On the Rocks (20 page)

“I don’t think so,” I said curtly.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be a gorgeous weekend.”

Before I could tell Victor to go drown himself, Wolf bounded into the bar, and Bobby immediately waved him over. Victor stepped back as Wolf approached, clearly more intimidated by him than he was by Bobby, not that I could blame him. A six-five German will evoke a different reaction than a scrawny American any day.

“Hey, guys,” Wolf said as he patted both of our backs. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, staring at Victor.

“Oh, this is Victor, we just met him. Victor, this is our friend Wolf, and I don’t think you actually met Bobby either.” I took the opportunity to point out that Bobby and I were in fact together because I didn’t like the way this complete stranger was disrespecting him. He was a mailman, for God's sake. Not the mayor.

“Hey,” Bobby said as he shook Victor’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Wolf added as he ordered a glass of wine on our tab.

“Uhh, well, I won’t interrupt you guys anymore. Enjoy your evening. And here’s my number,” Victor said as he removed a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled on a napkin. “If you change your mind about coming out on my boat, let me know.”

“A boat?” Wolf said, wide-eyed, not realizing that that trip would probably end with my appendages sawed off and packed in a cooler.

“We’ll talk about it later, Wolf, okay?” I asked, hoping that Victor wouldn’t mistake Wolf’s enthusiasm as an extension of my own.

“Cool!” Wolf replied, as happy as ever. “I’m going to go say hi to some people in the back. Talk to you guys later.” Wolf grabbed his wine and headed toward a group of girls at the back of the bar. I wished that I had one-tenth of his courage. It would make dating a whole lot easier.

“Bye, Victor,” I said as I shook his hand and turned my back to let him know in no uncertain terms that this conversation was over. He should consider himself lucky. Sophia Loren would’ve thrown his ass in the Arno ten minutes ago.

He nodded as he walked away, and I giggled as I shrugged my shoulders at Bobby. “You see? That’s what’s out there.”

“That’s the second time this summer that some guy hit on you right in front of me.”

“Maybe he knew he could take you. Or maybe we don’t give off that relationship vibe. We don’t really look like we are all that enamored with each other.”

“I repeat, guy code. You just don’t do that,” he said, seemingly genuinely confused as to why no one else adhered to his code of ethics.

“I think you’re the only one following this alleged guy code. You do realize that, right?”

“It’s very real, and it should be respected.”

“Are you jealous of a fifty-year-old mailman?”

He laughed. “I’m going to give you a little tip. Beware of guys who compare you to a celebrity . . . they’re either lying or have cataracts. In this case, I think we can lean toward cataracts, but that was even more ridiculous because he compared you to three. That guy has clearly licked too many stamps.”

“How do you know who Rachael Ray is, by the way?” I asked, curious as all of a sudden I remembered his reference to thirty-minute meals.

“I told you, I’m a Renaissance man.”

I sighed. “You know what’s the worst part about being hit on by a guy like that?”

“Imagining him naked?” Bobby suggested.

“Okay, until this second, no, and now I think I may go blind from that mental image.”

“Sorry. My bad. What’s the worst thing?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to hear myself say it out loud, but the truth was, well, it was the truth. “Every time someone like that hits on me, someone much older, or just, you know, not to be snobby, but . . .”

“Not in your league?”

“Well, yeah.” I was grateful Bobby said it for me. If someone else says it, it’s a compliment. If you say it about yourself, you’re a narcissist with an entirely too high opinion of yourself, and I’d already noticed one too many similarities between my mother and me this summer.

“He doesn’t think you’re in his league–which, by the way, you’re not. You were a Hail Mary pass.”

“What’s that exactly?” I asked, not sure what religion had to do with anything.

“Guys do it all the time. They find a girl they expect will reject them and they figure, why not? Maybe just one time I catch a girl who is wasted, or so miserable she’d go home with a circus midget, or even better, a wasted, angry girl who wants to piss off her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend by going home with anything with a pulse. He realized that you weren’t any of those things, so he moved on. Don’t think for one second that that’s what you should be dating. It’s so far from the truth it’s a joke.”

