Page 104 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Now, finally back home and ready to face her shit, Lola held her breath as she unlocked the door to her apartment, pushing it open with her shoulder and lugging her bags inside.

Justin’s shoes were not by the door, the telltale sign of his whereabouts. She exhaled.

The apartment was empty.

It was also quiet. So clean.

She left her things in the entryway and entered the kitchen, running her hand along the countertop. She checked the fridge for food and found it was totally empty but for some artisanal ketchup and a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay, both definitely no longer safe to consume. She started a grocery order on her phone while absent-mindedly walking through each room. Justin was everywhere: his clothes in his closet, his water bottle near his gym equipment, his soap in the bathroom. The photos of his family still hung on the walls. It was like their break never happened, like he was just at work and would come home in a few hours to kiss her neck and cook her steak.

But ithadhappened. And she knew there was no going back.

She opened all the curtains, letting the light in.

There was a knock on the door. “Delivery,” she heard a voice call.

It was someone who worked for the building, carrying her sewing machine.

“In here is great, thank you so much,” she said, directing him to setit in the living room.

When he was gone, she sat on the floor and pulled it from its box. The heavy-duty, high-speed Singer was gray and not very aesthetically pleasing. But the pretty ones weren’t as good, and this was the best one under a thousand.

She traced her finger along its knobs and dials. “Hello, friend,” she said.

She placed it on the coffee table, where she could use it while sitting on the floor.

Lola knew she had more important things to do—deciding between Justin and Aly, for one and two, figuring out what the fuck to do with the rest of her life—but all she could think about was finally using that damn machine.

She opened her suitcase there in the living room and pulled out the vintage, polka-dot Moschino shift dress. It was good quality, but the sleeves needed to feel current. She dug around until she found the floral Gucci scarf. She would probably never wear the scarf if she was being honest with herself. But it could serve a different purpose.

The little voice in her head that liked to tell her she wouldn’t know how to do this anymore was starting to whisper to her, but she shook it off. It wasn’t helpful to hold herself back, to stand in her own way. Not now, when she had nothing left to lose.

Humming to herself, she retrieved the little bag from her office that contained scissors, pins, and thread and then plopped down on the floor. She cut the scarf in two and then created puff sleeves for the dress with it, pinning them on. She pinned the waistline in so it was less of an A-line and more form flattering.

Cute, she thought, pleased with herself. The floral silk looked nice next to the polka dots, and the silhouette now felt more like HillHouse—nap dress but make it designer vintage. She could make the neckline a little lower too, she thought, cutting farther into the frock, maybe a square shape.

Lola loaded thread into the machine, feeling a happy rush in her stomach when it whirred to life. And then she began sewing.

It was like she’d never stopped.

As her fingers fed the fabric through, the needle moving in and out, she entered a sort of meditative state, and she thought of the current dilemma of Aly versus Justin.

There were pros and cons to both.

Justin, she had history with. She knew what to expect from him. He’d take care of her forever. But to keep him happy, she’d have to eventually cave to what he wanted: getting married, having kids, moving to LA. Otherwise, he’d be miserable, she knew, stuck in a life he resented, which would make him resenther. Was a happy marriage just constantly choosing between her misery or his? She didn’t want to believe that. Her parents didn’t live like that. They wanted the same things. Their life together was harmonious.

That was what Lola wanted too. It was what she knew she deserved.

Not to mention the little ways she’d always had to cave to Justin—the cleanliness, the aesthetic choices, the family vacations.

Plus, there was the way he’d left her when she’d needed him the most. She could forgive him for that, but she couldn’t trust he wouldn’t do it again. Besides, if Justin hadn’t wanted her at her worst—her messy, figuring-it-out phase—why did he deserve her now, at her best? She always hoped that her true love would accept all parts of her, the bad stuff included. Justin only wanted her when she was okay. That was not a good foundation for a life together.

Lola didn’t know what to expect from a life with Aly, who wasmoody and unpredictable. But Aly also pushed her to be better in almost every way, opened her eyes to a whole new world of people and culture and feelings. However, Aly wanted Lola to say she was bi and would probably never stop pushing for it. Lola hated the idea of someone else deciding who she was. And the way Aly hadn’t cared at all about the Stepped Out post was unsettling.

If Justin cared too much what other people thought, Aly didn’t seem to care enough. It was why she’d been able to write the article about Lola in the first place; she didn’t think about its impact. No—she didn’tcareabout its impact. Because Aly thought Lola’s career and her aspirations were beneath her, and because of that, Lola hadn’t been able to figure herself out during an entire summer spent with Aly. Would she be signing up for that dynamic for the rest of her life if she stayed with Aly?

Still, she could see a future with both of them. It would be as easy as picking up the phone and saying, “I want you. Let’s do this.” Either one would welcome her back, she knew.

But in each scenario, she was sacrificing part of herself to make them happy.

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