Page 41 of Hotter in the Hamptons

She bought the dress, only wincing slightly as the salesgirl ran her card.

***

On their walk back to the car, Lola noticed the Isabel Marant store was overflowing with people, crowding the sidewalk.

“Oh shit.” She pulled on Ryan’s hand as she began to drag him toward it. “They’re doing that French vintage pop-up again. Can we go?”

“I would never deny you vintage,” Ryan said, though by the weary way he said it, she knew he was running out of patience for the Lola Show and would soon need to recharge by the pool.

“We’ll go home after this, I swear.”

On the sidewalk, racks overflowing with beaded gowns, old T-shirts, and leather jackets called to her. She touched each piece gently, like a lover reuniting with their muse. There was so much to play with—so many different works of art that just needed a few stitches here or there to make them modern.

A younger, more innocent, version of herself wouldn’t have hesitated to buy it all, then hole up in her apartment for days creating custom pieces that would get her stopped on the street.

But what would the new version of her do? The anti-Aly version? Who was the new version of her anyway? Maybe it was time to revisit her old self. It was worth a try anyway. And she had nothing else to do, not for the whole summer. She could buy a sewing kit and see what happened next.

She left the pop-up with her arms loaded down with her haul, atentative feeling fluttering in her chest.

“Okay, now we can go.” She grinned at Ryan.

***

Back at the house, Ryan immediately fell asleep by the pool, and Lola retreated upstairs to try on her secondhand finds.

She’d found a polka-dot Moschino shift dress, green Issey Miyake pants, and huge brown Dior sunglasses; she’d scored a few threadbare vintage T-shirts with various obscure logos on them from the dollar bin, plus an old silk floral scarf she was fairly certain was Gucci. She’d also grabbed some perfectly worn-in overalls with no label and a red leather trench coat with some rips at the hem. The final prize was a seventies maxi dress with long bell sleeves and orange flowers.

She had missed the smell of vintage, that musky giveaway that there had been previous owners, previous lives and stories. She tried to imagine the women who had worn these items before, what they’d been like, what they dreamed of.

She wondered, touching each soft piece, if she still had the knack for this or if she’d lost the gift over the years. It was entirely possible she’d just wasted a bunch of money for no reason. Her heart clenched, nerves racing through her. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready for this step. She’d give it time. She had all summer.

She glanced at her phone. She had a lot of texts, most of which she ignored, though she did remember to send a message on the family group chat:Hi, Mom and Dad, I’m okay and alive. I love you. I’m in the Hamptons for the summer. It’s for the best.

Her mom wrote back immediately:Have fun xx

Lola felt a little guilty that she hadn’t called them back, but sheknew they understood.

She returned her attention to the pieces before her. By the time she was finished trying it all on, the afternoon sun spilled through the window, creating soft shadows, and she realized it was almost time to go to the pop-up with Ryan. Still wearing one of her new T-shirts, she pulled on the vintage overalls and floated downstairs to find him.

He was nowhere to be found.

That was when she realized it was almost 5:00 p.m., well past when they were supposed to leave. It was odd that he hadn’t waited for her or reminded her that they needed to go, but Ryan was always kind of passive-aggressive like that. Then she saw a note on the table.Go without me. Love you.She glanced out the front window and saw that the car wasn’t in the driveway.

How annoying.

She sent him a text:You’re not going?

I went already, he replied.I told you I was just stopping by. Emmett and I are going to dinner now.

She sighed. She didn’t want to go without him, but she also didn’t want to stay at home alone.

She could make an appearance. The party was just a bike ride from the house at least.

She checked herself in the downstairs bathroom mirror, dragging a bit of red lipstick over her lips. She didn’t have the energy to change into the Khaite dress, so she fluffed her hair with her fingers and decided she looked like the kind of girl someone might call “chill.” Hilarious, given that she’d never been chill about anything in her life.

It was breezy and a little cooler outside than it had been earlier, and on her ride over to the Mytheresa x Flamingo Estate party, she was thankful she’d worn pants. It was a beautiful ride, so differentfrom her Manhattan adventures dodging pedestrians and taxis. With the ocean on one side and mansions on the other, the world became a blue-green blur as she pedaled, and she was grateful for the emptiness of the bike trail—it was calming. Despite her annoyance with Ryan and her mild dread about showing up alone, she felt a pleasant surge of dopamine. She should really get on the bike more, she realized.

The party was already spilling over into the parking lot when she arrived. Women were wearing silky gowns and strappy sandals; the men wore linen suits. Her stomach sank to the ground, a wave of dread washing over her.

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