Bobby reached out and patted my knee. Not in a creepy way, he didn’t squeeze it or anything, but a nice friendly pat. It felt normal. Comfortable. It was the most comfortable I had felt with a guy in a very long time. And I didn’t even like him. God, I was screwed up.

“Thanks, Bobby,” I said as I put my hand on his forearm. “I appreciate it. I know I give you a hard time, but you’re not so bad, truth be told.”

“Did that hurt you to admit?” he asked.

“A little bit,” I said with a smile.

“Thank you. You’re not too bad either. I’m sorry I was so forward with you when we met on Memorial Day. Grace mentioned that you were going through some stuff, and I just wanted you to have a good time. I’m not really good with the whole kid gloves thing. My heart was in the right place, though.”

“I know. And I’m glad you suggested we get out of the house tonight too. I need someone to push me to get out. It’s hard for me to force myself to do it.”

“Out where?”

“Out in the dating world. There are mass murderers, and rapists, and guys who will ask you to spend Saturday nights listening to them relive their high school years as they jam with their bands.”

“You have a problem with
Wayne’s World?
”

“Hey, I like
Wayne’s World
as much as the next girl, but I have no interest in dating either Wayne or Garth. Besides, it’s such a huge waste of time. Once you hit thirty, your odds of meeting someone through the normal course of life decreases by, like, fifty percent.”

“Where the hell did you get that statistic from?”

“My mother.”

“I’m beginning to understand you a little better. She sounds delusional.”

“Just because she’s evil doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

“And you won’t do the whole Internet dating thing why exactly?”

“Because of my fear of murderers, rapists, and Wayne.”

“Right. So at the ripe old age of thirty-one you decided that you don’t want to date. What do you do with all of your free time then? I mean, if you’re not going out and being social, then what do you do all day? Sit on your ass and eat ice cream?”

“Grace told you?”

“She might have mentioned it.”

“Remind me to kill her.”

“Seriously. What have you been doing with your time in isolation?”

“Well, I joined a club. I meet with a bunch of other women once a week during the school year.” As soon as I said it I wished I hadn’t. A guy would never understand. Especially a guy like Bobby.

“What sort of club? It’s not some male-bashing joyless luck club type thing, is it?” he asked.

“No. It’s not related to men in any way, shape, or form.” I hesitated, biting my lip before I answered, knowing that he’d have something to say about my answer. “It’s a knitting club.”

“I’m sorry, a what?” he asked as he leaned toward me in case he had misheard.

“A knitting club. See, once a week we . . .”

“Shhhh,” he said as he suddenly covered my mouth with his hand. “You cannot ever say that out loud in a public place ever again, do you hear me? If someone hears you say that, you won’t have to worry about what’s out there on the dating circuit because guys will cross the street to stay away from you.”

“What’s so bad about a knitting club? It’s therapeutic.” Sheesh. Apparently I couldn’t do anything right.

“What the hell are you even knitting? An afghan like all the other octogenarians in the Northeast?”

“Of course not. I’m not good enough for that yet,” I admitted.

“Then what? An ice cream cozy?”

“No! Though that’s really not a bad idea now that I think about it.” Bobby’s shock registered all over his face for reasons I didn’t fully understand. There were way worse things than a single thirty-one-year-old girl in a knitting club. If I thought long and hard enough, I was sure I’d come up with something eventually.

“What? Tell me. Please tell me what you’re knitting.”

“Pot-holders,” I said defiantly. “But so far I only have one. I hope to finish the set by Christmas.”

“Okay. The first thing you’re going to do is drop out of that knitting club, pronto,” Bobby ordered, seeming to forget that so far I hadn’t listened to anything he’d said to me.

“Why? I’m a few months away from having a matching set!”

“It’s just too sad for me to even explain the reasons why. If you listen to one single piece of advice I give you, listen to this: you, Abby Wilkes, should not be spending Friday nights sitting in a living room with knitting needles. I’m sorry, I won’t allow it.”

