Coping

Venturing out for coffee had been the challenge of the day. And Meredith Moran had made the trip to the coffee house with him by her side.

Car horns had blared, power tools had grinded as construction men worked, and shoulders of strangers had brushed their own on the busy sidewalks of New York City.

"Are you okay?" Blake had asked.

His sister had waved off his concern as she'd sipped her coffee. "I'm fine."

She put on a good face, but he knew that she was far from being okay. He of all people knew better. He knew better because she'd disappeared to Gull Island for five days because the seclusion had been alluring. Gull Island had no shoulders of strangers to bump into and no internet, but disappearing wasn't in his sister's MO. He knew better because she'd disappeared to Gull Island, baking (and burning) puff pastries with peaches and playing tennis with Tommy instead of attending the Belmont with him and their parents in New York.

"Are you ready to head back?"

"Actually, I want to pop into Cartier," she'd said.

She'd returned with a newfound pep in her step and a smile that was too fake to believe. He and his parents were patiently waiting for the façade to crack because five days on Gull Island could only do so much.

"Okay."

They all knew better, but he'd allowed her to drag him into store after store anyways.

Barneys, and Bendel's, and Bergdorf's. She'd purchased a new summer color of Oran sandals and a silk Twilly for the handle of her bag at Hermès. The color matched the Birkin she'd taken to Paris. $6,000, and then $11,000, and then $17,000 had been signed to her account. Dad would have an aneurysm. "Isn't this a bit excessive," he would ask after seeing the bill. "As long as she's not popping pills," their mother would say.

They'd refueled with another coffee in the afternoon. Blake had opted for three shots of espresso, so he would get through this day without any aches, pains, or migraines.

He thought they were done for when they'd run into Lisa Menchant on the main floor at Bergdorf's.

"I heard about what happened in Paris, Dear."

Blake had led his sister away, towards a private room on the fourth floor before tears appeared, but they never did, so they continued.

A rack of clothing had been pulled before they'd arrived. Nadia always had gowns, and blouses, and blazers, and coats put aside for both Meredith and their mother. And even button-downs, and dress pants, and suit jackets were occasionally picked out for him.

"I need a dress for Saturday," she'd told the stylist. "Something red."

There was a reelection fundraiser up in Connecticut on Saturday evening. Chris Kline's House seat would be on the ballot in November, and his sister was determined to attend and show her support even though Jacob had already decided that the dinner would be too much.

Blake had lounged on the sofa in the private suite as more shopping ensued.

"How is she," his mom asked after he'd returned her missed call.

"She's doing okay. You should send a car," he said. "I think we'll be leaving with too many bags to carry."

When Nadia stepped out to find heels to pair with the gown Meredith had decided upon, the room fell quiet.

"Mom said we can order in tonight for dinner," Blake muttered as his thumbs pressed against the keys of his cell phone. "Any ideas?"

Nothing.

"Meredith," he called out as he stood from the couch and pocketed his phone.

He heard her sniffle.

"Mer?"

When he rounded the corner of the privacy wall, he saw that she was crying. Still in her gown, she was seated on the padded bench, face turned down with her head in her hands.

"Hey." He squatted by her side. "It's okay."

Watery eyes met his when she shook her head.

"I wish I wasn't the eldest," she sobbed.

Blake touched her knee.

She was the first born of Fred and Edie Moran, and the eldest grandchild to both Anthony and Susan Moran and William and Lily Calder. Meredith Moran was the heir to the money, to the fortune, and to the fame. But also, to the alcoholism, to the pressure, and to the expectations.

"I thought I was okay," she said. "But I'm not," she cried.

"He held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—"

He swallowed before he gently squeezed her leg. "It's going to take more than two weeks to get past this, Mer. And that's okay."

It was okay to not be okay.

He wished that she was capable of understanding that, but the pressures that came with being the eldest and the expectations to be the strong young woman that their parents wanted her to be made her reluctant to believe that was true.

When Nadia returned, he told her that his mother's assistant would pick up the pieces Meredith had liked later today.

"Come on."

He hugged his sister before helping her to the car.