On the Rocks (17 page)

“Really? Like what?” I asked in what turned out to be a very, very stupid decision.

“I’m so glad you asked! I’d be happy to teach you a few things,” he said. And he did. For the next hour and a half, I listened to him wax poetic about his love of bees and realized that Paul might have been a very nice guy, but he was oh so definitely not for me.

Chapter 11

A Lobster Named Snappy

W
HEEZE, COUGH, WHEEZE, COUGH
. My lungs once again battled through their oxygen assault as I trotted down Spring Street Sunday morning, dodging churchgoers leaving Sunday morning mass. I wasn’t as out of shape as I used to be, my jogs not only had gotten longer but didn’t feel quite as torturous as they used to, and I liked being able to actually clock the progress I was making in a tangible way. If only everything in life could be measured so easily. I had forgotten how much I loved the endorphin surge I got from exercising, one of many things I’d let Ben make me forget I enjoyed. Though I had a long way to go before I was back to pre-breakup fitness levels, I refused to let it frustrate me. There was a time not too long ago when I didn’t even know where my running shoes were. The fact that they were now on my feet and being put to use was something to be proud of; the fact that I’d just managed to pass the two-mile mark without seeing spots was something worth freakin’ celebrating.
Baby steps
,
Abby,
I told myself as I slowed and waited for my pulse to come down to levels that probably wouldn’t set off any alarms at a cardiologist’s office.
Baby steps.

When I finished jogging, I walked down to the piers, where I quietly people-watched and enjoyed being inside my own head without wishing there was an escape hatch. Around noon, Grace, Bobby, and I grabbed our beach bags and headed over to the beach, dragging chairs and the essential cooler of beers with us. We were strolling along the sand, looking for a spot to set up for the next few hours, when I recognized the somewhat gaunt-looking woman walking toward us. It was Lara, flip-flops in hand and her mind somewhere else entirely, as evidenced by the fact that she almost ran directly into me before she realized who I was.

“Hey there!” I said as I stopped and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze hello. She wore a loose white tunic and sunglasses and was rubbing a stone I assumed she had picked up on the beach somewhere along the way. I turned to Grace and Bobby to introduce her and caught Bobby glancing at her left hand to see if she was someone he could hit on. He was visibly disappointed to discover she wasn’t. “Guys, this is Lara, my new boss. Lara, these are my friends Grace and Bobby.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lara said. She was trying to be polite, but I got the feeling that she wasn’t much interested in making small talk. Sometimes there’s nothing worse than running into people when you had planned on being alone. I once ran into a friend of my mother’s in the ice cream aisle, and I would have climbed inside one of the frozen food cases to get away from her.

“Hi!” Bobby and Grace said in unison.

“Did you have a nice weekend?” I asked.

“Kind of. I had to go to bridal shower just outside Providence last night, and I had to drive back here after it was over. I was so exhausted that I called my mom and begged her to work for me today so I could take the day off. One late night and I need about fifteen hours of sleep to make up for it. I feel like I’m getting old,” she said as she glanced at the sand, at the parking lot, anywhere except at me, as if I might be able to read her mind or something.

“You’re not old, you’re tired! They’re not the same thing. Besides, you deserve a day off, you can’t work seven days a week, I’m pretty sure that’s against labor laws.”

“If it’s not, it should be,” Bobby added. “I should look into that.”

“We’re going to lie out for a while if you’d like to join us,” I offered, even though I suspected she’d have rather drowned herself.

“Thanks, but I just came down here for a nice long walk. I’m going to head home, take a shower, and read for a bit. It was good to see you, though. Enjoy the beach and I’ll see you later,” she said as she walked away quickly.

“Okay, bye!” I called after her, unsure if she even heard me.

The three of us walked a few feet farther before we dropped our bags and set our towels down.

“Abby, what happened with Paul last night?” Bobby asked. “Was it as good as I think it was?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And no, it wasn’t. He had blisters or something all over his mouth. He never even mentioned them, but I think it was herpes. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We have nothing in common. He’s a beekeeper, and I have no interest in getting to know him or his bees—who have names, by the way—any better. We had two drinks, and then I left. I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but mouth sores and bees? Really? That’s Wolf’s idea of a good setup?”

