all eyes on us .

[charlotte lemeir]

Charlotte stares up at the menu, her lip tucked into her teeth as she reads the items as if she’s going to get something other than a matcha latte. ”I just love your hair like that,” says Vegas, whose thin fingers comb through her daughter’s pixie cut lovingly. “Do you?” Charlotte shies away and touches her head, “I feel so naked.” She had gotten it cut in Paris before she came home in more of a practical effort than a stylish one. She loathed it. The girl rests her head on her mother’s shoulder as they wait for their turn in line. She felt nervous in familiar territory and so aware of herself. When it came their turn, she let Vegas take the wheel. ”An Americano and a matcha latte. That’s it, yes.” She smiles up at her mother, she just knew - no questions needed. The two of them tuck into the corner to wait for their order, with Charlotte still nestled into the crest of her mother while Vegas dotes and presses a kiss into her daughter’s freshly cut hair.

[oscar rutherford]

A welcome break from the Hamptons. Oscar is on an errand run in the city, a long list of tasks on his phone and Bose earphones on his head, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds proving a preferable soundtrack to the sounds of the city. The heat is oppressive here, radiating off the tarmac and cooking the trash on the streets, an overly sweet and putrid smell mingling with the dusty mechanical smell that radiated from the subway below. Oscar adored it. With a backpack full of groceries from niche Asian stores, extra clothes for Aria and a litany of trinkets Aisha had asked for, he’s finally allowing himself a coffee, stopping in at the first place he sees. It’s more chichi than he would have preferred, most of the customers being young women clutching pale green matcha swirled with pinks and blues. He orders a black coffee and steps to one side to wait for it, his level of anticipation totally unjustified for someone who had already had three today. It’s when he’s stood by the counter that someone catches his eye, a familiar flash of pale skin and big blue eyes. If he had his coffee he would have dropped it. Heart pounding hard, he stares at the familiar girl openly and directly for a few seconds, his brain experiencing some sort of recognition lag as he takes in her new haircut. For a split second he muses on the fact he’d gained a moustache and she’d lost about a foot of hair; sudden style changes, that hallmark of a difficult breakup. He has his coffee now and he thinks about leaving, though at that exact moment she looks up, their eyes meeting. Too late now. Forcing a broad smile onto his tanned and hairier face, he crosses the room. “Lottie. Ms LeMeir… it’s great to see you both, how are you?”

[charlotte lemeir]

The cafe feels foreign. Everyone around her is speaking English and anxiety churns in her stomach. It was only her third day back in New York and her first day actually leaving the cocoon of her parent’s cozy Manhattan apartment. Her mother strokes her hair and it soothes her, her blue eyes falling shut until Vegas abruptly stops. When her eyes flutter open, she only sees him. For a second she tries to convince herself that it’s just a lookalike. But even with a full strip of hair above his upper lip, you can’t mistake Oscar Rutherford. She feels sick. Charlotte crosses her arms, hiding away the stupidly large engagement ring that sits on her finger. Words don’t come out of her mouth and she feels her mother staring at her before deciding to answer for her daughter, “hello Oscar. You’re looking well. We’re amazing - glad to have our Charlotte home.” Vegas’ wraps her arm around her daughter in a half hug before leaving her to the wolf to get their drinks - ten seconds of Charlotte inwardly screaming. “Would you like to join us?” Says her mother, the traitor.

[oscar rutherford]

The day had started perfectly. Football and a UK general election had put a pep in his step all week, obsessively refreshing timelines and sharing memes with his friends back home. Work had been stressful, sure, with the McCarthy 4th July party being particularly taxing, but now that was behind him and he had a whole day to himself. There was no universe where he would have banked on seeing anyone he knew today, much less the girl who had broken his heart and seemingly disappeared into the ether, swallowed up by what Americans referred to obliquely as 'Europe', an amalgamation of multiple European countries that as far as he could tell mainly involved cobbled streets, wine with pasta, and striped umbrellas.  It's immediately obvious that she is not pleased to see him. Vegas has to save her, the woman as beautiful and intimidating as ever, smoothing the waters between them with her trademark grace. "Oh, I didn't know you were back. That's great," he laughs, nodding at what she says. "My mum keeps trying to use the football to lure me back. She's not been so successful... obviously." Oh how he wishes he'd taken her up on that offer. He could be down the pub right now, four pints deep, vintage England shirt on, singing Oasis tunes with his mates. Instead he's here, looking at the unmistakable beauty of his ex girlfriend. He glances at his watch when Vegas offers, panicked, not sure what the right answer is here... he wants to leave, desperately, but then he knows he'll kick himself as soon as it's too late. "Sure, the match isn't on for another hour anyway. If you're sure that's alright with you, Lottie? I like your hair, by the way. Suits you."

