I dropped my duffle bag onto the hardwood floor of the foyer, the echoing thud unnerving.

Regardless of the time of year, the house on Nantucket would always hold traces of sand and the halls carried the dry scent of the ocean. After all, the cedar shingle Cape Cod-style house sat just beyond the stretch of wispy beach grass that led down to the sandy dunes of Madaket beach and out to the Atlantic. It seemed the grains of sand and the tang of the ocean was all that remained as the otherwise stark emptiness of the foyer made my heart sink like an anchor into my stomach.

I paused in the doorway of the front sitting room, noting the entirely new collection of pristine furniture, though the classic blue and white coastal color palette remained. I scanned the space, struck by the absence of photos and personal decor of any kind. There was nothing that spoke to all of the summers I'd spent here or the England family's formally happy existence. I never thought closure entailed the obliteration of history.

I stalked over to the kitchen to find Dad stacking the few groceries we'd brought into the empty refrigerator. Darkness pooled outside the French doors leading to the deck, though Dad had only bothered to flick on the modern fixture above the sink. The unfamiliar shadows cast disconcerting shapes across the floor.

"There's no furniture. Why is there no furniture?"

"You're exaggerating, Chandler," Dad answered without looking around. He must've known exactly what to expect upon our arrival at the house. "Everything we need for the weekend is here."

I huffed, well aware of the fact that I was exaggerating, but sometimes exaggerating was the best way to get the point across. "This doesn't feel like our house. Did the oversized armchair just magically vanish from the sitting room?"

"Your mom had Debbie stage the house so it's ready to hit the market in May," Dad explained, referring to our family's longtime interior designer. Even at the Beacon Hill townhouse, Mom always had Debbie redecorating one of the rooms. The only space she'd never touched or even stepped a designer heel into was Dad's study.

I yanked a clear chair away from the long wooden kitchen table that I'd never seen before and sat down. The new furniture was objectively nice, but it didn't belong here. "Our furniture was fine."

Dad finally turned to face me, the pale light of the refrigerator illuminating his thin smile. "It's okay to be sentimental, Chan. We had a lot of great years here."

I interlaced my fingers, setting my hands on the smooth surface of the table. "I'm not sentimental."

"That's fine," he acknowledged, and his smile suddenly expanded. "Besides, I have some news that might improve your outlook on the weekend."

"Oh?" I leaned back in the chair, arching both eyebrows. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Patrick and Dallas Gunther are joining us tomorrow!"

I instantly detested how genuinely enthusiastic Dad was and why he thought I would share that same enthusiasm. I could only summon a singular word.

"Why?"

I failed to keep the artful combination of disdain and shock out of my voice. There was no scenario in which Dallas Gunther was coming to Nantucket willingly, and there was absolutely no need for us to commiserate. I resented having to be here, and I was in my own house.

I glanced down at my phone, half-expecting to see a text from Dallas in which he would somehow blame me for dragging him kicking-and-screaming (more like brooding-and-scowling) into my current circle of hell. But there wasn't.

Aside from his stupid attempt at antagonizing me at the Diamond Duel last weekend, we hadn't actually talked since that night at the Cornell Club in March. The last time I'd texted Dallas was to inform him that I wouldn't need his help with the ACT math section.

Somehow, that felt like eons ago. But our overall lack of communication wouldn't have been an issue if we weren't about to spend three nights under the same roof.

"Patrick thinks Dallas could use a change of scenery, so I invited them," Dad informed me, still enthusiastic. "It'll be like old times, Chan. You and Dallas are buddies."

I scoffed, borderline amused by Dad's characterization of my relationship with his best friend's son. "Dallas has never been my buddy."

"There are plenty of old scrapbooks that prove otherwise."

"He used to throw sand at me!"

"We're picking them up from the ferry at 3:00 tomorrow," Dad called out over his shoulder as he left me to brood in the kitchen alone.

"Great," I closed my eyes, and pressed the heels of my hands against them until I saw stars. "Just great."

