E-Blast // The Father, the Mocktails, and the Meltdown

It’s a tragic tale, dolls. A girl, a father, and a funeral she didn’t even finish.
Yes, H.T. lost her dad yesterday—
and I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartbreak on anyone, not even the girl who once said I’d “never understand loyalty.” (Ironic, no?)

She showed up in black lace and baggage,
but before the second eulogy could drop,
our girl slipped away faster than a secret in a group chat.
No final words, no final look,
just a trail of glitter, guilt, and her mommy’s homemade mocktails.

That's right:
H.T. got totally wasted.
On coconut-pineapple faux-tinis with sugared rims.
Which would've been cute if it wasn’t at a funeral.

Now she’s cutting everyone off like we’re the problem—
ghosting chats, blocking texts, disappearing from Elmont like she didn’t beg us to believe it was real.
(And we did, honey. We believed in fairy tales for you.)

So… am I sorry for your loss, H.T.?
Yes.
Do I think grief makes people act out?
Of course.
But do I also think you’re using it as a filter for chaos?
One hundred percent.

And when the tears dry and the sympathy fades,
just know:
you still owe a few of us an apology,
mocktail hangover and all.

xoxo,
you know you love me

Gossip Girl