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But this feels a lot like Mendo’s story.
Her gaze lifts to my face, and her expression shifts to concern. She leaps up, her hand on my chest. “Gabe, are you okay?”
I shouldn’t be standing here like a thirteen-year-old boy having his first kiss. Normally my interaction with a woman follows a pattern. A date. Maybe two. Heated encounters. A predetermined end point, chosen by me, whether she likes it or not. I’m willing to act like an ass if need be to extricate myself.
I don’t stop to assess what’s happening in those moments. I just do it. The only way I could describe it is that after a week or two, a woman feels like a threat, not a pleasure. So I cut her loose. I have to. It feels critical, like if I don’t, I will fall into a pit I can’t climb out of.
But this time I’ve been knocked off balance before we even get started. Like everything I ever knew to be true about how I felt about women, dating, and maintaining my predictable life might be ... wrong. That maybe, just maybe, this one is worth staring into the abyss.
How could I ever be an asshole to this woman just to get away? She’s ... I don’t know. Words fly out of my head like they’re bats escaping a cave. My whole body feels foreign, like my guts were scooped out and replaced with sand.
“Gabe?” Tillie waves her hand in front of my face.
I force myself to snap out of whatever weirdness came over me and shout at her over the noise. “I have another blender around here somewhere. I’ll help with the lava.”
She looks relieved that I’ve gone back to normal. “I’ll get the strawberries. You have the banana.” She glances at my shorts like she’s about to make a joke, then shakes herself out of whatever it was and spins back to the blenders.
These drinks work up fast, and because we’re making so many, it’s a simple task to fill them. Bodeen and Pete go mad whacking coconuts, and a crowd gathers around them, too.
We’re all going to do well tonight.
I keep stealing glances at her with stupefied wonder. She’s having a grand time, shouting at customers over the roar of the blender, pouring lava flow into coconuts, and spinning in circles to pass them to their owners with great flourish. The goldfish bowl tip jars are stuffed tight with money.
She’s good at this. I think she’s better than me.
I have to admire her.
But damn it, I have to take my eyes off her. I need to get my head back on straight.
So I work. And work. We both do.
When the orders seem to have settled out, Morrie flips on his mike. “We have a winner of tonight’s epic booze brawl! Did you all have a good time?”
The crowd roars. Most of them have settled onto folding chairs or towels spread over the sand. Circles have formed along the beach, friends gathering to watch the sunset and drink.
The locals made the long walk from the parking lot for the competition and are enjoying the novelty of a different view. The tourists are content to hang out, feeling like they finally got an authentic La Jarra experience.
This party is definitely going to keep going. I switched everyone to plastic cups as they started moving out onto the beach with drinks. Normally the glassware stays at the bar, but the crowd is way too large.
Morrie raises his clipboard. “The judges have compiled their scores. For presentation, the winner is Gabe Landers of La Jarra with his mermaid sunrise!”
Cheers rise up, and I lift my hand in acknowledgment.
“For taste, the winner is Tillie James of Atlanta, Georgia, for her lemon whiskey sour!”
Tillie takes a bow and holds up the bottle of whiskey.
“So now we come to the tiebreaker.” Morrie pauses, glancing around the crowd as he holds his mike close to his chin. “For the wild card competition, and for the win, the best cocktail in our third and final category is ...” He lets the moment hang. The beach goes quiet.
I spot Mom sitting on a beach towel next to her friend Jessa. I wonder how long they’ve been there. They both have mermaid sunrises, so a while.
“Tillie James for her lava flow!”
The crowd goes crazy. Orders for the drink come from everywhere as Bodeen dumps another batch of hollowed coconuts onto the counter.
I turn to Tillie. “Congratulations!”
She stands on her tiptoes to hug me. “Thanks!”
