The two embrace in that weird, masculine ritual I’ve never understood: half hug, half push.
“Wait.” I tap the younger man’s shoulder before the two can walk away together. They are already in the midst of a conversation, gossiping about someone named Chuck cheating on his girlfriend last night at the bar Straight Wharf. “Why would you say that about me?”
“Uh, what?” The man exchanges a look with the newcomer—are they father and son? Boss and employee? Captain and first mate? He’s smirking as if to say, This chick is nuts. It’s an expression I’m familiar with these days. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know you.”
“Why would you say that you don’t believe I have a boyfriend?” It’s as ifloseris written across my forehead, as if he can smell the reek of fresh heartbreak.
“I don’t know, dude. You just give off a single vibe.”
“Well, I’m not,” I say, raising my chin stiffly. “In fact, I’m engaged. We’ve been dating since we were eighteen.” Why am I still talking?
“Okay?” The man laughs. “Whatever you say.”
The bartender appears with the mudslides, saving me from further humiliation. My ears ring as the men continue to laugh.
“I’ll come back with your check in a second,” the bartender says, but I can still hear the cackling. I can’t wait. I have to get out of here. I balance the drinks—one in each hand, another resting against my chest—and hurry back to the wobbly round table Josie and Rose are sitting at.
When I return, they’re in the middle of a conversation about our family.
“How long are they staying for?” asks Josie, leaning against the table.
Mom sighs. “I think only for two or three weeks in July, but it’s long enough.”
They’re talking about my grandfather and Aunt Elizabeth. Or, as I like to call them, the gruesome twosome. My grandfather has three great loves: his cat, Aunt Elizabeth, and any decent mirror capable of reflecting his own personhood back to him. He is the single most vain, pompous person I have ever met, and Elizabeth is a chip off the old block.
“Are they staying with you?” Josie asks.
“No, thankfully. I had already rented out the other half of our cottage before I knew they wanted to come visit,” says Rose. “I need to find them a place still, but it’s hard in their budget.”
“I’ll help,” says Josie immediately. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have my brother find them something off market.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“I insist,” says Josie.
Our cottage is technically two small houses attached at the front by a breezeway. It’s single story with a peaked roof, small living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms on one side, and a guest bedroom and attached bathroom, kitchenette, and outdoor shower on the other. Rose has been renting out the smaller of the halves for the last two years.
I love our home. Everything about it reminds me of the best parts of the island. The force of the wind sometimes causes the house to creak, gets into the nooks and crannies and whistles a tune. Everything about it reminds me of Lottie.
“Who are you renting to this year? My brother didn’t mention.”
“I’m not sure. Some woman named Rachel rented it for the entire summer, but she said her brother might come for a few weeks of the lease.”
“Is he single?” There’s mischief in Josie’s eyes.
Rose laughs. “I have no idea. I doubt it, but I didn’t exactly inquire if my tenant was single. That must be in violation of some sort of housing law.”
“Well, if he is, send him my way!” says Josie. “This island is getting stale.”
I decide now is a good time to interrupt. “Um, Mom.” I place the mudslides down on the wooden surface. “Would you mind signing the check for me?”
I can’t face the man at the bar again. I’m such an idiot. How many times in one night can a single person humiliate herself? Surely, I’m on track to set a record.
“Of course, honey.” Rose gets out of her chair. I’m thankful she doesn’t ask questions.
While she’s gone, Josie and I chat about her summer plans, the nephews and nieces who will soon come to visit in June. As she talks, I take a long pull of the mudslide, scraping the chocolate sauce off the sides of the cup, mixing it in until the liquid changes color.
I look around the bar. The boats in the harbor are bobbing up and down under the moonlight. The island is beautiful at night, even when it’s cold. It’s the very same dock Henry and I walked on our first date, and I have the strange urge to draw it.
