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Pete　grabbed　his　small　wheeled　Tumi　suitcase　from　the　floor　and　paused　to　look　at　Blair。　“I　just　need　some　time　to　think；”　he　said；　a　little　bit　more　gently。　With　one　final　look；　he　headed　for　the　door。　As　it　closed　behind　him　with　a　thud；　Blair　collapsed　into　the　goosedown　pillow；　her　body　racked　with　sobs。

They　do　say　the　holidays　can　cause　depression。

d　on　deadline

Turtles　sleep　under　the　mud；　while　our　hearts　break…

Two　zebras　together；　so　separate。

Dan　crumpled　the　piece　of　paper　and　threw　it　onto　the　coffee…stained　tan　rug。　The　room　smelled　like　cigarettes　and　incense；　which　Dan　had　first　started　burning　a　year　ago　to　erase　the　smell　of　Vanessa；　but　hadn’t　broken　the　habit。　The　alarm　clock　he’d　had　since　seventh　grade　read　eleven　thirty…four　in　luminous　green　letters。　For　everyone　else；　it　was　twenty…six　minutes　until　New　Year’s；　but　for　Dan；　it　was　less　than　half　an　hour　until　he　failed　his　poetry　class　and　botched　his　writing　career。

Of　course；　he’d　been　an　idiot　to　even　sign　up　for　a　writing　seminar　called　Poetry　and　Passion　when　there　was　so　little　passion　in　his　life。　But　Colm　Doyle；　the　legendary　Irish　writer；　was　the　instructor。　Colm　wrote　angry；　honest　poems　about　love。　After　his　fourth　divorce；　he’d　written　a　poem　called　“Hand　on　the　Frying　Pan；”　and　Dan　had　memorized　every　line。　Besides；　he’d　hoped　he　could　benefit　from　taking　a　class　on　passion　when　he　wasn’t　in　love。　After　all；　back　in　high　school；　he’d　written　his　best　poem；　“Sluts；”　after　he’d　broken　up　with　Vanessa　the　first　time。　That　had　been　published　in　The　New　Yorker。

It　was　also　submitted　not　by　the　writer　but　by　its　unjealous　subject。

But　now；　he　couldn’t　write　anything。　It　wasn’t　like　he　hadn’t　tried；　over　and　over；　for　the　last　year。　It　was　just　always　the　same：　He’d　loved　Vanessa；　Vanessa　had　cheated　on　him；　he　hated　his　life；　and　he　wanted　to　move　on　but　for　some　reason　couldn’t。　He　was　angry　at　her　and　missed　her　and　hated　the　fact　that　he’d　seen　a　photo　of　her　and　that　Hollis　guy　on　one　of　the　party　pages　in　New　York　magazine；　looking　so　happy　together。　He　wished　that　he’d　never　met　Vanessa；　so　he　wouldn’t　have　to　feel　this　way。

Sounds　like　someone　skipped　the　better　to　have　loved　and　lost　lesson。

Dan　lay　down　on　his　bed　and　pulled　the　flannel　sheets　over　his　head。　All　he　wanted　to　do　was　fall　asleep　so　he　didn’t　have　to　think；　but　unfortunately　he’d　had　fourteen　cups　of　black　coffee　today　and　his　hands　were　vibrating。　He　just　couldn’t　fucking　write　the　poem。　And　he’d　tried。　So　far；　pages　and　pages　were　scattered　across　the　room　and　on　his　bed。　The　zebra　and　turtle　poem　had　actually　been　one　of　his　better　efforts。　At　one　point；　he’d　thought　he　was　onto　something；　but　then　realized　he　was　just　transcribing　an　Indigo　Girls　song　playing　on　the　radio　his　father　had　left　on　in　the　kitchen。

“Daniel？”　Rufus　appeared　in　the　doorway。　His　wiry　salt…and…pepper　hair　was　tucked　into　a　pink　beret　that　was　obviously　Jenny’s。　Jenny　had　spent　Christmas　with　them；　but　was　spending　New　Year’s　on　a　Waverly　field　trip　to　Paris。　Dan　wished　he　could　have　gone　with　her。　He　wished　he　could　be　anywhere　but　here。

