Page 23 of Gold Rush

He pats her back. “Yep. Cool. I meant to totally kill the mood. I’m fine, and I don’t want to talk about it, and let’s go jump off a cliff.”

Worried glances are exchanged for a few seconds, and then the group begins moving, taking another path back through the greenery. Since I have no clue where I’m going, I wind up near the back with the guy named Gus.

“Sorry about making it awkward back there,” he tells me. “I was going to wait to tell them, then decided ripping the Band-Aid off was a better strategy.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Breakups suck. I’m sorry you’re going through one.”

“You are too, right?” Immediately, he backtracks. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—Wren just mentioned … I sort of had to talk her out of murdering your ex”—Gus grimaces—“since Sawyer’s only contribution was offering to drive the getaway truck.”

I laugh, my first genuine one in a while.

Wren glances back, sees me walking with Gus, and flashes me a thumbs-up with her left hand. Her right is clasped with Sawyer’s.

“Yeah, I am,” I answer. “We were together for a long time, which made it harder. But he cheated, which made it easier. It was messy and public, but also felt very final, which helped? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s a cliché, but time does help.”

“Also a cliché, but it’s his loss, Rory.”

“Thanks. I’m glad I crashed your hangout. And that Sawyer has such cool friends.”

Gus smiles, quickly glancing ahead before refocusing on me. “He’ll never tell you so, but this is a big deal for Cap. He’s got this stupid idea in his head that he’s not good enough for Wren because he grew up so differently from you guys. Being invited to your grad party and to dinner with your folks, you giving him a chance—it all means a lot to him. He’s the best guy I know, and I’m not only saying that because we’re best friends.”

Sawyer’s earnest expression when he thanked me for calling a lawyer flashes in my head.

“He makes Wren really, really happy. That’s all I care about. And, in my experience, guys who grew up like we did tend to be terrible boyfriends.”

Those ahead of us have stopped. A salty gust of wind blows my hair straight back, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of water crashing into rock.

“You ever been bluffing before?” Gus asks.

I shake my head, wondering if I should have declined this invitation for reasons I failed to consider earlier.

Wren is more athletic than I am. She took tennis and horseback riding lessons, growing up, while I was primarily focused on academics. My extracurriculars were mock trial and captaining the debate team. I force myself to attend at least one exercise class a week, and I walk part of the commute to work. Yet I can’t recall the last time I went swimming, which tells me it’s been a while.

“It’s not as high as it looks,” one of the other guys tells me when I reach the edge.

The water below is churning, white foam visible on the dark blue surface of the sea, where waves recently collided with the side of the cliff. The sun is starting to sink, bathing everything—the ocean, the rocks, the flat slab of stone I’m standing on—in a golden glow.

I inhale deeply. I love New York—its pace, its energy, its opportunities. When my parents purchased a property here, I was surprised because I’d thought they felt the same way. But there’s something about this, too, something I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated before. The enormity of the sea and the sky spread as far as the eye can see—it diminishes you, yet it’s also inspiring.

Wren yanks off a T-shirt several sizes too big for her. One of Sawyer’s, I’m assuming, as the yacht club’s logo is partially visible on the heap of fabric.

My sister smiles at me, holding out a hand. “Wanna jump with me?”

That’s exactly what I want to do all of a sudden. I clasp Wren’s offered hand and begin running. I hear her surprised laugh as we start to plummet, and I experience what it’s like to be the sort of person who leaps without second-guessing.

Cool water closes over my head a few seconds later, blocking out the noise. Washing away my carefully styled hair and perfectly applied makeup.

Jumping without second-guessing?

Pretty fucking freeing.

8

Tuesday evening, there’s a Harvard Law social at Bowery Line—a trendy bar not far from Midtown and the Financial District. I debate not attending right up until I enter the industrial, dimly lit space, beleaguered from a busy weekend in the Hamptons.

Naomi Gallagher, my closest classmate for the past three years, is the main reason I’m here. Despite us living in the same city again, the only time we’ve seen each other since graduation was at the bar exam. Naomi spent the first half of the summer home in North Carolina to study. Now that the exam is behind us, she’s back to start her judicial clerkship in the Eastern District.

My phone buzzes while I’m standing in line to check in. The text is from Naomi, letting me know she’s stuck in traffic. She’s driving since her boyfriend, Nathan, is flying in tonight for a visit, so she can pick him up from the airport later. They’ve been together since middle school and successfully navigated a long-distance relationship since they were eighteen. I truly have no concept of what that must be like—growing and changing and staying with someone. The more time that’s passed since my breakup with Carson, the harder it is to ignore how little our relationship impacted my life.