“Seriously,” Todd says. “I was twenty-four before my dad had a beer with me. Pretty sure yours would hold a funnel for you.”
I don’t want to talk about my dad or how much it bugs me that Todd’s right.
He points toward his friends, who’ve gathered around to egg Davis on. “Josh and me grew up on the same block. He’s the first of our crew to buy a girl a ring. You got yourself a girl?”
I think of Piper before I think of Whitney, which is fucked.
The boat dips over a wave. I feel removed, like I’m watching an alternate version of myself muddle through a conversation with this stranger. The disconnect is superior to being present, though. When I’m in my head, guilt gnaws at me.
“No,” I tell Todd. “No girl. Not anymore.”
“Sorry, kid,” he says, peering at me through water-spotted sunglasses. “What happened?”
He seems like a cool guy, though he’s got an outline of the state of New Jersey tattooed on his biceps, a dubious choice. “It ended,” I tell him. “Ran its course.”
He nods with authority. “Probably for the best. Have fun while you’ve got the chance.”
“Yeah, I’m not the best at having fun.”
He laughs, holding up the beer I handed him. “I sensed that about you.”
Have fun. Chill. Relax.
I’ve heard variations ofdon’t be such a stick in the mudmore times than I can count. From Ricky and Silas and other buddies back in Spokane. From both of my parents and my grandma. From my pop too, when he was alive, which always gave me pause, considering how many personality traits I inherited from him.
God, Henry, loosen up, Whitney used to say.
We started going out last September, at the beginning of junior year. I see now, thanks to the ass-kicking clarity of hindsight, that she was out of my league. She reigns about twelve stepsup the social ladder from where I sit comfortably as a varsity cross-country runner, National Honor Society member, and recreational skier. Whitney’s a dancer and a debater, a butterfly of a girl who attracts attention just by being.
We’d known each other most our lives, but when we were matched as partners for a chemistry project, she took a liking to me. Maybe it was because I was better at labs than she was. Maybe it was because her mom, a nurse and a close friend of my mom’s, already approved of me. Maybe she genuinely liked me. I was definitely into her.
By Halloween, she was blowing off her friends to hang out at my house, where we’d spend Mom’s long shifts making out. For Christmas, she gave me candles she’d made herself. They were poured into glass beakers and smelled like pine, and I loved that she’d put so much thought and time into my present. But by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, our romance was losing steam. Whitney had grown tired of hanging out at my house. She wanted to have more fun, drink more boxed wine, and party with the friends she’d been neglecting. She wanted me to ditch studying and skip runs so we could do things my mom—obliviously smitten with my girlfriend—would’ve shit bricks over. Classes ditched to ski at Schweitzer Mountain, nights in motel rooms neither of us could afford, beers guzzled in Whit’s friends’ dingy garages.
I should’ve ended it long before I did, but there was such familiarity between us. There was also the complication of our mothers, our relationship’s most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
I should’ve muted the bullshit and listened to my gut.
Todd rejoins Josh and the rest of the groomsmen, so I haul myself off the bench to help Marissa and Matthew maintain the lines. The fish are biting, and while I know enough to be sure I don’t give a shit about deep-sea fishing, I feel like I should participate so my dad gets his money’s worth.
Not that he’s paying attention. Josh and the groomsmen are shotgunning beers of their own now, making a mess all over the deck. Dad’s encouraging them with hoots and foot stomps. His top-siders are speckled with froth.
Jesus H. I’m onboard the SSFrat Party.
***
I drive home. Thanks to the huge lunch we had on the water, Dad has sobered up. Mostly. Still, he’s not into taking chances behind the wheel—an exception to his usual throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude that I respect.
“Let’s grill the fish this weekend,” he says as I guide the Ram away from the marina. We’ve got a cooler of them secured in the truck bed, gutted and cleaned by the crew. Not a bad deal, especially for Dad and the bachelors, who did jack-all when it came to reeling them in.
“I guess,” I say.
Dad turns in his seat, giving me a once-over. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Just tired.”
“But you had fun, right?”
I might’ve, if you hadn’t spent the whole time partying with strangers.