“I　was　just　going　to　call　for　some　Chinese　food。　What　do　you　say？”　Rufus　asked　almost　tenderly。　“I　find　I　work　better　with　a　little　MSG　in　my　system。”

“I’m　not　hungry；”　Dan　mumbled。　He　swung　his　legs　out　of　bed　and　picked　up　the　half…empty　cup　of　coffee　from　his　night　table。　It　was　cold　but　he　gulped　it　down　anyway；　enjoying　the　bitter；　acrid　taste　as　it　traveled　down　his　throat。　That　was　how　he　felt。

My　love　is　like　stale　coffee…。

Dan　sighed。　It　was　official。　He　sucked。

“Should　I　be　worried　about　you？”　Rufus　asked　sternly　as　he　sat　down　on　Dan’s　bed。　Rufus　was　one　of　those　dads　who　believed　in　a　less…is…more　approach　to　parenting；　but　was　always　attuned　to　the　lives　of　his　two　children。　Dan　felt　bad　dragging　him　into　his　den　of　despair。　It　wasn’t　his　fault　Dan　had　peaked　at　seventeen。

“I’m　trying　to　write　a　poem；　and　I　can’t　do　it；”　Dan　admitted。

“What　do　you　mean？”　Rufus　roared。　He　stood　up；　placed　his　hands　on　his　hips；　and　looked　down　at　Dan　in　exasperation。　It　was　the　same　gesture　Jenny　would　make　when　she　wanted　to　prove　that　Dan　was　being　ridiculous。　“You’re　brilliant；　boy！”

“Thanks；”　Dan　mumbled；　glancing　away。　“I’m　going　to　fail　this　class　unless　I　write　a　love　poem；　and　I　just…　can’t；”　he　said　miserably。　“I　was　supposed　to　finish　last　week　but　the　professor　gave　me　an　extension　until　midnight　tonight。　After　that…”　He　trailed　off。

“Ah；　the　poet　under　pressure。”　Rufus　shook　his　head。　“I　remember　one　time　upstate。　Summer　of　’67。　But　instead　of　Woodstock；　we　were　creating　art。　We　were　free…versing　around　the　campfire；　and　I　didn’t　know　what　the　hell　to　say。　So　then　I　used　some　of　my　old　stuff　knocking　around　my　noggin。　Toast　of　the　evening；”　Rufus　said　proudly。

Dan　smiled　tightly。　His　dad’s　hippie　free…versing　wasn’t　exactly　the　same　as　a　poem　he　had　to　turn　in　for　a　grade　at　a　class　at　Columbia。

“I’m　off　to　order。　I’ll　get　you　the　chicken　fried　rice　and　let　you　know　when　the　grub’s　here。”　Rufus　stood　up　and　wandered　out；　leaving　Dan　alone。

Thankfully。

Still；　maybe　there　was　something　to　what　his　dad　was　saying。　After　all；　Colm　hadn’t　said　specifically　to　write　a　poem。　He’d　said　to　turn　in　a　poem。　And　Dan　had　just　been　musing　that　he’d　peaked　in　high　school。　He　stood　up　from　the　bed　and　padded　across　the　stained　carpet　to　his　makeshift　desk；　made　from　milk　crates　and　an　old　door。　Maybe　he　could　find　a　poem　from　the　past。　It　wasn’t　like　he　had　much　of　a　choice。

He　picked　up　one　folded　loose　piece　of　paper　on　top　of　a　pile　of　Moleskine　notebooks　and　spiral…bound　pads；　unfolded　it；　and　began　to　read。　Blonde　ing　out　of　the　store/　Whatever　you　buy；　I　want　you　more。　It　was　one　of　the　first　poems　he’d　ever　written；　after　he’d　seen　a　picture　of　Serena　online；　ing　out　of　Barneys。　It　was　terrible。

