buildings so striking that Ellie forgot to be self-conscious for a moment, pressing her forehead against the window with wide eyes—they dropped their bags at Lauren’s apartment, in a building that looked like a museum. The living room alone was bigger than an entire floor of Ellie’s house.
Afterward, they spent a few hours shopping on Fifth Avenue—which for Ellie turned out to be an exhausting exercise in trying not to look too shocked by the prices—and then went to the Museum of Modern Art, where she pretended to appreciate a series of paintings that looked as if they’d been done by a four-year-old.
By the time they started walking back across town, on their way to dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant that Lauren and Kara and Sprague were apparently desperate to try, the sky was dusky and pale, the light of the buildings already starting to glow. Ellie could no longer hide the fact that she was lagging behind the others. Being with them felt a little like being on camera for an extended period of time, and trying to maintain a brighter, cheerier, cooler version of herself for so long was completely draining. All she wanted to do was sit down in a dark restaurant and eat her noodles while the others talked.
But as they neared the corner of Fifty-Fourth and Sixth, they saw a series of blue police barricades cordoning off the street, and beyond that an enormous crowd gathered beneath an old-fashioned marquee that read ZIEGFELD in sweeping letters.
“Must be a premiere,” Lauren said before they’d even crossed the street, and Kara’s face lit up as she stepped off the curb, already moving in that direction.
“I wonder what movie it is,” she said, but somehow Ellie already knew.
Three
No matter how you looked at it, one year, two months, and twenty-one days was a very long time.
But sometimes it didn’t seem that way to Ellie at all.
Sometimes it felt like she was still in the middle of a conversation with him, that they’d only paused for a beat; that this was nothing more than the space between musical notes, the timeout on a playing field, the long, slumbering winter before an inevitable spring.
At other times it felt like the whole thing had just been a dream.
Four
When Graham left the beach that morning last summer, Ellie didn’t go with him.
They agreed that they didn’t want to say good-bye in front of his trailer, or in the lobby of his hotel, or even at her own house, with her mother hovering nearby, pretending not to listen. They didn’t want to be on display in town, now that their secret was out, and they didn’t want to walk up the road together, each step heavier than the last, each one closer to good-bye.
Instead, Ellie wanted to remember him like this: at their spot on the beach, the pink-streaked sky behind him so brilliant it almost looked like a scene from one of his movies.
But it wasn’t.
If it had been one of his movies, they’d have been making promises right then. They’d have been making plans. They’d have been saying they loved each other.
But they didn’t do any of those things.
Graham was going back to his life, and Ellie was staying right there in Henley.
In two weeks, she’d be going to Harvard for a summer poetry course, while Graham would be on a soundstage in L.A., wrapping the film they’d been shooting all summer.
A few weeks after that, Ellie would be starting her senior year of high school, while Graham would be taking off on a worldwide publicity tour for the last movie of the trilogy that had made him a star.
Their lives would be a million miles apart in a million different ways.
Standing there on the beach, Graham had blinked at her a few times. He was already late for his last day on set, and would be leaving right after he finished his final scenes.
“Listen,” he said, clearing his throat. They’d spent the whole night on the beach, and he looked windswept and rumpled, his cheeks a little pink and his eyes a little watery. He
Afterward, they spent a few hours shopping on Fifth Avenue—which for Ellie turned out to be an exhausting exercise in trying not to look too shocked by the prices—and then went to the Museum of Modern Art, where she pretended to appreciate a series of paintings that looked as if they’d been done by a four-year-old.
By the time they started walking back across town, on their way to dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant that Lauren and Kara and Sprague were apparently desperate to try, the sky was dusky and pale, the light of the buildings already starting to glow. Ellie could no longer hide the fact that she was lagging behind the others. Being with them felt a little like being on camera for an extended period of time, and trying to maintain a brighter, cheerier, cooler version of herself for so long was completely draining. All she wanted to do was sit down in a dark restaurant and eat her noodles while the others talked.
But as they neared the corner of Fifty-Fourth and Sixth, they saw a series of blue police barricades cordoning off the street, and beyond that an enormous crowd gathered beneath an old-fashioned marquee that read ZIEGFELD in sweeping letters.
“Must be a premiere,” Lauren said before they’d even crossed the street, and Kara’s face lit up as she stepped off the curb, already moving in that direction.
“I wonder what movie it is,” she said, but somehow Ellie already knew.
Three
No matter how you looked at it, one year, two months, and twenty-one days was a very long time.
But sometimes it didn’t seem that way to Ellie at all.
Sometimes it felt like she was still in the middle of a conversation with him, that they’d only paused for a beat; that this was nothing more than the space between musical notes, the timeout on a playing field, the long, slumbering winter before an inevitable spring.
At other times it felt like the whole thing had just been a dream.
Four
When Graham left the beach that morning last summer, Ellie didn’t go with him.
They agreed that they didn’t want to say good-bye in front of his trailer, or in the lobby of his hotel, or even at her own house, with her mother hovering nearby, pretending not to listen. They didn’t want to be on display in town, now that their secret was out, and they didn’t want to walk up the road together, each step heavier than the last, each one closer to good-bye.
Instead, Ellie wanted to remember him like this: at their spot on the beach, the pink-streaked sky behind him so brilliant it almost looked like a scene from one of his movies.
But it wasn’t.
If it had been one of his movies, they’d have been making promises right then. They’d have been making plans. They’d have been saying they loved each other.
But they didn’t do any of those things.
Graham was going back to his life, and Ellie was staying right there in Henley.
In two weeks, she’d be going to Harvard for a summer poetry course, while Graham would be on a soundstage in L.A., wrapping the film they’d been shooting all summer.
A few weeks after that, Ellie would be starting her senior year of high school, while Graham would be taking off on a worldwide publicity tour for the last movie of the trilogy that had made him a star.
Their lives would be a million miles apart in a million different ways.
Standing there on the beach, Graham had blinked at her a few times. He was already late for his last day on set, and would be leaving right after he finished his final scenes.
“Listen,” he said, clearing his throat. They’d spent the whole night on the beach, and he looked windswept and rumpled, his cheeks a little pink and his eyes a little watery. He
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