High Season - The Stayover
Shot by Bryan Carr
Directed by Kendall Marsh & Kylie Mason
9:17 AM - Two weeks in. Not official. Last night was her first time staying over with the dogs. This morning, he kissed her goodbye otw to work - “stay as long as you want” - and she told him her day was packed (because all guys love a busy girl). In reality? It’s her day off - she was planning on laundry, maybe outfit planning for their weekend. But now? She’s locked out. Towel cover-up, flip flops, duffle on the porch, and no real plan. She likes him, and she really can’t fuck this up. After twenty seconds of panic, she lights the joint in her tote, takes a breath, and decides the backyard’s not a terrible place to spend the day if she has to -but that’s not going to happen. She’s on a mission to get out of here.
11:03 AM - She throws on last night’s outfit—a black maxi skirt, vintage Max Mara tank, and her grandmother’s coral necklace. Drops her duffle as a doorstop and heads down the block. Calls her friend: “Any chance you can bring my keys?” Orders a Martinelli’s and a plain bagel—not toasted, no cream cheese. Her childhood order. Eats it on the curb like this was always the plan.
12:22 PM - Her friend drops the key through the gate and keeps it moving. She grabs it, tosses it on the patio table.. She rinses the dogs off in the outdoor shower so her place doesn’t get wrecked later. Still in her bikini. Scrolls. Opens a book. Closes it. Finishes the Martinelli’s, now warm but still kind of perfect. The clouds start to drift in. She stays where she is. Doing nothing-but somehow, everything.
1:47 PM - She pulls a button-down from her big-ass duffle-oversized, lived-in, needs a belt. Moves a few patio chairs like she’s styling a shoot no one asked for. Pauses at the wall, copies the guy in the photo—mostly as an excuse for a small hit. Sends the pic to the group chat. No caption. She knows he wouldn’t care that she’s still here. But still she replays the morning, rereads his text, moves a chair again. Just to feel like she’s in control of something.
3:46 PM - She said she’d be gone in an hour. So she did a three-minute ab video, put on those weird 777 frequencies her best friend swears by, and laid back to “meditate.” Now she’s half-baked in the sun, overthinking everything—like if staying over in week two is too soon, and whether she should feel this comfortable in someone else’s backyard. Then he texts her. Her heart starts racing. This calm music shit isn’t helping. But instead of why the hell are you still in my backyard, he says: “leaving office early today, happy hour?”
5:25 PM - She threw on the outfit she originally planned to wear when she was going to leave before him - because her day was supposed to be “so busy.” But Tower Bar is closer to his place than hers, so she figured… why not just stay. She plays a card game her baseball ex taught her but she made up her own rules... She wonders if he has cameras… and if he’s watching this unfold. It’s been two weeks, and she’s basically the property manager now.
He doesn’t know it yet—but he’s going to fall in love with this exact version of her.
A Walk in The Neighborhood:
7 AM - Trench over a silk slip, flip-flops on. Morning calls became podcasts, old habits linger, but she’s still onto something new. Welcome to Easton Marley.
11 AM - Bikini on, long sleeve in her bag, just in case. Quick bodega stop (yes, still a bodega - NY habits die hard) for a non-negotiable beverage. Outside, two Metro workers, mid-ice cream. “Breakfast,” one grinned. She lingers, chats, debates the merits of a mid-day cone. A Cola in hand, she’s off - somewhere between overdressed and underdressed, exactly as she likes it.
1 PM - She's ready to stretch out in the sun, an ice-cold Cola sweating in her hand, the first sip hitting just right. Her screen glows with 1stDibs listings - Italian marble tables, vintage leather chairs, all wildly overpriced and entirely unnecessary. Her boyfriend is glued to his phone, firing off emails, lost in his own world. She exhales, suddenly remembering the dry cleaning she meant to pick up days ago. With a final sip, she peels herself up - time to get dressed, again.
2:30 PM - Her grandma’s vintage day planner was a lifeline - filled with notes, reminders, and details that made all the difference. She does the same, emulating a woman who moved gracefully and purposefully. Monday’s edits can wait, but the tailor’s number? That’s in there too. Hopefully, he worked his magic on that $50 Donna Karan find. Her grandma’s photo rests perfectly on her bedside, a quiet reminder of the woman who did it all - and did it well. She gives it a second glance and sets out for a little walk.
6 PM - Her spot. Family-owned, effortless, always right. She usually takes the sushi bar solo, but tonight, her best friend slides in across from her. A cold Sapporo hits the table, followed by halibut and The Jenny Roll - off-menu, always perfect.
8 PM - One Sapporo, a sake, and a ginger tea later, what was meant to be a quick dinner unraveled into hours of laughter... Realizing they never ordered the Uber. With time to kill, they snap a fit pic destined for the camera roll, not the feed. A cigarette flickers to life - last year’s resolution, casually ignored.
10:30 PM - Minimalist isn’t in her vocabulary, and her boyfriend wouldn’t change a thing. She’s packing for a Tuesday flight, swapping one look to another, a fur pillbox hat casually perched on her head. He walks in, perfectly between outfits leans against the doorframe - this moment, this look, too good not to capture.
The next morning - Sunday, finally. A full reset - cleaning her space, clearing the energy, and dealing with all the fucking clothes from yesterday. John Mayer hums, incense lingers, windows cracked just enough. Saturday was spent on foot, weaving through her neighborhood checking off tasks, seeing the people she loves, exchanging laughs with strangers she somehow already knows. Not once did she have to venture further than her own block and she wouldn’t trade that for the world.