Ballard’s is massive, with a large indoor section and a multitude of blue-umbrellaed outdoor tables. Beyond the tables is a long stretch of beach and two tiki bars. A breakwater juts into the ocean; on the sand, a group of young women photograph each other. And why shouldn’t they? This is the literal definition of picture perfect. A ferry moves majestically past. Juliana and Nicola order two Rum Runners.
Nicola gulps her Rum Runner, then says, “Sorry. Sorry! I need to slow down. Had a crazy day.” She tells Juliana that she works at the Block Island Maritime Institute; she tells her that she left a career in law to become the Oldest Intern in the World. She tells Juliana she has law school loans that would keep her up at night if she let herself think about them.
“We had a class of six-year-olds in from a day camp in Newport,” continues Nicola. “They looked cherubic from the outside, but let me tell you, there was something very different going on inside. A girl named Avery tried to climb in the touch tank.”
“Oh, no!” says Juliana dutifully.
“A boy named Smith, whohad a more recent iPhone than I have, wanted to take a selfie with a shark, which obviously wasn’t an option, but he wouldn’t stop talking about it.” She tells Juliana she’s involved in planning the Dolphin Program, a weeklong residential program for groups from schools that traditionally have low college attendance rates.
“Oh my god,” says Juliana. “There aredolphinshere? This island keeps getting better and better!”
Nicola smiles. “I made the same mistake. No, the program is named after a woman with the last name Dolphin.”
“Ah! Got it.”
“Sorry. I was disappointed too, when I first heard about it.”
“There are also,” says Juliana, “zero mansions on Mansion Beach.”
“Also disappointing,” says Nicola. She sits back and adds, “I love it, though. Honestly, I’m complaining, but I’m not really complaining. I’m learning so much already, about coastal exposure, and the effect of rising sea levels on marine life... well, I don’t want to bore you.”
“I’m not bored,” says Juliana, though she is, in fact, a tiny bit bored. Nevertheless! She’s on a mission. “Let’s order,” she suggests.
The menu is nearly as vast at the landscape. Lobster thirteen ways. Steamers, sautéed littlenecks. Sushi! Drinks served in whole pineapples. They each order a lobster roll, and while they’re waiting they trade backgrounds: schools, previous jobs, and so on. Juliana learns that Nicola recently broke up with a long-term boyfriend, and that she has a lot of sisters. Juliana gives her short version of her education and the beginning of her company. Nicola says Juliana should come snorkeling with her. There’s a great spot at Surf Beach, she tells her.
Juliana’s heart skips. She hates when this topic comes up, but it’s best to get it out of the way and keep it there. She shakes her head. “Can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Nicola blinks. “Why not?”
Deep breath. Push down the shame, Juliana. The shame isn’t yours anymore. “I’m scared of the water.”
Brow furrowed, Nicola asks, “In what way?”
“In the scary way. I can’t swim.”
Nicola takes several seconds to absorb this and then she says, “Like, at all?”
“At all.” Juliana clears her throat. “I never took swimming lessons as a kid.”
Nicola’s eyes grow wide. Juliana can see what she’s thinking: everyone takes swimming lessons as a kid. “You live on the water. Isn’t that—dangerous?”
“Not if I don’t go in the water.”
“But what if you fall in?”
“I won’t. I’m careful.”
“I could teach you,” says Nicola. “I used to teach swimming at the lake. We have a family cottage? On Pokegama? Back home, in Minnesota.”
Juliana knows about the lake house; it was described to her only once but she memorized the description so well, and she has thought about it so often, that she could probably draw the place: the screen porch, the dock, the galley kitchen, the picnic table on a blanket of pine needles.
“I don’t think so,” says Juliana. “Thank you. I appreciate it. But I’ll be okay.”
Nicola nods, and Juliana watches her cast about for a way to change the subject. Here it comes: “Did you like Boston College?”
What a loaded question, thinks Juliana. What a loaded, loaded question. Not that she hasn’t been asked before. She’s perfected the art of the “Lovedit!” before smoothly changing the subject. Their lobster rolls arrive, and for a minute both Nicola and Juliana are busy, each taking a bite, reaching for napkins. Then, surprising herself, Juliana says, “College was hard for me. Not so much academically. Academically, it got me exactly where I needed to be. I never would have started LookBook without the education I got there. I mean more—socially.” Wow, this conversation is getting deeper than she’d expected. “I—my mom died when I was thirteen. I never knew my dad.”
Juliana waits for the response that all people give when she reveals this part of her history, which she doesn’t do very often. Theresponse is typically a widening of the eyes, a tilt of the head, a soft intake of breath, followed by one of three statements:I’m so sorry to hear that. OrI had no idea. OrI can’t even imagine what that must have been like. It’s an a la carte menu; you can have any combination. Nicola chooses the intake of breath withI’m so sorry to hear that. And Juliana says what she always says, which is, “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Even though, yes, it was a long time ago, but no, it’s not okay. Then she says what she sometimes says, because the cultural touchstone resonates with enough people: “Before she died, my mom and I were likeGilmore Girls. It was the two of us against the world.” For a certain type of person—typically a female who was a teen or preteen in the early 2000s—this romantic ideal is almost enough to erase the pity.
