1. Call Nate and tell him to meet you Chez Waldorf.
2. Call Chuck and tell him to meet you Chez Waldorf.
3. Drink three bottles of wine with Nate and Chuck.
4. Puckishly place one bottle in the middle of your bedroom floor.
5. Lazily spin it, as though you are in a daydream, and watch it slowly wind down.
6. When one of them reacts, say, "Guys, I've got this awesome idea."
7. Time will pass.
8. Now all of your problems are solved, and you have utterly won at life.
Dan and Serena talk about how Serena just got out of there with 25 hours of Community Outreach, on the committee of which she just happens to be. Dan goes for about ten minutes on this intensely douchey "I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you" spree about how felicitous that non-punishment punishment was, whistling with like his finger on the side of the nose, and she tells him to stop it like a hundred times, because there is not a double standard. "You don't buy what she said about me being the poster child for the new honor code? Look, I know for a fact my mom didn't plead my case or donate anything, okay?" He continues to jackass around about how he's not saying a thing, no sirree bob, as though this has anything to do with him or his lot in life, in any way. I want to watch old episodes of, like, Dynasty with Dan some time when he's good and drunk so I can watch him point at the screen and be all, "See those rich people? My girlfriend's a bitch." That's literally how much sense this crap makes when he does it. Anyway, a Town Car arrives to pick Serena up, which is an offense to Dan on such a level you might think it was parked on his body, and Serena's like, "Fuck it, I'm walking," and they laugh and are adorable, but why create weirdness where no weirdness exists? As like your mission in life? He calls after her and then, with a hilariously charming grin, offhandedly asks if they'll take him to Brooklyn.
Early in the evening Bart toasts "the merging of two families," as Eric and Serena feel gross about life, Lily feels gross about accepting the proposal, and Chuck thinks about whatever it is that he thinks about. "To my lovely bride and our growing family."
At 90th and Fifth, just after six o'clock, Rufus will be waiting. He'll see Lily coming down the street, without her luggage, and his face will fall. She will be very beautiful as she comes closer, and the love and sadness in her eyes will make it pretty hard for him to say anything at all. Her eyes won't be glassy anymore, but they will shine. "Please, try to understand," she'll say, but he will. He already knew; he was pinned to that corner, afraid she'd come to her senses one more time. She will be sorry, and he will be sorry.
Lily takes a drink and smiles at Bart, and at her children, caught in the middle, and thinks about how much she likes Chuck, and how fond of Bart she is, and how families grow and blend and split apart. She thinks about hotels and husbands. "Mom looks about as happy as Grandma at last call," Eric cracks, awesomely, and Serena compares Lily's dead eyes to Bart's total lack of affect. Maybe it's catching. "I don't even know how she breathes with her blouse buttoned that high," says Serena, and it's true: she's buttoned all the way up to her glassy eyes. She has to be. She always had to be. You button up, and that's what being a grownup is about, and that's the thing Rufus won't ever quite understand. He knows how to play the guitar, and he knows how to walk from Brooklyn to the Palace in a henley, and he knows how to show you his heart, right out there in public, shivering in the cold, but he never figured out how to button up.