding is a bit much. "Your book, Humphrey, your book, it messed it all up and it keeps doing that." And with that she turns back to the window signaling that she is done with this conversation. Dan is not though but he knows he better not say anything now, so instead he starts to shape his thoughts into the sentences he will say to her once she willing to listen again.
She fell asleep sometime between Massapequa and Oakdale and hasn't woken up even once since. He parks the car and looks over at her, she looks even smaller in her sleep, sweet and vulnerable, things she rarely lets Dan see when she is awake. In his novel he plagiarized one of his favorite contemporary authors Muriel Barbery and called Blair a hedgehog, prickly on the outside, soft on the inside; in her sleep though she is devoid of any pricks and just herself. He reaches over and softly, carefully tucks a curl of her messy hair behind her ear, leans in close and whispers: "Hey, we are here…" and she opens her eyes wide at once, shies away from his hand and face and then croaks, her voice cracking from sleep: "What are you doing, Humphrey? Trying to give me a heart attack?" Ah, and there they are, the pricks. He sighs, lets himself out, walks around the car and opens the door for her and then goes to get her suitcase, only now wondering how long she might want to stay and how he will survive with just the one pair of underpants and socks.
The house is needlessly huge, especially considering Cece tends to spend her time here alone with one maid. However even if the entire extended Van der Woodsen-Bass-Humphrey clan came to visit there would still be bedrooms left over and bathrooms unused. He carries the increasingly heavier suitcase up and then waits for her to chose a room. "That over there" he points at a door "is my room. Was my room. This summer. Pick one of the other 14." She walks into the room right next to his, the one Eric used this summer, the one that has a communicating door to his room and he leaves the case on the bed, then tells her he will go and get some groceries while she freshens up and she just nods, tiredly. Then once he is at the bottom of the stairs he hears her yell "No fish, no sloppy joes, no waffles! Fruit! And bottled water! Not the one in plastic bottles though." He yells back "Yes, Bwana!" and then just before the door falls shut he hears a final "And chocolate!".
He comes back, unpacks, cooks and while he chops veggies and heats water for the pasta he observes her, sitting on the couch, the TV on but she is not really watching, one hand on her belly. Before the book, before they fell out, they were closer than they had ever been. Friends. Good friends. Best friends even, maybe. He was her confidante and she was… the object of his affection. But the past 2 months a lot had changed, the book and that, well, misunderstanding about poetic license and whatnot, had made her get angry and insulting and him rather embarrassed and then the days started to go by and he thought she would go on reading, realize what he felt and call to talk to him. But she didn't. So either she did not read it, or she did not understand it, or she did not want to talk about it. He doesn't know which one he'd prefer. And he missed her, more so in the beginning, started to write to her, stopped writing to her, considered calling and eventually gave up. It is better this way, he thought, she is about to get married, she is about to have a baby, she is about to leave the country, what is the point of pining after her? And he still pondered if he should go to her wedding or not. She had invited him before it all and just as he was happy with his decision not to go, that phone call. He feels further than ever from her, even though she is sitting there, 10 feet and a kitchen counter away from him. Looking sad and lost. He knows she will share when she is ready and she may never be ready, may always be angry at him, but something doesn't add up. If she is so angry at him, if she blames him and his book for her need to flee from everybody, then why would she want to flee with him? He knows she is in good terms with Serena, so it is not like she has burnt every other bridge, he is not her last resort. He won't ever understand that girl, he thinks and sighs and she doesn't miss a beat and says, without turning around, "Could you breath any louder?"
The meal is as uncomfortable as one could imagine, he tries to make polite small talk (very difficult, when you cannot mention the future, or her fiancé or ex-fiancé or her family, or his book, which is really what his life has been all about lately) and she rolls her eyes a lot and answers snippets here and there. Never more than a few words at a time, never asks anything back. Once it is finished she excuses herself and disappears upstairs and he washes up. When he goes upstairs her door is shut and so he goes into his room, strips down to his t shirt and underpants and crawls into his bed. What is he going to do? How long can he stay with her, hostile as she is? It's not like he has nothing to do back home, he has papers due and classes to attend and helping a friend in need is one thing but being manservant to someone who seems to despise you is something very different. Even if that someone is the girl you have an unexplainable crush on. It is Thursday, he thinks and decides that he will stay here with her until Sunday afternoon and then he is leaving. Unless something changes of course. He turns to the window and looks into the absolute darkness. In New York it is never this dark. There is always some light somewhere, cars driving by throwing shadows across rooms, neighbors have their lights and TVs on. But here it is absolutely pitch black. He can't see anything at all. And there is almost complete silence too. A hoot from an owl every now and then. And then some floorboards creaking. And a door opening and feet on the floorboard making a soft sound, like they are caressing the hardwood. He feels the weight on the far side of the bed when she sits down and turns towards her. Even though he can't see her, he reaches out and finds her knee, leaves his hand on it and waits in silence.
"I couldn't do it. I couldn't get married. It didn't feel right. And I couldn't tell him, because he is perfect and he is everything I ever wanted. Until I had him and then I didn't. But I thought that maybe I would learn to want it again." She breathes hard and readjusts herself on the bed, sits closer to him, puts her hand on his. "And your book came out and he was so angry and thought I cheated and then I knew that I couldn't stay with him. Not because he got angry over the fake cheating, but because I still wasn't sorry over the real one. And I kind of hoped that maybe he wouldn't forgive me. But you told him that nothing happened and he believed you. And then suddenly it was like 3 days away and there was no way out, so I left it out. The letter. From the doctor. He must have read it and must have connected the dots because when I came back he was gone and there was a note on the letter saying he could not marry someone he could not trust."
He hears her sniff softly, feels her body shake with a silent sob, and draws a few circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to offer all the comfort she can take right now. He understand that sometimes, even when it feels right, it hurts, because you wished it wasn't right. "I don't know what he wants to do about the baby. I mean it is his, I am sure he wants to see it, but he didn't say anything and I don't… I don't want to talk to him." She moves yet another little bit closer, he can now feel her body heat and smell the faint note of Chanel Nr 5 that seems to be her constant companion. "And Chuck" she sobs harder. "I have never loved anyone like I loved him and I think maybe I never will again… what if I never love like that again, Dan? What if that was my one chance and now I am pregnant and alone and…"
He sits up and she scoots right into his arms, by instinct, because he can't see her at all until she is inches from his face, and sobs against his chest. When she has calmed down somewhat he whispers "You are not alone" into her hair and then sinks back into a lying position, with her still pressed to his side. He listens to her breathing getting more even and feels her body relax against his, one fist still balled up, holding some fabric from the front of his t shirt, holding him close. He adjusts his body to a more comfortable position, feels the foreign curve of her belly against his hip.
"And you will love again." he whispers even more softly, then tucks his chin on the top of her head and with the sweet scent of her fruity shampoo right under his nose, he falls asleep.