rest of your life sailing away from everything difficult。 It’s for your own good。”
Nate grimaced。 Even though Chips was a philosophical； scotch…drinking old geezer； he always seemed to be able to read Nate’s thoughts。 And right now； Nate was thinking about the choice that had faced him for too many years。
“You’re worried about those two girls of yours； I know it。 The ones who keep falling at your feet despite your boneheaded moves？ The ones you can’t decide between； as if you’re facing some life…or…death choice？”
Nate nodded miserably。 In two sentences； Chips had pretty much summarized the crisis he’d been struggling with since he was fifteen。
“Well； I’ll tell you this。 You’ll know when you know。 And you’ve got to figure it out on your own。 I’m not babysitting your balls anymore。” Chips nodded definitively upward at the sails； pleased with his handiwork。 “Now； if you’ll excuse me； I’m going to have my morning tea。 You’ve got a day to figure it all out。” He gave Nate a parting wink； and disappeared down to the galley； leaving him with just the sky and the endless sea for pany。
“Thanks；” Nate muttered。 He gripped the bow of the ancient but sturdy ship； feeling the salty wind on his face。 Maybe Chips was right。 He’d had some time away。 Some time to think and be on his own； to see the world and bee a man。 He couldn’t just sail forever。
It was time to go back and decide what to really do with his life。 And when he saw Blair and Serena； he’d be ready to choose。 Maybe it was best not to overthink it。 When he saw them； he’d just know。 There was no time like the present。 He was ready。
Okay； but are they ready for him？
love and other impossible pursuits
Dan Humphrey poured a cup of black Folgers coffee into a chipped red mug and shuffled toward the living room of his family’s sprawling Upper West Side apartment。 He sank down on the frayed； overstuffed beige couch； causing Marx； the Humphreys’ fat black…with…a…dot…of…white cat； to jump off the cushion in protest。
It was still early； but Dan felt too keyed up to sleep。 He’d gotten home from his first semester at Evergreen College in Washington State a week ago； and it was finally beginning to sink in that he wasn’t going back。
Ever。
He’d applied to transfer to Columbia for second semester and had received his acceptance letter during reading week before exams。 After his philosophy final； he’d packed up his metallic blue ’77 Buick Skylark and driven cross…country； arriving in the city just in time to spend Christmas Eve with his dad； Rufus； and his little sister； Jenny。
The holidays had been nice。 Jenny had given him a blue Banana Republic sweater； his dad a collection of Charles Bukowski books； and they’d all eaten dinner at their favorite Chinese restaurant； which served bad boxed white wine with every order。 It had been great to see his family； but the whole time； he’d been counting down the hours until he could see his girlfriend—shaven…headed； filmmaker genius； love of his life Vanessa Abrams。
Vanessa had actually been living in Dan’s family’s apartment for the past semester； while attending Tisch School of the Arts at NYU。 Her film equipment sat in one corner of Dan’s bedroom； and her black tank tops and bras were in the top drawer of the rickety bureau in the corner。 It was sheer torture being surrounded by her stuff； and not her—Vanessa was up in Vermont； visiting her parents for the holidays； until Wednesday。 She didn’t even know that Dan was transferring to Columbia； he wanted to surprise her with the news in person rather than via their evening Skype calls。 Now； the anticipation was killing him。
The gallon of Folgers can’t help； either。
Dan grabbed his black Moleskine notebook and flipped to a blank page。 It wasn’t difficult to find one： Practically every page was blank。 He’d had writer’s block from the moment he stepped on campus in September。 When he’d decided to go to Evergreen； it had seemed like a good idea to get out of the city。 After all； he’d lived here forever。 But in the Pacific Northwest； everything was just…。 wrong。 There was too much space； the trees were too tall； and the coffee had names like organic shade…grown mild blend and earth…friendly mellow brew。 His dorm fielded its own Ultimate Hacky Sack team； his roommate was a vegan allergic to cigarette smoke； and every single poem his classmates submitted in his creative writing seminar was about pot。
The only thing that got Dan through was the thought of Vanessa。 He’d text her all throughout the day； every time something funny or tragic or inane happened； and he always arranged his day around their nightly Skype calls。 But Vanessa was so busy with school that she was sometimes rushed or distracted； and seeing her pixilated face just wasn’t the same as holding her in his arms。
Dan thoughtfully chewed the end of his Bic pen。 Suddenly； for the first time in several months； words began to flow。
Missed kisses。
Missed shreds of carpet。
Torn by your Doc Marten feet。
I’ve lost weight。
Or maybe it’s just you I’m missing。
Maybe it was the promise of Vanessa or the hiss of the radiator in the corner or the chipped mug he’d drunk millions of cups of coffee out of； but suddenly； he could write。 Dan grinned to himself； adrenaline rushing from writing his first almost…poem in months。 He was back。
And better than ever？
“Daniel！” Rufus Humphrey boomed as he strode into the living room from his office。 He wore a pair of paint…stained blue sweatpants that read BROADWAY BOWLING LEAGUE down the leg and a stretched…out pink T…shirt that said CRUISE TO LOSE below a picture of Richard Simmons。 His wiry gray hair was held back with a red velvet bow； left over from Christmas。 “It’s too quiet around here since Jenny left for Bermuda or Burundi or wherever she went with her fancy Waverly friends。 Is it just me； or is Jenny noisier than before？”
“Probably。” Dan shrugged。 Jenny was currently in the Bahamas with her boarding school friend； the governor of Georgia’s daughter。 When Dan left in August； Jenny was still his little sister。 But she seemed to have matured six years in her four short months at Waverly。 Now she was self…assured and confident and didn’t cross her arms over her chest all the time。
Rufus leaned down and picked up the notebook from the coffee table。 “What is this？” he asked； flipping through pages。 “‘Doc Marten feet；’” Rufus intoned； as if reciting a monologue。 Dan cringed。 Rufus was an editor of lesser Beat poets and had always taken special interest and pride in Dan’s literary acplishments。 He suddenly felt ashamed that the only thing he’d written in the past three months was a haiku。 He’d anonymously posted it on the door of the dorm bathroom； asking his hall mates to please not pee on the floor。
“You know； this isn’t bad；” Rufus said thoughtfully； holding the book close to his face as he settled on the couch next to Dan。 “It’s a postmodern interpretation of Sandberg。 It’s been done before； but it’s not horrible。”
“Thanks。” Dan yanked the notebook away from his dad。
“And this is only the beginning。 I just know you’ll really let your creative juices flo