Page 10 of The Weekend Crashers
Maggie opens her window and breathes in the unmistakable scent of wood smoke and the earthiness of freshly raked soil. Two hours outside of Manhattan and they’re driving underneath a canopy of fire-colored leaves. Crossing over the small bridge between Lambertville, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, it’s like driving through an oil painting come to life. The roads are lined with the red, yellow and orange leaves of the maple and birch trees. They pass a farm with miniature ponies grazing near a fence, and beyond it, endless rolling hills. The light is particularly crisp, and when she catches sight of herself in the rearview mirror, the glow of sunshine makes her look twenty years old again. Almost.
Beside her, Piper scrolls through her phone. Personally, she’s happy to ignore her own phone for a few days. The most recent text was from Allan, her Thursday-night date, saying he was sorry their evening was cut short and that they should try to meet up again soon. She wrote back that it was lovely to meet him, but she was really focused on work and her daughter at the moment.
And it’s true. She can’t stop thinking about Piper losing hermanager over the unfortunate episode this week. Everyone has a bad night—how could Gretchen be so unforgiving? Is the industry that callous? Or is something else going on that Maggie doesn’t know about?
“Piper, was everything okay with work before the show the other night? Between you and Gretchen, I mean?”
“I don’t want to talk about that this weekend, okay?”
Maggie won’t push. Maybe it’s too soon. Still, it feels strange to walk on eggshells conversationally. Maggie and Piper could talk about anything. At least, they used to be able to. But come to think of it, the first time she felt a little shut out by Piper also had to do with Gretchen.
Maggie only learned about the manager scouting Piper by accident. Piper had tossed Gretchen’s GMI Model Management business card in the garbage, where Maggie found it one morning covered in used coffee grinds. That was back when Piper was still living at home—before she got serious with Ethan. When Maggie asked Piper about it, she was maddeningly nonchalant: “Oh yeah. She came up to me at the coffee place I always go to.”
“Piper, that’s incredible. You’re going to follow up with her, right?” Maggie had said, barely able to contain her excitement. But Piper just shrugged and Maggie realized if she didn’t give her a little push, she might actually miss the opportunity of a lifetime. Ultimately, Piper came around. But her ambivalence was surprising.
Now, just like that morning when she fished the soggy business card out of the trash, she feels a disconnect between them.
“Whatcha thinking about over there?” she says, glancing over at the passenger side.
“I’m thinking about deleting all my social media accounts,” Piper says.
Maggie is horrified. Quitting social media would basically be quitting her career. And Maggie will not let one little bump in the road derail her entirely.
“Hon, don’t make a major decision like that when you’re upset. Why not just stay off your phone for a few days, and see how you feel next week?”
She’s thankful for the timing of the knitting retreat. This weekend away will be the perfect reset.
In New Hope, the streets become winding and narrow. Hilltops are dotted with Victorian homes. And then, on the bank of the Delaware River, looms a grand colonial revival building with a classic redbrick facade, white trim and intricate cornices. The New Hope Inn. Even Piper seems to perk up at the sight. Right next door to the inn is the historic theater Bucks County Playhouse. Maggie read in the retreat info that it’s one of America’s oldest and most famous summer theaters.
“Isn’t it beautiful here?” Maggie says. “Look at that little bridge. It’s probably been standing there since the Revolutionary War.”
“This place looks like a movie set,” Piper says, snapping photos.
A gravel drive leads to a small parking lot on the far side of the inn, where Maggie gets a view of a promenade stretching along the river.
“How beautiful. We should take a long walk after we get settled in,” Maggie says, pulling the bags from the trunk. She feels a flutter of anticipation. She imagines a lobby filled with knitters sprawled out on couches and armchairs, a crackling fireplace. And hopefully, coffee.
They walk with their luggage to the front entrance, where a giant banner hangs suspended from second-story rafters. Maggie stops short.
The banner reads,Welcome, Bushcraft Bachelor Party!
No mention of a knitting retreat.
“Is this the right place?” Piper says.
Of course it’s the right place. How many New Hope Inns could there be?
A Jeep pulls up and deposits three burly men. They’re laughing and one stops just short of the front doors, cups his hands around his mouth and hoots, “Scott!” A second-story window opens, and a young man sticks his head out and tosses out a can of... beer? The guy on the ground misses the catch, and the can crashing to the ground erupts into a fizz of liquid.
“Party foul!” the guy calls from the window, as the others brush past them, up wide stone steps to the inn’s front porch.
“I can’t believe this,” Maggie says, bending down to retrieve her luggage handle. “This is not what I signed up for.”
“What’s the big deal?” Piper says and walks toward the steps.
Maggie has no choice but to follow. The porch is grand but welcoming, with white balustrades and railings. Wrought-iron lanterns flank the front door, which is a bold red. On the far end, she spots a porch swing. Two wicker chairs and an end table are stationed nearer to the door. At the top of the steps she finds decorative gourds and pumpkins.
“The big deal,” she says, hoisting her suitcase, “is that this is a girls’ trip. A knitting retreat. I thought we’d have the place to ourselves. A bunch of... lumberjacks completely ruins the mood.”