✘ ✘ ✘

Nantucket Off Season Mixtape

[i. Nostalgic | A R I Z O N A. ii. Ever Since New York | Harry Styles. iii. Big Jet Plane | Angus & Julia Stone. iv. Walking On A Dream | Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness. v. Beach Baby | Bon Iver. vi. Anchor | Novo Amor. vii. The City | Joe Purdy. viii. Little Talks | Julia Sheer, Jon D. ix. evermore (feat. Bon Iver) | Taylor Swift, Bon Iver. x. Livewire | Holly Humberstone. xi. Fine Line | Harry Styles.]

✘ ✘ ✘

The misty afternoon rain on Saturday only enhanced my dour mood. I directed my gaze out the window as the Jaguar pulled into downtown Nantucket with its trademark unpainted cedar-shingled buildings and cobblestone streets. I usually appreciated the quiet of the off-season since downtown was always aggressively crowded during the summer months, but that wasn't the case on this particular trip. At present, I appreciated absolutely nothing except for my Spotify playlist that I'd curated for the weekend.

The dense fog hovering above the gray water and marble skies reminded me of the few days I'd spent in Northwestern Washington State over the summer with Mom. The only time I saw the sun on that infamous trip was when Mom forced me to accompany her on a whale-watching tour, in which we never actually saw any whales. It was either a total hoax or whoever was behind the wheel of that boat intentionally steered us clear of the whales. If I had to choose, I'd say it was the latter.

Dad slowed the car to a stop near the terminal for the passenger ferries. He eyed me from over the thin gold frames of his glasses, and his request went unspoken. Sighing, I pressed pause on my beloved Holly Humberstone, and removed my AirPods.

"If I have to go retrieve them, can I at least wear your hat?"

Dad set his floppy beige bucket hat on my head. "Go out there and be nice."

My lips twitched as I adjusted the hat, ensuring my loose braids still fell smoothly. "Thank you for the pep talk."

I took care not to slip on the slick walkway leading up to where passengers were already emerging from the ferry. I awarded partial credit to the pair of black designer rain boots that I'd found in the hall closet this morning.

Stopping beside the ramp, I spotted the two Gunthers almost immediately. Dallas Gunther had always been the spitting image of his father, even more so now in their matching Nike golf caps with their unruly dark hair curling out from underneath. Although after further inspection, Dallas looked infinitely more haggard than his father, his raindrop spotted sweatshirt hanging lazily off his shoulder, as if it might have fit him better a few months ago.

Despite this assessment, I made the impromptu executive decision to ignore Dallas's presence entirely. I gave Patrick Gunther the polite smile I reserved for charming adults, though the reality was that I'd charmed him eons ago.

"Hope last night's storm didn't make the water too rough," I said, sounding painstakingly cordial.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Patrick Gunther replied with the same polite smile I'd given him.

"That's great to hear. Dad's fully committed to going straight to Cisco Brewery."

"As John would," he said with a faint chuckle.

"He's just pulling the Jaguar around, so he'll meet us at the curb in a minute," I informed him.

As I started in that direction, I finally allowed myself to acknowledge Dallas properly. His eyes met mine too easily, and I arched a single, challenging brow.

"Are you not going to offer to carry my bags, Chan?" Dallas taunted, nodding to the black backpack he'd slung over one shoulder.

Before I could bite back with an equally snarky comment, Patrick Gunther intervened.

"We've been here for one minute, don't start."

Dallas's gaze shot out to the choppy gray water, and tugged at the brim of his hat to obscure his eyes. I knew if Dad had witnessed the exchange, he would've chimed in with a similar remark to address my behavior.

I neglected to return the bucket hat to Dad when we piled into the Jaguar. Naturally, I'd been demoted to the backseat with my so-called buddy, who seemed very committed to avoiding eye contact with me as if the act might inflict physical pain. It wasn't until Dallas silently snapped his head in my direction that I realized I'd been consistently eying him throughout the ride while our respective dads chatted loudly up front.

"What?" Dallas asked through a groan.

"What do you mean what?" I countered, hushing my voice. I didn't need this to turn into a four-way conversation that would inevitably end up with us both receiving verbal reprimands from our respective fathers.

"You just have that look."

I scoffed, mindlessly swiping through my phone. "You always have a look, Dallas."

