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"I think you’re supposed to leave room in the glass," I chuckle, eyeing the brimming goblets she filled.
“And waste my time when I finish the first glass and have to refill it that much sooner?” She scoffs. “Never.”
That I can’t argue with—not with Rhea. Carefree as she is, she’s deliberate about not wasting time on anything she doesn’t want to do, which reminds me…
“Aren’t we supposed to be meeting Ryan at the Piazza?” I don’t know what time it is, but I know we've been savoring every moment of our dinner, neither of us in a rush to leave. I also know that Ryan has a way of getting even whinier than usual when we’re late.
"I suppose." Rhea sighs, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect.
I laugh, allowing myself another sip of wine and letting it chase away the tension brought upon by Mama’s earlier prodding about my plans for the future. I’d barely gotten halfway through my first glass when she brought it up in innocent conversation, and then I’d spiraled until I excused myself to fall apart in private. But now that I’ve effectively chased away my worries for now, I can really indulge. Her wine is surely the nectar of the gods, and it is strong. I can feel my cheeks warming already, the bubbles in my veins.
"If you aren't interested, why don't you just cut it off?"
"Because, mon petit Cherie, what's the point?" The fact that she’s fluent in English, Spanish, French, and Italian, is just one thing I admire about Rhea, though she sometimes speaks in another language like she expects me to keep up. With her beautiful skin and ample curves, Rhea doesn't just look different compared to the rest of the people I know; She is simply cut from a different cloth. And she's never been ashamed of that. "Summer's over in three weeks, anyway."
"Ugh. Don't remind me." I lift the wine glass and tilt it toward my friend in an honorary toast before draining the rest of it and letting it chase away the complicated emotions threatening to take control again.
It’s far too likely that this will be our last summer like this... dining under the stars, breathing in the salt air, raking in enough cash to last the school year without having to do food delivery to drunk frat boys for menial tips, having meaningless flings, and being generally care-free. When we graduate, we'll both be thrown into the world and expected to act like proper adults. I haven’t been a kid in a long time—that innocence died with my parents, and whatever was left was ripped away afterward— but the thought of being a proper adult is nearly as terrifying as the past I’ve run from.
I’ve been more of an adult throughout my childhood than most people in Cove Harbor have to be in their entire life. The world is cruel, wicked, and unyielding, and I’d all but given up on it before meeting Rhea. She forced me to relax and cut loose for the first time, and though I have no qualms about our enduring friendship, I can’t help but stress that real-world pressures after graduation will change our dynamic. And frankly, I’m not ready for it. I was in a dark place—literally and figuratively—before she became my roommate. Once we separate, I’m afraid I’ll revert back to the girl I was before… a girl I want to bury more than anything.
I just want to live in our bubble until the day that I die, too full and happy and a little tipsy.
"That's a problem for another time," Rhea says it casually, but the look in her eye tells me she knows where my head is. She stands, taking a deep breath of the salty air. "Come on, let's go see what sort of treat Ryan has for you today. Maybe a candy-coated hunk of man meat?"
I laugh, enjoying the slightest, sweetest wine buzz. The night is young. As much as I don't mind the idea of changing into sweats and binge-watching crappy reality television (as we do most nights), I’m also desperate to cling to everything about our summers for as long as possible, and that includes entertaining the men trying to woo my best friend. Sometimes, it’s better than reality TV.
Rhea kisses Mama's hand on the way out, and I wrap her in my arms, thanking her for everything as she presses a kiss to the top of my head. Mama is another thing I’m terrified to lose about this place. She’s the closest I’ve got to a grandmother. She doesn’t call me out for holding onto her a beat longer than usual, sensing that I need her warmth more tonight than usual.
The door lock clicks in place behind us. From the corner of my eye, I see Gus blow a kiss at Rhea through the glass. She flips him the bird and then turns around, chuckling to herself.
"Where are we going to change?" I ask, my eyes falling on the glowing neon sign for The Piazza. It’s just down the boardwalk, the light cutting through the cloudless night. The bass from the club's speakers rattles the wood under our feet.
"Change?" Rhea scoffs, unfastening the buttons on her dress uniform to reveal that she's been wearing a short, spandex dress under her uniform. I haven't seen that one yet, but it’s the kind of dress that looks perfect on her frame. It also looks like the kind of dress that had to have been shifting around under her uniform all day.
"I'm sure that was really comfortable to work in."
"Actually, the elastic on these sides kept riding up every time I'd serve a customer, and this lace bra itches like a bitch. But," she accents, "Beauty is pain, daaahling."
"I guess I'll change in the bathroom." I fail to suppress a shudder.
The bathroom of any bar is a place to be avoided, if possible, but in particular, the restrooms at the Piazza are like something from a horror story. The whole building seems close to crumbling into the sea, really, but there are a few reasons we go back almost every weekend, every summer, and it isn't for their watery cocktails.
"They may not let you in looking like you're fresh off the farm." Rhea teases, dodging the arm that I swing at her before we both dissolve into laughter.
"Vin knows me by now. Besides, I know you well enough. If he tried to turn me away, I could see one of three things happening. One—you'd buy the whole damn place." Rhea tilts her head to the side, considering it, and then nods summarily. "Two—you'd flash him. Not full frontal, but just enough to make him turn to putty in your hands."
"Accurate." Rhea concedes, albeit with a little reluctance.
"And option three—you'd run into the middle of the dancefloor, convince DJ Dave to cut the music, and then tell everybody the party had been moved to your house."
Rhea smirks. "I'm a little concerned with your intimate knowledge of how my brain works, Claire. But you did forget one option. Number four—Report them to Sheriff Jack for serving minors, wait 'til he shuts them down, and then break in through the loft that I still have the key for, and party 'til the crack of dawn."
"You still have the key?" I laugh and then immediately shake my head. "Why am I even asking? Of course, you do."
"You never know when it will come in handy." She shrugs. "Oh shit, there he is."
I look up to see Ryan walking eagerly toward us, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his blazer. Though I went to high school in a relatively impoverished community, we still had the stereotypical teenage cliques: the loners, like me, the jocks, the nerds, and the preps.
