like I remember, a few inches shorter than me, her long mane of amber hair swept up in a ponytail. Her features are still as delicate as before, her long lashes and perfectly flushed cheeks seeming like they were crafted by a doll maker.
“Olivia!” she says, a look of total surprise on her face.
I smile a little, feeling as awkward as ever. “I heard you were here so…”
Rachel’s brow pulls down in a delicate wrinkle. She gives me a hard look. Crossing her arms, she cocks her hip. “Yes. I found your brother by accident, it seems.”
I bite my bottom lip, concerned. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Really I am. I thought that Grayson was dead just like you did for almost a year, though. And he made me swear not to tell you once Aidan contacted me to tell me my brother was alive.”
She narrows her eyes and blows out a breath.
“Do you want to take a walk?” she asks. “It’s so nice out today. There are some picnic tables over by the mess hall that have been calling my name.”
I feel relief. It’s not that I’m stupid enough to think that I am forgiven, but I’m glad that Rachel seems neutral about the whole thing.
I perk up. “Sure. That would be great.”
She slips on a pair of shoes. We’re mostly quiet on the way to the picnic tables. I glance up at the canopy above with something like wonder, feeling in awe of the canopy as I always am.
Rachel smiles a little. “The trees that form the ceiling must be old. I mean, to have a roots system that allows them to be so far away.”
I smile softly. “It’s a pretty magical place.”
She nods. “Are you in school somewhere?”
I chuckle. “I just graduated from Kean University. I was in the top of my class, which means absolutely nothing.”
“No?”
I look at her, sarcasm heavy in my tone. “No. It’s not like I graduated from Princeton or something. Hardly anyone showed up for the graduation of my class, including the class members themselves.”
We reach the picnic benches and sit down on top of one.
“I’m guessing from your tone that Grayson and your mom were not there to cheer you on.”
She laughs again. “Umm… well, Grayson came out for the weekend and watched me walk. Mom fell off the map a few months ago. I don't even know if she’s alive.”
Rachel is quiet for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Olivia.”
I give her my smile that says she’s making too much of it. “Don’t be. I’m making it just fine.”
“That doesn’t make me any less sorry.”
I respond by rolling my eyes at her, which is probably not the best answer. But it’s the only way I know how to answer questions about my mom. “Tell me about how hiking with my brother has been. I’m guessing it is something of a challenge, being that Grayson can be such a jerk.”
Rachel releases a bark of laughter.
“It’s been fifteen days. Longer than I thought Grayson and I would make it without killing each other. So high five for that.”
She holds her hand up and I give her a high five.
“Thank you for not killing him. Trust me, I know it must be difficult.”
“It really is.” She sighs. “But also this working vacation is going by way too quickly. When it’s over, I have to go back to New York.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah.” I pull a face too. “Real life sucks. I suppose the alternative is to become some sort of hobo and live in the woods like some people we know.”
“The idea of living out here appeals to me sometimes,” Rachel confesses.
I lift my eyebrows, a little surprised. Isn’t she sort of a Fifth Avenue princess?
“Really? How could you decide to leave everything that is back in New York behind for this? I understand why Grayson did it, I guess. But you… you have everything.”
She chuckles. “So my family likes to remind me.”
I just shrug. My attention is pulled away from the conversation by the Aidan and Grayson thumping down the front stairs of the mess hall, intent on a conversation between themselves. Aidan runs his hand through his dark hair.
All I can do is stare. He really is just about perfect, if you can ignore the fact that he sleeps around a ton and has probably never been in a relationship longer than a week.
“Oh my god. Are you into Aidan?” Rachel blurts out.
I immediately blush as red as fire. “What?”
“You are!” She accuses. “You’re