I knew Dallas didn't need me to elaborate on what that meant. At this stage of our lives, so much could be conveyed through a singular look. If our non-verbal communication was ever positive, that wasn't the case this weekend.

"Remind me why we're here again?" Dallas directed his question to the array of rain droplets clinging to the window.

"Nostalgia," I drawled out. "Or something like that."

By the time we arrived at Cisco with its lush green landscape and elegant lights strung across the overhang of the patio, the misty rain had ceased. Pockets of pale blue sky peaked through the cloud coverage.

The first half of our dinner included Patrick Gunther remarking upon the impressive alumni network at Clemson University. I attempted to catch Dallas's eye, keen to confirm that his college decision was now public knowledge, but he seemed intent on not participating in this conversation. Apathy glazed over his eyes as he propped his chin into his hand, fending off my gaze as he turned a shoulder to me.

Rude.

Why was I even half-attempting to engage with Dallas? I already knew I would've been better off without him this weekend, but now he seemed to be going out of his way to shut all of us out.

"So, we're not looking to buy another place on Nantucket," Dad was saying, and my attention whisked away from Dallas.

"By we, Dad means him and Teá," I jumped in with newfound faux enthusiasm. While I harbored zero animosity for Teá, I still resented the fact that Dad had kept her existence from me a secret. "She's so great. Has tenure at Boston College. Apparently, they've been together since last fall."

While both Dad and Patrick Gunther seemed unfazed by my comment, Dallas turned his gaze to Dad. The current line of conversation seemed to have pulled him back into our orbit, and I wasn't sure why. None of this impacted him, and it wasn't like he cared enough to contribute in a meaningful way. If I was being perfectly honest with myself, I assumed Dallas had already known about Teá as a result of being Patrick Gunther's son. When it came to his best friend, Dad was a gossip.

"Meredith just finished her latest book," Patrick said, referring to his wife. "It's another New York Times bestseller, right?"

Dad's eyes smiled. "Teá is three-for-three."

"I think Meredith has a crush on her," Patrick Gunther remarked. The subtle smirk on his face was one that his son had inherited, but I doubted Dallas would be doing much smirking this weekend.

As they shared a laugh, I speared a floppy French fry on the paper plate with my fork. I refused to allow the collective lack of acknowledgement to deter me.

"Oh, well it's hard not to," I remarked, suddenly uninterested in outwardly portraying civility. Balancing my chin on my hand, I twired my fork. In the back of my mind, I heard Mom's voice telling me to quit playing with my food. "She's such a celebrity. Dr. England loves to be starstruck."

Dallas's knee collided with mine as he turned to fully engage in the conversation, and I wasn't quite sure if the contact was intentional or not. "Chandler, stop talking. Please." The exhaustion in his voice was more than apparent. "And if you're not going to eat your fries like a human being, I will."

Before I could even glare at him, he extracted my fork from my hand, and aggressively devoured the French fry attached to it.

"Dallas, that's rude," Patrick Gunther reprimanded wearily, and I felt my lips curl up into a tiny smirk. I'd honestly never agreed with him more. "Really glad to see a change of scenery has not changed your attitude."

"I don't have an attitude," Dallas countered upon swallowing the French fry.

Over it, I leaned into him with a delicate yet coy smile. I felt him tense, but before he could anticipate my true motive, I dug the heel of my rainboot into the toe of his Nike sneaker, hard enough to elicit a reaction.

"You're right," I cooed. "You just have zero tolerance for conversations that don't revolve around you."

Dallas worked his jaw and nudged me with his knee again, forcing my heel off of his foot. There seemed to be a coldness in the air between us that had nothing to do with the formally misty afternoon.

"That's enough, Chandler," Dad said with just a hint of firmness to persuade both of us to relent - even if it was just for the time being. He fixed Patrick Gunther with an resigned yet amused look. "They used to be little angels. What happened?"

✘ ✘ ✘

this chapter and the next - aka the nantucket chapters - are special, so I hope you appreciate them at least half as much as I do. obviously s/o to moonraess and her boy Dallas from BLIND AMBITION <3 because there's no one else I'd want to write chapters with and then proceed to hold hostage for over a year

until next time x

ps: I miss trip