He　shuffled　through　more　of　the　papers。　Each　poem　reminded　him　of　another　piece　of　his　past。　He’d　been　in　love　with　Vanessa；　dated　Serena；　had　had　a　torrid　affair　with　a　kinky；　yellow…toothed　poet　named　Mystery　Craze。　He’d　even　had　a　fling　with　a　sensitive　gay　guy　named　Greg—if　you　called　Greg　trying　to　kiss　him　one　night　after　drinking　way　too　much　absinthe　a　fling。　He’d　had　experiences　with　almost　every　type　of　love　there　was。　But　now；　he　just　felt　empty。

Maybe　that　was　his　problem。　He’d　forgotten　what　it　was　like　to　love　and　lose　and　love　again。　After　all；　the　poems　about　Serena　were　about　untapped　desire；　about　ideal　love；　about　a　love　that　could　not　be　consummated。　They　were　sad　and　desperate　and　longing。　They　were　real　poems。

He　pulled　out　one；　from　when　he　and　Serena　had　just　broken　up　in　the　fall　of　senior　year。

Perfect　blond　celluloid　teen　queen

Heart　of　glass；　Wyeth…stark　Kansas　landscape。

Dan　grinned。　That　wasn’t　bad。　He　turned　on　his　MacBook；　jiggling　his　leg　as　it　powered　up。　The　clock　read　eleven　fifty…one。

Quickly；　he　typed　with　two　fingers；　pulling　the　best　lines　from　different　poems　to　create　an　impassioned；　pleading　poem　to　love。　Outside；　he　could　hear　neighbors　on　the　street。　For　as　long　as　he　could　remember；　everyone　on　his　block　had　gathered　outside　to　count　down　to　the　New　Year。　But　Dan　didn’t　have　time　for　that。　Instead；　he　logged　into　his　Columbia　account　and　quickly　posed　an　e…mail　to　his　professor。　At　eleven　fifty…eight；　he　pressed　send。

Well；　at　least　he　didn’t　wait　until　the　last　minute。

the　morning　after　is　never　as　magical　as　the　night　before

Serena　stretched　her　arms　over　her　head；　surprised　when　her　elbow　hit　something　hard。　She　opened　her　navy　blue　eyes　and　realized　her　elbow　hadn’t　connected　with　something；　but　someone：　Nate。

Scenes　from　last　night　came　floating　back　to　her。　She’d　only　had　one　drink；　but　everything　seemed　cloaked　in　a　golden；　glowy　haze。　As　soon　as　she　and　Nate　had　kissed；　it　was　as　if　the　whole　party　had　faded　away　and　the　only　thing　that　was　left　was　the　two　of　them。　It　was　only　the　countdown　to　midnight　that　had　broken　the　spell。　They’d　found　a　cab　and　gone　back　to　Serena’s　apartment。

“Morning！”　Serena　whispered；　even　though　she　wanted　to　scream　for　joy。　She’d　never　been　so　happy　on　a　New　Year’s　Day。　It　was　the　perfect　start　to　the　rest　of　their　lives。

Doesn’t　she　mean　year？

“Uh；”　Nate　grunted　sleepily　and　turned　over；　throwing　his　arm　across　Serena’s　golden；　naked　body。　“I’ve　got　farm　duty；”　Nate　murmured。　“The　cows　are　hungry。”

“Wake　up；　silly！”　Serena　gently　pushed　his　blond…streaked　brown　hair　from　his　eyes。　Nate　was　probably　still　high。　All　night；　he’d　said　cute　things　he　never　would’ve　said　sober；　like　how　he’d　be　out　in　the　alfalfa　fields　at　school；　look　up　at　the　sun；　and　think　of　her；　and　how　he　stole　a　copy　of　Breakfast　at　Fred’s　from　the　school’s　rumpus　room　so　he’d　always　have　her　picture。

