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“I got your shift covered. Pack your bag.”
It’s mid-September, and the weather is still warm enough for the beach. During the summer, Massimo and I usually go to the beach once a week. Sometimes it was just the two of us, other times with a group of friends or family. He knows it relaxes me; the salty air and ocean waves are therapeutic. Massimo likes to say it’s for me, but every time we’re sitting in the sand, I sneak glances at him, seeing his face visibly relaxed. He’s always busy and on the go, whether with the restaurants or with his family, and he rarely sleeps.
“Why the last-minute trip?”
“Why not? We’ve been busy the past few weeks with the end of summer tourist rush, and I want to spend a few days just the two of us. What better place than the North Shore for a quick getaway with my girl that’s quiet, romantic, and has some of our favorite seafood restaurants?” He embraces me, dropping kisses along my temple.
Massimo likes surprises and last-minute trips. He’s spontaneous that way, which I love about him.
“Okay, you know I love it there. I’ll never say ‘no’ to the beach.” I go into my closet to search for my weekend bag to pack.
The old tattered sheet is spread across the sand, and we lie sprawled across it. The September sun is still warm, and I want to enjoy every last drop of it because the cold weather is creeping in. It’s a Tuesday afternoon, and the sand around us is mostly empty. Gone are the summer days that filled the sand with umbrellas protecting babies from the sun, kids building lopsided sandcastles or digging holes to fill them with water, coolers filled with drinks and cold cuts for sandwiches.
Massimo always brings his radio to the beach. Today we’re listening to some of his favorite Italian music. Claudio Baglioni’s “Questo Piccolo Grande Amore” is playing. The first time I heard it, I asked him what the lyrics meant, and he told me it’s about young summer love and the intense emotions that accompany it. He said his mother played this often because it reminded her of when she and his father were young, and Massimo was a little boy. I wish I fully understood the lyrics because the melody is beautiful.
There’s a couple near the shoreline sitting in beach chairs, letting the water splash at their feet while they watch a young child play. Two joggers run the coastline, one barefoot and the other in sneakers. I am leaning back on my elbows, looking out to the horizon, Massimo’s head resting on my belly. The ocean is calm today, not roaring in its usual way that crashed the waves at a furious pace.
“That’ll be us when we have kids. I’m gonna buy us a beach house so we can be beach bums.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Massimo gives me a quick kiss and springs to his feet before saying, “I’m hungry, gonna run over to the Snack Shack and get us some lobster rolls and fries. You want anything else?”
“No, that’s good. We still have some drinks in the cooler.”
Lobster rolls are my favorite summer food. It’s a tradition in New England. I like them served cold. Massimo likes them served warm with drawn butter. We always debate about whose tastes better.
After eating our lobster rolls, we lounge on the beach until the sun starts dropping, and the chill in the air forces us to leave. Days relaxing and enjoying each other’s company are few and far between. With the schedules we keep, we rarely spend quality time like this together, even if we live in the same apartment. I’m glad we made one last beach trip before winter sets in.
Winterset is a quaint and quiet town. I first stop to have breakfast at the Northside Café, a historic place in the center of town that has to-die-for eggs Benedict. After breakfast, I drive out to the Holliwell Covered Bridge. It’s my favorite of the six bridges. The bridge itself is beautiful with its red and white painted wood, but it’s my favorite because it sits over the Middle River, and listening to the water running downstream soothes me. I need a quiet place to think and clear my head.
When I still lived in Boston, that place was one of the nearby beaches. Winthrop or Revere always did the trick, even if they weren’t my favorite. The crashing waves and salty air worked wonders to clear my head. The Middle River is a far cry from the ocean, but soothing nonetheless. I sit in the rocky area by the river to the left of the bridge and take in several deep breaths. My eyes sting from the falling tears, and my heart aches from the crushing weight of what I left behind and what my life has become.
I feel desperate, alone, and empty.
Breaking it off with Nate was the right thing, so why do I feel so bad about it? I know I had to do it, mostly for him, but for me too. Over the past six months, we’ve had a lot of sex. But, despite enjoying the sex with him, I was distant. My heart was off-limits. Rarely was I able to look him in the eye, and never did I express any feelings toward him. Sex with Nate may have physically satisfied me, but it emotionally drained me. What’s worse is that I used him and was starting to hate the person I was becoming. Fucked up as it is, I felt like I was betraying Massimo, which is ridiculous, considering I left him. Regardless of how much time I spent with Nate, I can’t stop thinking about Massimo.
One day at a time, regret eats away at me. I can’t shake it, and it’s been over a year. I thought by now it would’ve at least lessened, the distance making it easier to forget. Instead, despair gnaws at my skin, and everything I thought would be isn’t. Every plan I made for myself unravels. Robert Burns said it best: the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
Even working at The Last Drop reminds me of Massimo. It’s the bar scene, mixing drinks, stocking the inventory, the day-to-day stuff that comes with the job. Although I bartended before meeting Massimo, I was new to bartending. It was Massimo who got me excited to join his family business. I miss everything and everyone in my old life. I’m spiraling into a funk and need to do something to stop myself.
“Hi, Luce.” She answers my call on the second ring. “I’m glad you picked up. I really need a friend right now.” I sit on my couch, crossing my legs, and cover myself with a blanket.
“What happened, Lena? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. I’m so blah lately. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Why don’t you come home?”
“I’m not ready to do that yet.”
“So, I guess you’re also not ready to tell me why you left?”
“Ugh. No, but please don’t lecture me, not today. I’ve had a terrible week and just need a friend.”
“That’s what friends do, Lena. They lecture you when you’re stubborn and do stupid shit. It’s literally my job description!”
“Will you come visit me?”
