Page 80 of Hotter in the Hamptons

She heard Colette’s voice in her head accusing her of not being literary.

It wasn’t untrue.

But everyone had to start somewhere, right?

She pulled the flyer for tonight’s event back up, taking in details she’d missed before. It was all women writers. Aly was third in the lineup. The theme was “Stories of Summer.” Lola didn’t recognize the other names, but that wasn’t surprising. Thisreallywasn’t her scene.

A bookseller walked to the front and said into the microphone, “If everyone will take their seats, we’ll start shortly.”

The room filled up, though no one sat next to Lola. She blamed the roses.

She had trouble concentrating on the first two readers, older writers with glasses, one of them wearing a big statement necklace that made her look more like a nineties art teacher. She nodded along anyway, though, participating in the performance of listening, all the while looking for a flash of Aly.

The bookseller returned to the microphone. “Our next reader comes to us all the way from the big city,” he said to some scattered laughter, then began reading off his phone. “Aly Ray Carter is an award-winning journalist. Her bylines have appeared inNew York Magazine,The New Yorker,The New York Times,Vanity Fair,the Los Angeles Times, and more. She’s working on a book, but who isn’t?” The bookseller paused, looking up at the crowd. “Obviously, Aly wrote her own bio.” There was somescattered laughter at Aly’s self-deprecating words. “All right, everyone. Please welcome Aly.”

Applause.

Lola held her breath.

Aly, who must have been sitting in the back this whole time, walked up to the front, her eyes landing on Lola and then on the flowers.

Lola waved and then felt herself redden.

Don’t be such a fucking dork.

Aly smiled uncertainly at her and then looked away, speaking into the microphone and addressing the audience. “Thanks, everyone, for coming, and thanks to Bookhampton for having me.” Lola was surprised to hear her voice shake. Aly? Nervous? To read? It seemed unfathomable.

“You got this,” someone called from the back, and the audience laughed. So did Aly.

“Thanks,” she said. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “I’m going to read something new. It’s about…” She trailed off and then grinned. “It’s about the girl in the front row, actually. Who, for the record, I didn’t know would be here. But it’s too late to read something else.” Lola felt all eyes on her and beamed. “This isn’t the kind of thing I usually write, so…go easy on me.”

Aly took a breath and then began.

“You wanted to spend the summer in isolation—no plans, no friends, no obligations. You had a vision of yourself writing by the sea. You were going to drink wine on the dock while inspiration took hold, finally start that fucking novel everyone expects you to have published by now, find a therapist who will see you on Zoom, apologize to your mother for the way you’ve acted for the past twenty years. You were going to get in shape, get a tan, stop eating gluten.” She paused, and the audience laughed.

“You came here to find yourself, and instead you seem to have lostyour mind.”

She looked up then, right at Lola, before continuing.

“It was like the world was drained of color. You deleted the apps. You didn’t smile back at beautiful women. You closed yourself off to the idea of…” She paused for a long time before saying, “Love.”

Love? Lola’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest.

“Sorry.” Aly paused, breaking character. “This is unedited and unfinished.” She flashed a nervous smile and then continued. “But love doesn’t care what you had planned to do for the summer. It just wants to pin you against the door and hold you there until you’re not sure if you’ve passed away from want. Love wants to come meet all your friends and pick fights with you the entire time.” She stopped, looking at Lola again. “Love, I guess, wants to show up with too many roses after you’ve asked for space.”

There was laughter. Lola’s heart sank. She wondered if this was a mistake. She couldn’t be sure where Aly’s reading was heading. Foolish of her to think Aly would want her here when she hadn’t been invited. When she had asked to be alone.

But then Aly kept going: “Love wants to insist you talk to her because you’re doing what you always do. The truth is that you’re terrified. The truth is that you’re not sure you can survive getting your heart broken again. But she doesn’t care about your reasons. She doesn’t care about your summer plans. She doesn’t care if you eat gluten. She demands to be taken seriously. And now that you’ve felt love, even if you totally fuck it up, you’ll still never be the same. So you might as well stop being a pussy and give it a chance.”

It was an odd and abrupt ending, and for a few beats, the audience was still, waiting for more. Then they realized it was over and brokeinto supportive applause.

Aly took the seat beside Lola and put her hand on Lola’s knee.

I’m sorry, she mouthed.

In reply, Lola rested her head on Aly’s shoulder, snuggling into her.

She didn’t hear a single thing that was read after that. All she could think about was Aly’s body heat, the smell of her skin, and the way she’d kept saying the wordlove.

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