Spencer gazed around the dining room with a smirk. The Rosewood Country Club would never change: It had the same heavy mahogany furniture, the same sea-life mural on the wall, even the crotchety jazz band in the corner playing the same rendition of “All of Me.” The same preppy boys in their blazers and girls in their pleated skirts snuck sips of their tight-lipped parents’ gin and tonics. As Spencer gazed around her own table, she half expected her family to launch into a rousing game of Star Power, comparing their accomplishments and desperately trying to one-up each other. It used to be a Country Club Dinner staple.
When was the last time they’d played that game, though? It seemed like a lifetime ago, and things were so different now. There was Melissa on Spencer’s other side, shooting Spencer a sweet smile, all animosity between them gone. Melissa held Darren’s hand—a guy who’d almost ruined Spencer, thinking she’d killed Courtney, and a guy she’d suspected, too—and Darren raised his glass to Spencer’s for a toast. Mr. Pennythistle, who Spencer thought she’d never grow to like, pushed a plate of the club’s famous mussels toward Spencer, urging her to have a bite. Even prissy little Amelia had poked Spencer’s arm a few moments earlier to show her a funny dog video on YouTube, almost like they were friends.
Then there was her dad, at the end of the table. Spencer watched as he straightened his tie and signaled his favorite bartender for another glass of Scotch. Mr. Hastings was clearly on the fringes of the group, but she appreciated that he was part of this tonight. Still, Spencer had to wonder: Did he grieve for the monster he’d created in Ali? Was he sad that she was so crazy, and that she would probably spend her whole life in jail? Spencer didn’t dare ask him—they didn’t exactly talk about the fact that he was the DiLaurentis twins’ secret father. But she had a feeling the grief weighed on him. Bertie, the waiter who’d been at the club ever since Spencer could remember, appeared at Mr. Hastings’s elbow. “Big group tonight,” he announced, looking down the table, his brow crinkling at the obvious incongruity of Mr. Hastings, Mrs. Hastings, and Mr. Pennythistle. On one hand, it was kind of weird—definitely unprecedented for a Hastings family dinner. But as Spencer leaned back and looked at the pink cloud mural above her head, she realized that maybe the Hastings were more unprecedented than she thought.
After Bertie took their dinner orders, Spencer looked over at her sister, who was gently touching her as-yet-nonexistent belly. “Do you feel any kicks yet?” she asked hopefully.
Melissa giggled. “Not yet, silly—it’s way too early. But don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.”
“You’d better tell me, too,” Mrs. Hastings said mock-sternly from across the table.
“I’ll tell you both at the same time,” Melissa said, smiling. “How about that?”
“I suppose that’s fair,” Mrs. Hastings demurred. Then she rolled her eyes and touched Spencer’s hand. “After all, you are going to be the godmother. And you’ll make a good one, I’m sure of it.”
Spencer looked over at her mom, feeling a tiny twinge. Ever since she’d been released, her mom had tried really hard to apologize for the way she’d treated Spencer during the trial. What would she think, though, if she knew Spencer had almost sold off her jewels? Spencer had put them back as soon as Angela drove away, but she still felt bad for doing it in the first place. And why hadn’t Amelia told on her? She’d seen the ring on Spencer’s finger and the guilty look on her face. It would have been such an easy way to get Spencer in trouble. And yet, for whatever reason, she hadn’t.
Spencer glanced at her stepsister across the table, then experimentally stuck out her tongue. Amelia looked up, eyes wide, and then stuck out her tongue back. Her smile was genuine. Maybe Amelia wasn’t so bad after all. Spencer promised to give her more of a chance, now that she was free.
Then Mr. Pennythistle turned to Spencer. “So. What are your plans? Off to Princeton after all?”
Spencer ran her tongue over her teeth. Once again, Princeton had reinstated her place at school that fall. Alyssa Bloom from HarperCollins had called, too, re-extending her book deal. She’d received a ton of emails in the past day to start up the bullying site once more.
Which she would . . . but maybe not this week. Maybe not next week. “You know, I’ve been thinking about taking a gap year,” she said, glancing nervously at her mother—this was the first Mrs. Hastings was hearing about it—and then at Wren, with whom she’d discussed the plan at length. “I talked to Princeton, and they said it would be okay to defer until next year.”
Mrs. Hastings took a sip of her cocktail. “What would you do instead? I’d rather you didn’t just lie around the house.”
Spencer took a deep breath and looked at her father down the table. “Well, Dad got me an internship at a Legal Aid office in Philly. I’d help represent people who don’t have money to pay for lawyers.” She shifted in the plushy seat. “I guess the trial got me interested in the legal system. And I’d work on the bullying book, too.”
Mrs. Hastings crossed her arms over her chest, considering this. “Would you live here?”
Spencer couldn’t tell if that was a plea for her to stay in the house or for her to get the hell out. “Maybe in the city. With roommates? I don’t know.” Spencer looked at Melissa. “I want to be close to the baby when he or she is born.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to Princeton someday . . . just not in a few months. It was funny: Only when she’d really considered disappearing for good did Spencer truly appreciate what she had here.