I sighed and laughed a little. He was right. It was yet another hideout, and I knew it. “Okay, I will. I promise. What about you? How come you aren’t dating anyone?”

“I haven’t found anyone special, I guess. Believe it or not, I’m not really into casual dating, and I hate rejecting people. I’ll meet girls and have a good time with them, but unless I find someone I think I could spend a serious amount of time with, I’m fine staying unattached. It’s easier that way. Besides, it’s not high on my list of priorities right now. I need a job, not a girlfriend.”

“I find that to be really sweet, actually,” I said, seeing that there was a lot more to Bobby than I realized.

“Don’t go telling people that. I don’t want word to get out that I’m actually a romantic at heart.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

The bartender returned and placed two more Belgian beers in front of us. Bobby held out his glass and gently clinked the rims together. “Out with the old and in with the new, Abby. I think you’re going to be just fine.” I was beginning to believe that myself.

We sat at the bar for another two hours, talking about life, unemployment, our friends, and our families. It was the kind of basic, easy conversation that seemed impossible to find with any of the other guys I had met so far this summer. I realized that had this been a date, it would have been one of the best first dates I’d ever had in my life. Maybe the best one, period. If nothing else, my night out with Bobby proved that it was possible for me to have pure, unadulterated fun with a guy again, and that was definitely a step in the right direction.

I was just surprised at who was responsible for it.

Chapter 13

The Clam Jam

T
HE
F
OURTH OF
J
ULY
holiday is always fun no matter where you live (as long as it’s in the United States). Few things make people happier than long weekends, especially people with full-time jobs. I returned from an afternoon jog and had a voicemail from Grace, who sounded especially cheerful. I assumed it was because she was going to have an extra day to work on her tan and the weather forecast was for clear skies for the foreseeable future. She said she was on her way.

I entered the kitchen and found Bobby flipping through the newspaper and drinking a diet iced tea, probably the first time since we had met that I’d seen him consume a nonalcoholic beverage. I opened the cabinet and removed a bag of chips as I sat down next to him and began to read over his shoulder, chomping in his ear.

“That’s not at all annoying,” he said as he continued to read.

“Sorry,” I said, even though I enjoyed bothering Bobby for sport more than I enjoyed just about anything else.

Just then we heard Grace running up the deck stairs, her flip-flops flapping. She burst through the door and threw herself on me. “You guys will never believe what happened!” she squealed, with a look on her face I’d never seen before.

“What happened?” I asked, as she continued to hug me so tightly I could barely breathe. “Did you win the Lotto or something? Because we made that pact in high school that if one of us won, we’d split the winnings, and as far as I’m concerned that agreement is still in effect.”

“Better!” she screamed.

“The suspense is killing me,” Bobby said.

“He did it. He told his wife it’s over. He’s leaving her!”

Bobby and I didn’t move, stunned into silence. If it was true, then everything I thought about Johnny was wrong. If it was true, then Grace hadn’t been wasting all of her time on someone who could never be with her. If it was true, I had to seriously start putting money on the long shots at the track. “He did it? He’s filing for divorce?” I asked.

“Yup. He told her this morning, and then he left the house. He’s crashing at a hotel right now. I invited him to come here for the weekend, but he needs to call lawyers and deal with everything. Do you believe this is actually happening? We can finally be together.” She ran her hands through her hair and grabbed her skull, like she couldn’t believe it herself.

“I don’t know what to say! I’m shocked. I mean, I’m really happy for you, but I’m shocked. I didn’t think he’d ever do it,” I admitted. I guess some people did get their happy endings.

“I know you didn’t, but I did. I knew in my soul this was meant to be. I know it’s complicated, and the road was . . . what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Untraditional?” Bobby offered. I was impressed with his diplomacy.

“Yes, good one! Untraditional. But it’s over. I don’t have to live a lie anymore. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“Grace, congratulations. You went through hell, and I worried about what you were doing and how this would end, and I’m really happy you’re finally going to have this all legitimized,” I said, relieved.

“It’s a very, very good day. And I’m beyond pumped about the party tonight.”