“Serena。”　Nate　smiled　a　slow　smile　and　pulled　her　closer　to　him；　then　blinked；　just　in　case　this　was　a　dream。　But　Serena　looked　very　real。　“Hi；”　he　added　incredulously。　Seeing　Serena　naked　reminded　him　of　the　first　time　he’d　seen　her　naked；　back　when　they　were　fifteen…year…old　virgins。　But　even　then；　it　had　never　been　awkward　between　them。　They’d　laughed　about　the　clumsiness　of　it　all；　and　it　was　the　same　this　time。　It　was　as　if　no　time　had　passed；　and　their　bodies　had　just　melded　into　each　other。　He　kissed　her　smooth；　bare　shoulder。

“Hi；　you；”　Serena　murmured。　Finally；　her　one…bedroom　apartment　felt　like　home。　She’d　lived　here　for　almost　a　year；　but　it　was　unfurnished　save　for　her　childhood　bed；　a　gauzy　lilac　curtain　tacked　carelessly　over　the　window；　a　cactus　she’d　bought　at　the　bodega　downstairs；　and　a　few　childhood　photos。　She’d　always　meant　to　decorate；　but　there　just　hadn’t　seemed　to　be　a　point。　It　had　sort　of　felt　like　a　hotel　room—nice　to　stay　in；　but　nowhere　you　yearned　for。　But　now；　she　never　wanted　to　leave。　She　and　Nate　could　just　stay　here　forever；　calling　in　for　takeout　and　taking　turns　going　downstairs　to　pick　up　new　Netflix　movies　from　the　mailbox。

“Do　you　want　anything？”　Serena　swung　her　long　legs　onto　the　floor。　She　was　naked　but　didn’t　feel　embarrassed。　“I　think　I　have　water；”　she　continued　as　she　walked　toward　the　short　hallway　to　the　small　eat…in　kitchen。　The　ancient　radiator　hissed。　Despite　having　been　renovated　before　she　moved　in；　the　apartment　still　had　an　old…time　feel；　with　marble　floor　tiles　in　the　kitchen；　worn　wood　floorboards；　and　crown　molding。

Serena　flung　open　the　fridge　door。　Inside　were　a　few　cans　of　Diet　Coke；　a　box　of　clementines；　a　few　containers　of　yogurt；　and　a　bottle　of　champagne　left　over　from　a　gift　basket。　The　only　packages　Serena　ever　received　these　days　were　gift　baskets；　the　only　mail；　invitations　to　parties　and　events；　the　only　phone　calls；　from　her　agent　or　publicist。　Mostly；　she　ignored　all　of　it。

She　pulled　out　a　bottled　water　and　brought　it　back　to　the　bedroom。　Nate　was　sitting　up；　her　Frette　Egyptian　cotton　sheets　strewn　across　his　torso。　His　chest　was　muscular　and　tan。　Serena　climbed　back　into　bed　and　wrapped　her　arms　around　him。

“You　feel　nice；”　Serena　murmured；　nuzzling　her　head　against　his　shoulder。

“How　long　have　you　lived　here？”　Nate　asked；　taking　in　the　gauzy　white　curtains　and　Serena’s　familiar　old　canopy　bed。　It　was　warm　and　inviting；　and　all　hers。　Just　thinking　about　the　fact　that　they　had　the　whole　place　to　themselves　made　him　horny。

“A　year。　I　don’t　spend　too　much　time　here。”　Serena　shrugged。　“I　get　lonely；　so　a　lot　of　times　I　head　up　to　my　parents’　place。”

“Are　you　lonely　now？”　Nate　gently　bit　her　shoulder。

Serena　squealed　and　fell　back　against　the　pillows。　For　the　first　time　in　the　year　that　she’d　been　living　in　the　apartment；　she　appreciated　all　its　possibilities。　She　could　do　whatever　she　wanted。

With　whomever　she　wanted。

Nate　grabbed　the　bottle　of　water　from　the　nightstand　and　unscrewed　the　cap。　His　eyes　landed　on　a　silver　Tiffany　frame。　Inside　was　a　picture　of　him；　Blair；　and　Serena。　It　was　a　photo　from　Blair’s　party　at　the　Met　the　summer　after　senior　year；　the　night　before　he　left　with　Chips　on　the　Belinda。　Nate　was　standing　in　the　center；　looking　straight　at　the　camera。　Ser