You’re a disaster, Porter,Ray playfully shouted into her ear that summer. They were at the Beachcomber’s outdoor bar, dancing and drinking under the stars and string lights. Adults, at least according to their IDs.But a fun one,he said. He twirled her, around and around on the splintery wood planks, even as she stole his backward hat and slipped it onto her head.
I’m so dizzy!she exclaimed, mouth wide, the air thick with citronella and salt.I need to sit! I’m a disaster right now! Those drinks are lethal! We should go!
She spun to leave, but he caught her wrist.
Not yet,he said.One more song.He drew her body closer.Don’t leave yet.
Why?she asked, sensing even through her drunkenness that he was alluding to something more than just their bar date.
Because I like you when you’re a mess.
Back in the present, the faint opening notes of a new song play through the bathroom walls.
“Ohh ... I’ve got to go!” Cece announces, quickly changing gears. She jumps down, half trips on the perfectly even floor. “This is a hit!” She looks back at the mirror, adds another quick swipe of gloss. “Anyway, not that you asked about literallyanyof that.” She laughs at herself once more. “Thanks for letting me be weird for a second.”
“Can I ask you something?” Grace poses before her early-twentysomething self walks away. “Do you have any idea why we keep meeting like this?”
Cece looks at her, like maybe she’s about to say something profound. Instead, she slaps her palm over her wide-open mouth. “Oh my gosh! Have we seriously alreadymet?” she asks, cracking up. “I’mreallysorry about that.” She looks at the trash can. “I think that was already my third round of those drinks tonight.” It takes a second for her to pull herself together. When she does, she digs in her bag—a too-small clutch with some designer logo printed on it. “Here.” She passes Grace a neon-orange paper wristband. “I know one of the bartenders on the patio. He always gives me a few extras in case any of my friends have trouble getting in.”
Grace takes it, not entirely sure of Cece’s point. “Wh-why are you giving this to me?”
“In case that’s why we keep meeting.” Cece slides toward the door, shimmying her shoulders. “Because maybe we’re just supposed to hang out together and dance.”
“Long line?”
Outside, the sun has started to set over the boulevard. The sky is a spoil of colors. Deep reds bleeding into layers of orange that blend into streaks of lavender before softening into cool streaks of gray. Meg stands just beyond the hotel’s lobby, taking it in.
“Epic,” Grace states, not having a clue how else to explain why she took so long. “All the bargoers are starting to filter inside.”
Just as she says it, a group of young twentysomethings—fueled on youthful enthusiasm, probably too many energy drinks, and the promise of a semi-reckless night—stroll past.
“Gosh, I feel old.” Meg shakes her head and turns to watch them. “Their night’s just starting, and here I am, ready to go throw on some leggings and put on a movie that I’ll no doubt fall asleep watching halfway through.”
“I can definitely relate,” Grace admits. “This is way past curfew for me.”
“Hard to believe that was ever us, right?” Meg cringes, recalling something. “Remember those drinks they served out there? The ones in mini beach buckets? What evenwerethey?”
“Gasoline, I think. And a guaranteed headache.”
“Speaking of which, this is your week, right? Your birthday, yeah?”
“Wednesday,” Grace tells her through a hushed sigh, wishing it wasn’t and knowing there’s nothing for her to celebrate this year. “I’ll be thirty-eight.”
The twentysomething girls step inside, loud and tipsy.
“Listen, Grace,” Meg says, “about Birdie ...”
“I’m okay,” Grace lies, and thinks of twentysomething Cece, the girl who ached to get ahead so she could get past the hard times, not yet knowing how many hard times still waited. “Or at least, I’m trying to be.”
“You will be, Grace.” A knowing glint flashes in Meg’s eyes. “In due time.” She holds out her arms, hugs Grace, then drifts to the sidewalk bike rack. “Sea Drift’s a good place to heal.”
Grace watches the last sliver of sun dip into the water. “I hope so.”
Meg bunches up her sundress and slides onto the beach cruiser’s slender seat. She pedals in a circle, briefly holding her arms in the air like a kid.Look, Mom! No hands!
“I didn’t tell him,” Meg calls back over her shoulder before she leaves.
Grace freezes in place, too stunned to look away from the sky, let alone speak.