“Well, someone didn’t mind the sores or the bees. Wolf said he saw him on the Walk of Shame site this morning wearing a wrinkled button-down shirt and a big smile. No one wears long-sleeve dress shirts during the day at the beach, so clearly the guy never went home.”

“Are you telling me that after our date he met someone else and went home with her?” I asked, horrified not only that he went out with another girl after me but that, whoever she was, she was willing to risk getting a sexually transmitted disease rather than go home alone.

“It seems that way. I guess the guy’s got game.”

“Guy’s got the herp, Bobby!” I said, shocked that there were girls out there who didn’t seem to think that was a problem.

“They were probably sun blisters from fishing, not herpes. Are you always this judgmental?” Bobby asked, as if I were being overly picky by passing on a guy with open sores on his mouth.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not being judgmental, I’m being hygienic!”

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Grace asked. “This conversation is grossing me out, and I’m tired of listening to you two bicker.”

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” I asked, relieved to change the topic.

“How about the fact that I am so over bridal showers it’s a joke,” Grace said. “It’s like, yeah I get it, you’re getting married, congrats. The world does not stop spinning for the rest of us who have better things to do than watch you sit in a pink tulle–covered chair and open toaster ovens.” To anyone passing by, Grace might have sounded a little bitter, but the reality was, no one particularly enjoys going to showers of any kind unless they’re the one receiving the gifts, and even then, showers can still be pretty painful. The two of us had probably attended about three hundred bridal showers—or more accurately, the same exact bridal shower three hundred times. Eventually, they get old for everyone. Then again, so does dating.

Bobby was used to getting stuck in the middle of girlie conversations, but I was pretty sure he didn’t mind at all. He might have tried to hide it, but the truth was, Bobby was more in touch with his feminine side than he liked to admit. “I’m sorry,” he said as he rubbed sunblock on his nose. “I think the whole concept is just stupid. Registries and all that stuff. Why should anyone have to buy you supplies for the life choice you made? I became a lawyer; I didn’t ask anyone to buy me crystal beer mugs. Though now that I think about it, maybe I should have.”

I laughed. Bobby had a way of phrasing the most obvious things that you never bothered to think about (and would probably never say out loud). “I agree,” I said as I smoothed suntan lotion over my legs. “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent on other people getting married? Engagement gifts, shower gifts, bachelorette gifts, wedding gifts. The whole system is rigged. You get married, so I have to buy you All-Clad pots? How does that work?” I was trying to be supportive of Grace’s frustrations, but I was lying through my teeth. I had loved registering. You really don’t know power until you’re set free in a department store with a registry scanning gun and allowed to zap anything your heart desires. To know that kind of power and then have it suddenly snatched away from you––it was simply too horrible to relive. It was like coming in last place in the appliance Olympics.

I figured that if I checked the wedding rulebook, it’d say that you’re not officially engaged until you’ve had a bridal shower. And since I didn’t make it that far, I was allowed to make fun of all the things that I never got to do. Kind of like a parting gift of sorts.

“Right?” Grace said as she mindlessly thumbed through a magazine. “I’m supposed to buy you top-of-the-line stuff when I can’t afford it for myself, but you and your husband’s combined income will now probably mean you can afford to buy a second home. Single people are fucked.”

I laughed so hard I got a cramp. “Totally! And meanwhile, I’m still living in a miniature apartment drinking wine out of Solo cups and mugs from various airports, but I’m so glad I spent three hundred dollars to buy you Waterford wine goblets. I guess only married people deserve stemware.”

“And don’t forget, when they buy that second home, you’ll be required to buy them more presents when you go to their housewarming to celebrate them being richer than you are,” Grace added.

Even Bobby laughed at that. “I don’t believe in those. If you buy a house and invite me to come see it, I don’t think I’m required to bring you something. If I am, then I’d prefer to just not be invited. I really don’t care what the wallpaper in the kitchen looks like, you know?”

