Page 63 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Aly and Jess took their bags upstairs, still in an odd standoff about who could carry the luggage up the fastest, while Lola followed the others into the kitchen. The counters were a mess, with bags of tortilla chips, dried fruit, nuts, LaCroix cans, and a few wine bottles strewn about, sprinkled in with sippy cups and scattered Cheerios. The art on the walls was cheesy and beach themed: paintings of seashells and sailboats, a large anchor hung on the pantry door. And somehow, as she looked from Colette to Laurie, Lauren, and Clancy, as they easily sank into their spots around the room—Colette perched against the counter, arms crossed; Clancy plopped on the floor with a toy truck; Laurie and Lauren quickly asking if she wanted a tour, handing her a cold glass of water—Lola realized just how much everyone fit here. How even Aly fit here.

Shewas the only one out of place.

Lola leaned against the sink, chugging the water. Her mouth was suddenly very dry.

“Do you want something to eat, Lola?” Lauren asked, popping open a bag of tortilla chips.

“I’m okay to wait until dinner,” Lola said. The truth was she was too nervous to eat. She needed these girls to like her, and she wasn’t quite sure how to accomplish it.

“So have you been out here before? To Fire Island, I mean?” Laurie asked, sitting at the table. She took her hat off and fluffed her hair with her fingers.

“Actually, no,” Lola said. “Just the Hamptons.”

“It’s gay heaven,” Lauren said, sitting on Laurie’s lap, chips in hand. “I mean, like, gayboys. Cherry Grove is the one beach for the lesbians.”

It hadn’t occurred to Lola that the lesbians and the gay men would want their own beaches, and her face must have said so, because Laurie explained, “Different cultures. They’re here to party. We’re here with our wives and children to drink a glass of wine on the beach and then go to bed early. Not to be a total fucking cliché, but here we are.”

Lauren said, “We have fun sometimes, I swear.”

Lola realized, as Laurie was talking, that they had assumed she was not one of them. They were right, but it stung a little. She felt a twist in her stomach. She wished Aly would come back downstairs.

“Do you come here every summer?” she asked, trying hard to remain calm.

“We try to,” Colette said. “The wild card is always Carter. Sometimes she has time for us, and sometimes she doesn’t.”

“One time, Aly met a girl at the bar down the road and didn’t come back for a week,” Laurie said.

Lauren gave her a light, playful slap. “Don’t scare Lola,” she said. “She just got here.”

Lola managed a shaky smile. “No,” she said. “I want all the dirty details.” As she said it, she wondered if it was true. Did she want to know about Aly’s sordid past? Shewascurious, but would it be better if she didn’t pry? Could she remain in this blissed-out oblivion forever?

“Aly’s the best,” Lauren said. “Don’t listen to us. And besides, we were all young and dumb once. Don’t forget the year Jess got sodrunk, she went to the wrong house, passed out on the couch, and woke up to that one queer punk band having a nice midmorning brunch around her.”

She held the bag of chips out to Lola, who caved and took a handful.

“So, East Hampton, right?” Colette, who had inched closer, now leaning against the fridge, asked. “Next door to Aly?”

Seems they did know something of who she was.

Lola nodded. “Giancarlo’s house,” she said, her mouth still full of chips.

“Ilovethat house,” Colette said breathily. “I’m convinced no one has better taste.”

“I agree with you,” Lola said, swallowing. “Though personally I’m a little sick of minimalism. If I had my own house, I wouldn’t have the restraint needed for an all-cream color palette.”

Clancy abruptly threw the truck to the side and started wailing.

“Uh, yeah, same. Beige doesn’t look good with Fisher Price, does it, Clancy?” Lauren said, swooping in to pick him up before sniffing his bottom. “Oof, looks like someone needs a change. Laur, some help here?” She strolled into the other room, talking softly and bouncing him as Laurie followed in their wake, leaving Lola and Colette alone in the kitchen.

The silence between them stretched.

Lola took another sip of water. She could feel Colette’s eyes on her like a second skin.

“Iknowyou,” Colette said finally, taking her tiny sunglasses off. “You’re the influencer from the article. The ‘lesbian chic’ heard ’round the world.”

Lola felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “That’s me,” she replied, trying to sound casual. After a week of mind-blowing sex with Aly,she had almost forgotten it was the article that brought them together. Almost.

“Huh,” Colette said, leaning against the counter, sizing her up. “Isn’t this a plot twist.”

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