On the Rocks(15)

“I need you to read these to me,” Grace said as she handed me a white napkin with blue ink scribbled illegibly on it. There were only two lines written on it, and for a second I was nervous that maybe Grace had been bombed when she attempted to write down the directions and passed out halfway through.

“I don’t see a beach,” I said, wondering if this had all been some giant ruse and she was really about to drop me off at a fat camp in the middle of nowhere.

“The house is close to Gooseberry Beach, but it’s a drive. Before you freak out, the house is literally a two-block walk to town, the piers, and all the bars. I figured we’d care more about being able to walk to the bars than we would about walking to the beach. Oh, and there’s an ice cream parlor too, in case you keep talking to Ben and fall off the wagon again.”

“I resent that. I’ve been doing so well.”

“It’s been two hours.”

“You’re impossible to please.”

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out hesitantly, sensing that it was Ben, knowing that I shouldn’t even bother to read it, and not caring about that in the slightest. I really hated when Grace was right.

I read on Grace’s Facebook page that you guys were going to Newport for the summer. I’m jealous. I miss the beach. Actually, I miss you.

I replied:

Just getting here now. I’m not the one who told you to land lock yourself.

I know. One of many decisions I regret. Have fun.

What does that mean?

When twenty minutes passed and I hadn’t heard back, I realized that I wasn’t going to. I knew better than to give Ben the ball, to let him be the one who determined when and how our conversations ended, but for some reason, time and time again, I did. There were freakin’ lab rats that learned faster than I did.

“Abby,” Grace yelled as she snapped her fingers in my face. “Put that thing away or I swear I’m going to rip it out of your hand and throw it out the window.”

I returned my phone to my bag and tried not to obsess over what Ben had said, which was clearly impossible. Find me a girl who doesn’t try to decode even the most straightforward of messages from a guy, and I’ll show you a girl who’s lying.

“Read the directions. I know we have to make a right somewhere up here,” Grace yelled.

“It says make a right on Thames Street.”

“Where the hell is that?” she asked as she slowed to avoid pedestrians.

“How should I know? I have no idea where we are, and I think that’s what this says, but I’m not sure. I can’t read your writing!”

Before Grace had the chance to defend herself, the street sign appeared in front of us. We made a right and continued to head south, parallel to Newport Harbor and the bustling piers. We drove through the town, teeming with bars and restaurants, the sidewalks overflowing with seemingly happy couples, all of them smiling and laughing. Who could blame them? If I had actually managed to make it down the aisle, if I’d been able to afford a charming little house in Newport and live there for the summer with my loving husband, I’d be laughing and smiling too.

If only I didn’t have “if” in front of all of those things.

We passed by Bowen’s Wharf, Bannister’s Wharf, and a bunch of other wharfs that all seemed to have one thing in common: waterfront bars and restaurants. We continued through town before making a right onto Grafton Street and immediately pulled into a narrow driveway running along the side of a pale yellow shingled house. A small flight of stairs led from the front lawn to a large porch—complete with a barbecue and patio furniture—that wrapped around the first floor.

“If this is home for the summer, it was worth the four hours in the car,” I said as I stared at the quaint but adorable piece of real estate in front of us. It wasn’t just walking distance to the bars. It was spitting distance. It was perfect.

“Told you! Welcome to your new home until Labor Day, Abs. Don’t waste it!”

We grabbed our bags out of the back of the car and raced inside. The house was airy and calming, decorated with white wicker furniture and in shades of blue and green. Large glass jars filled with seashells were placed decoratively on the coffee table, and framed pictures of sunsets, dunes, and boats hung on the walls. The hardwood floors throughout the house were immaculately polished, sheer white, gauzy drapes hung from the windows, and the sliding-glass door opened up onto an expansive back deck. I left my bag in a small room at the end of the hall on the second floor and returned to meet Grace in the kitchen.

“Well, now what?” I asked. “Did you call your friend Bobby?”

“I texted him. He said to meet them at a bar down on the water called the Landing. His parents’ house is actually just down the block, which is awesome. It’s going to be like living in a dorm with cute boys at the end of the hall and no bunk beds. They’re here all summer, Abs, so you’ll have boys to play with.”

“You mentioned that already. I agreed to come to the beach, Grace. I didn’t agree to let you play matchmaker. I don’t want you trying to set me up with one of your friends, okay? I’m not ready, and I already know I won’t like him.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s male.”

“Lighten up, Abby,” Grace said. “Let’s get going.”