Grace said, “By the way, I totally get that married people would call us bitter, but I think it’s just being rational. And economical.”

Bobby turned to face Grace. “So what do you consider to be the craziest gift you ever bought off a registry?”

She giggled. “I once got a girl a panini press. Do you believe that? Who eats enough sandwiches to need a panini press?”

“Actually, that sounds awesome,” Bobby said. “I want one.”

“Abby, back me up here,” Grace said as she adjusted the strap on her suit. “Tell Bobby that it’s ridiculous to ask someone to buy you a sandwich maker.”

“Let’s just say it’s not a necessity,” I admitted. I meant for it to sound like I was agreeing with Grace, but the truth was, I was so jealous I could barely breathe. I didn’t think registering for that panini press was stupid in the slightest. Everyone knows you can’t make a good grilled cheese without a really expensive sandwich press. I had registered for one myself, a top-of-the-line, shiny, grilled-cheese-making wonder-machine. I hadn’t thought about it in a very long time. It hurt too much to remember the sandwiches that might have been.

“Well anyway, that’s what I got her, and the truth is, hers wasn’t anywhere near as crazy as some of the registries I’ve seen. I mean, I know girls who registered for $500 ice cream machines when I knew full well that they barely knew how to use their microwaves.”

An ice cream machine! Why didn’t I zap one of those?
I thought.

Grace wasn’t finished with her appliance tirade. “Or how about the crazy expensive coffee machines! Thanks for inviting me to your shower, and I know you like cappuccino, but that doesn’t mean you need a professional machine in your apartment. News flash: there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts on every corner in the city.”

“I had no idea that you could get all of that stuff when you get married,” Bobby added. “Can people register for barbecues?”

“You can register for anything you want. It doesn’t mean people will buy it for you, but sure,” I answered. “Why are you asking?”

“If I ever get engaged, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m definitely going with my girlfriend when she registers. I could probably get a beer fridge, some barbecue tools, maybe even a cool recliner or something. Can you register at Home Depot?”

“Sure, and then you can be the subject of countless conversations like this one where people make fun of you for expecting them to buy you a recliner or bathroom tiles because of the life choice you made.”

“Laugh away. You think I’ll care while I’m reclining in my Barcalounger?” he asked.

We read our magazines and lay in silence for a few minutes, soaking up the sun and the quiet. Then Grace spoke.

“Your bag is ringing,” she said. I had almost fallen asleep and didn’t hear it. I reached over and dug my phone out of the plastic ziplock bag I kept it in when we went to the beach to keep sand from clogging the keys. I shielded my eyes to make out the number displayed on the caller ID. It was Wolf.

“What’s up, Wolfie? How was golf?” I asked as I lowered the back of my chair a rung to get more sun on my face.

“Uh, hi there, little Abs,” he said in his thick German accent. I loved that he called me “little Abs.” It made me feel skinny. “You guys better maybe come back to your house now.”

He sounded both happy and concerned. I didn’t really care. The only reason I could find worthy of dragging myself off the beach during peak tanning hours was if the barbecue had exploded and the deck was on fire. Even then, he should be calling the fire department, not me.

“Why? I really don’t see myself packing up and driving back there right now. I’m quite comfy.”

“Well, uhh, see, I came over to borrow your headphones, and one thing led to other things, and right now there are about a dozen live lobsters crawling around your bathtub.”

Clearly, he was joking. Or his English once again had hit an idiomatic snag. “I doubt that, Wolf. What are you talking about?”

“This box came addressed to Gracie. It said to open immediately because the contents were alive. So I opened the box, since no one was here, and there were twelve lobsters in there. They look very yummy. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I put them in the bathtub, but I don’t think you girls would like that very much, so maybe someone can come back here and tell me where the lobsters should live until I boil them for dinner. I think they’d go nicely with one of my bottles of Chardonnay, no?”

I sat upright in my chair and looked quizzically at Grace, who had now removed her sunglasses to peer at me directly, and Bobby, who was still busying himself with digging a giant hole in the sand for reasons unknown.