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“I’m not a brat!”
“Really? Fran seems to think you’re a spoiled rich brat who won’t let anything stand in his way. Basically, boundary issues.”
We get our beers with red plastic cups and paper plates with cute tiny lobsters wearing chef hats.
“Fran’s a pain in my ass.” Sucking a long gulp of his beer, he takes in the view, darkness lined with breaking waves. “And besides, since she got knocked up, she’s all weird.”
“What?” I’m not sure how she’s kept that so quiet and hidden so well. But I am grateful she had the friends talk with me. After today, the last thing I’d want is to freak out about something I don’t need to.
“Don’t worry,” Damon laughs. “It’s not mine,” he adds with an exaggerated wink.
I take a pull of my beer, not bothering with the plastic cup. I’m in complete awe as the sky lights up a bright violet, the clouds a deep indigo as a lightning bolt strikes the sea. The thunder that follows it is so loud and surrounding that my heart feels like it’s being shocked to life. And as the wind sucks at the plastic holding the storm out, I squeeze his hand.
“Isn’t it amazing?” he breathes, lacing our hands together.
“Yes, it’s incredible.” Like tittering on the edge of the world.
We watch every encore and new strike like we’re front row at our very own private show. Chef Jo brings our lobster roll and fries dinner out. He’s much like his wife—friendly and happy. And after Damon’s introduction, he disappears again.
“So, the trick is to just get as much in your mouth as possible.” He throws a fry into his mouth and eats it while he rearranges the filling in his roll. “Come on, you’ve got to spread the filling evenly so that you don’t lose any of it. Don’t be shy, your mouth is big enough to run itself, so…”
“My mouth is big enough to run itself?”
“You and Fran have that down pat.” Putting down his roll, he chuckles. It’s playful and light, and I love it. He picks up mine and arranges the filling like his.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch other people’s food?” I smack his hand away and carry on with what he was doing.
“My mom taught me a lot of things, but there are no rules here.” There’s so much fondness in the way he speaks of his mom that it gets me anxious over the prospect of meeting her in the future. Conflicting feelings about the possibility whirl around my thoughts.
“Is she going to hate me? I hope she doesn’t feel I was rude or…or…oh God, she’s going to think I’m an awful person.”
“It’s not a big deal. She’s got Fran there with her unborn grandbaby.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just you blindsided me, and the only other guy that’s ever introduced me to his parents like that…I freaked out. My parents aren’t even talking to me.”
“Ava, it doesn’t matter, and if you really want to know, Mom was pissed at me.”
“She was? Why?”
“Fran couldn’t keep her mouth shut as per usual. I feel sorry for Grayson.”
Grayson. The name is familiar. “Hold on, she’s with the legal guy?”
“Yeah, he’s decent, and she deserves someone that will really look after her.” He shrugs, sucking the dressing from his fingers before he picks up a quarter-sized token. “So, every customer gets a song.” He nods at the corner. There’s an old jukebox plastered with stickers and surrounded by lobster memorabilia. “Go on.”
I take the token from him and wander over to the jukebox. The oldest disc on there is from the fifties, however my favorite disc is from the seventies.
The sound crackles once I select the song, and vocals fill the air soon after.
“No. No fucking way,” Damon calls from his seat, looking all affronted by the opening to ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me.” “Of all the songs on there.”
“My song, my choice.” I dance along to the music as I mimic the lyrics. It’s one of mine and Lacie’s favorite.
“You wasted a song; I can’t believe that.” He picks up both of our rolls and hands me mine. “Now eat. Remember, as much as you can. The more the better.”
“Got it.”
“Right. Okay. One, tw—”