[charlotte lemeir]

Through crossed arms, Charlotte manages to wiggle the engagement ring off and clutch it in her fist. She’s terrified at the idea of Oscar seeing it, both scared of him being heartbroken by it or not caring at all. Also mortified by the size of it and the fact that it wasn’t her at all. “Not for long,” she promises, pushing the ring deep in the pocket of her jean skirt and reaching for her latte. The mention of Cat makes her hurt and she takes a sip of the piping hot latte to distract herself. Vegas asks Oscar to sit with them and she glares at her - is it for politeness or for torture? Her mother would never say it, but she was absolutely Team Oscar and hated Charlotte’s current match. “Amazing,” Vegas says again, “you two find a seat, I’ll join you in a moment.” Charlotte’s eyes plea, where was she going? Why was she going? “It's too short,” she touches the back of her neck and feels the softness of her dark hair. “I like the mustache?” she says as a question, finding a seat amongst the busy patio. “You don’t have to stay.”

[oscar rutherford]

Charlotte shifts uncomfortably. She had never been fully at home in her body and seeing her fidget sends a pang of affection through him that he can't fight off, as much as he'd like to. It's easier to look at Vegas, or the floor, or down at his own steaming coffee. He briefly wonders how much Vegas knew, well aware of the closeness between them but unsure if it would go far enough for Lottie to tell her about her indiscretions. For his part, he had managed to avoid mentioning it to Caesar, though Aisha knew and had likely blabbed, relishing the opportunity to tarnish her half-sister's halo. Or maybe none of them cared, maybe they didn't think about him at all and wouldn't care if they did know. He follows her outside, the air even more suffocating though it's not from the heat. Shouldering off his heavy backpack, he puts his cup down, still avoiding looking at her. "Do you want me to go? I can, just tell your mum I felt sick or something..." He doesn't want to go, not now. Now his curiosity is getting the better of him, questions gnawing at him that he can't see how else he'll get answered. So he sits before she has a chance to tell him otherwise. "Thanks, by the way. It's pretty Marmite, but I like it, so it's staying. For now." Nonsense smalltalk. "I really do like your hair. Not many people have the face to pull off a cut that short, but you're one of the lucky ones."

[charlotte lemeir]

The humidity is intolerable and she already regrets not getting something colder or choosing to sit inside. But the patio felt somehow safer, as it felt like she could get lost in the crowd of people and be less alone with Oscar. The last time she saw him wasn’t good and she couldn’t get it out of her head. It was a conversation that she’d wake up from in nightmares, startled that it was her reality. Sweat glistens on her forehead and she doesn’t answer his question. Instead taking a pair of sunglasses from her purse and covering her eyes with them. “The primates wouldn’t stop pulling on it. Perma toddlers - now I know why moms always get their hair cut short, she sips at her latte and touches her hair again. “How do you like working for Aisha?”

[oscar rutherford]

He felt hungover. Like he had woken up still drunk, cocky at the escape, not knowing what he was in for, and now it was hitting. He wasn't at all ready for this interaction, a long, long way away from having made any kind of peace with her in his heart. But what could he do? Cry? Shout at her here, in front of her mother and all these people? He knows he wouldn't do that anywhere. "Be careful," he says instinctively, his mind immediately going to the woman whose face got ripped off by a chimp. His coffee continues to cool as he watches her, impressed by her ability to sip on scalding liquid. If it was burning her she didn't let on. "Ah, it's alright. She's a nightmare but I'm allowed to tell her to fuck off so it all works out, just about." Finally he raises his coffee cup to his lips, its contents immediately burning his skin. "Fuck," he mutters, putting it back. "We're out in the Hamptons house. They've put me in the room we used to stay in together, which feels perverse but then that's Aisha for you."

[charlotte lemeir]

“I am,” she promises. If she didn’t feel anxious earlier, she certainly did now. She felt like a criminal since it all happened. As though she was in hiding and had taken on a new persona. It went beyond a haircut. She became a matcha latte drinker. She became engaged to a much older man. She became a person who needed her mother and would find herself calling her several times a day, because she was the only person that knew her. “She’s hard,” she agrees, taking another sip as she watches him wince. “I hate that house, but the beach is everything.” Last time she was at the Hamptons house was with him five years ago, but that visit seemed to intertwine with all the other ones to that house. “My dad says you’re good,” she holds what she wants to say back. She has a hard time seeing Oscar in this role, but it’s not her place to say. “And Aisha’s picky, so you must be.”

