Either way, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.
“Hello?” my mom answers the phone, and her voice plays over the speakers in my truck as I drive toward town.
There are only a few cars out and about now that it’s on the cusp of dusk, seeing as it gets dark before five o’clock these days. Everyone else hates it, but for me, it makes it easier to go to bed at eight o’clock when the sun’s been down for hours anyway.
“Hey,” I say, pressing on the brakes as a random car pulls out in front of me, resisting the urge to swear for the sole reason my mother is on the other line. Not like she’d think much of it. She raised four boys after all. “I’m headed to the store. Just checking if you guys need anything.”
“Oh, well …” She pauses. “No, no. It’s all right. I can run over to town tomorrow.”
“What is it?” I drawl slowly. “Or text me a list if it’s more than three things. You know my memory sucks.”
“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” she chirps. “I could use some bagels and cream cheese. We ran out, and your dad is going to haul in the morning, and you know how he gets when he doesn’t get to eat his normal breakfast. And if you want to grab a jug of that iced coffee stuff he likes—he’s really into that now that your brother had him try it.”
“That’s all shit for Dad,” I utter. “What about you? Don’t you need anything? You’re the one who’s been helping me with my logbook when I screw it up.”
And thank fuck she has because with these new laws and regulations in place, there’s no room for error. So, logging my catch every time I go to haul has to be done, and I fucking hate doing it. My mom though? That poor woman has to do it for my dad and all of us moronic kids.
“Well, yeah, but I do it for your brothers too.” She laughs. “The only thing I need is another package of garlic bread to go with the lasagna tonight. I swore I got some, but I can’t find it.”
“So, garlic bread, bagels, cream cheese, and a jug of Dad’s iced coffee that he seems to think is so great.” I cringe. “That’s four things. Hopefully, I can remember it all.”
“If not, it’s fine,” she says. “And you know, that iced coffee really isn’t that bad. I tried it, and it’s pretty good with that caramel creamer he gets,” she says. “But anyway, thanks for grabbing all of that, babe.”
“No problem.” I pause. “Got room for one more for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Well, of course,” she says without hesitation.
If my mom could have it her way, we’d all come to dinner every night. Although, I’d say, most nights, she’s got at least one of us—if not more.
“Easton is coming over, too, since it’s his favorite meal and all. But in that case, why don’t you grabtwopacks of garlic bread instead?”
“Ohhh, so you invited East before me?” I drawl. “I see how it is. Baby brother got the invite, and I had to invite myself. Bet he didn’t even go to the store and ask what you guys needed to get included, did he?” I tease her, knowing she’ll get all flustered because my mom constantly tries to keep everything even between us boys.
“Oh, cut it out, would ya? We’d love to have you both. Come on over.”
“Be over shortly,” I toss back.
“See ya in a few,” she says, ending the call just as I turn into the parking lot of the Bold Coasts Grocery store.
For a late Thursday afternoon, it’s about what I expected, with just a handful of cars in the parking lot. It’s December in Eastern Edge—the county my family and I live in—and this time of the year, the only people around are locals. In the summer, there’s more out-of-state license plates, but right now, no one wants to visit New England.
Well, no one in their right mind anyway.
When I park next to a small SUV, I instantly recognize it as the car that pulled out in front of me, and I shake my head. Grabbing my ball cap from the dashboard, I pull it down onto my head before jumping out of the truck.
“Sweet truck, Ridge,” a teenager I’ve seen around town says, eyeing over my new truck. I can’t think of his name, but I know his mom and dad. “Is that a Denali?”
I grimace internally, trying my best to hide it from him. This kid is genuinely excited because he clearly likes trucks. I got this one because it was my favorite, but I feel like a major douche, saying the wordDenaliout loud, like that’s supposed to make me cool or something.
So, instead, I just give him a nod. “It is.”
“Wow … it looks sick, man.” He looks my truck all over. “Holy shit, it’s an Ultimate? That’s badass. I can’t wait till I get my own boat so I can buy a truck like this.”
I’m uncomfortable as fuck, and I don’t have a clue what to say.
Lobster fishing has its good times, sure. And despite what people may think, it’s granted me far more than I ever thought possible. But it’s also stressful as hell. And withthe ever-changing rules and guidelines that are always being implemented, I don’t know how many more years of solid fishing there are in front of us. Not to mention, my entire family also owns and operates a wharf, and when we aren’t on our own boats, we’re tending to other fishermen who sell their lobsters to our pound.
So, instead of telling him to think long and hard before jumping into this industry because it’s not all it’s cracked up to be some days, I just flash him a smile and bob my head up and down. “Thanks, man. Have a good rest of your day.”