[oscar rutherford]

Finally he can sip his coffee, the bitterness giving him the jolt he was hoping for. Her immediate reassurance is a balm and an ache, the intimacy of caring met by her lack of resistance to his concern making it feel almost like old times. Thought that was dead and buried, six feet of hurt making it impossible to truly recreate. "You know, it's kind of crazy how much you resisted all of it." This is nothing new, a well-worn argument between them. But he fights the fight again. "It's literally one of the most beautiful properties I've ever seen... I think your issue is with your family, not with the house." He hears himself, his cheeks tinging with warmth. It was nothing new, but he didn't have the right to say it to her, not now. "Sorry. I just know your dad misses you, but that's none of my business now, really." He opens up two packets of sugar, tipping them into his coffee and swirling them around as he mulled over what she's said. "I know. Crazy isn't it, going from not cooking at all to being a chef." He pauses, sensing her hesitation. Before he can stop himself, a grin breaks out across his face. "Come on then. Tell me what you really think."

[charlotte lemeir]

“It doesn't have a soul,” she says of the house. The Hamptons property often felt empty to her. A beige shell of a place that anyone could land in and call theirs if they really wanted to. Charlotte was her mother's daughter. She craved warmth and memories; a home that felt like a den. “I'm surprised he didn't tell you that we've been talking more,” she takes off her sunnies and rubs the bridge her her nose. She'd been trying a little harder with Caesar lately, maybe because she was lonely and realizing how fleeting life was. She laughs a bit and scrunches her nose, “it's just.. really? A chef? You'd bitch about whose turn it was to cook.”

[oscar rutherford]

It's a familiar line from Charlotte, who seemed very sensitive to the sincerity of things other than people. New York was soulless in her eyes, as was Caesar's job, the Hamptons house, everything her family touched. Oscar, by contrast, had always been very impressed by the grandeur of everything, but then she was likely used to that. "Those views say otherwise." He raises his eyebrows in surprise, though it's obvious to him why his onetime potential father in law hadn't mentioned it. "People know you're a sore subject for me." He avoids her eye now, taking another sip of coffee and grounding himself in its bitter taste, it's heat. Don't lose it now. Thankfully she makes him laugh. "I know! I know. I just... had a lot of free time suddenly and it all clicked. It's fun to have a pile of ingredients and seeing what you can do with them, y'know? I get to be creative."

[charlotte lemeir]

Her face turns a shade paler and she feels like she’s been slapped. There’s a split second where her eyes catch his and all she can see is hurt. Layers and layers of it. Guilt swells in her and she feels so sick she can’t even deflect her awkwardness onto her latte. ”I’m glad you found something you loved, even though I didn’t see it for you,” she says with sincerity. She’d always wanted Oscar to do something with his art. She saw his creativity as his “be all”. She supposed that was this taking form. “I think my mom left us. She loves you, you know. She’s always asking about you, it’s actually kind of mean.”

[oscar rutherford]

There's a role reversal at play. Oscar had for so long felt like an outsider in her world, but now that he had found his place in it, her sudden appearance in the city she grew up in felt like an intrusion. Like she had been waiting to catch him off guard, choosing a day he was on his own, in high spirits, to crash back into his orbit, throwing it completely off its axis. But that wasn't her style. It was obvious to him that she wanted the ground to swallow her whole and despite himself, he feels for her. "I mean it's not being a vet, but still. How's that going? Everything you hoped it would be?" He means it, though he worries as soon as the words have escaped him that they might not be interpreted that way. So many arguments over how long her schooling was, why she had to be so far away. He looks at her with genuine shock. Vegas was such an enigma to him, aloof but warm, austere, accomplished. "You're shitting me. No way, I always thought she thought you could do so much better than me. Which is true, but that's not the point."

[charlotte lemeir]

She had spent her whole like in New York and knew the streets like they were etched into her. But sitting here now she'd never felt more foreign and like she didn't belong. Sitting with one leg folded over the other and her shoulders slightly turned in, Charlotte had always felt like a stranger in her own life. He asks about her job and she laughs, looking down and wiggling her eyebrows, “not really.” She takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head, “not that it's bad! It isn't. I'm just me.” What she wanted to say was that she thought part of completing school and starting her career would make her feel whole. And it just reminded her that she wasn't. “No, she really does like you. She's disappointed, really.”