On the Rocks(41)
“What?” he asked, defensively.
“You think I’m crazy for not allowing myself to be cyber-stalked by strangers, because that’s your idea of how to date. It’s just so lazy! No one picks up the phone and calls a girl anymore to ask her out. First, he does a complete background check and then writes something on her Facebook wall. How is that going to get a girl excited to date you? Don’t feel like chatting? Send a text. Send an email. Send an IM. Don’t feel like making the effort to get off the couch, but your laziness is about to send your would-be girlfriend over the edge of reason? Skype. Facetime. No problem. Modern technology has made it possible for guys to not have to do anything, or even be physically present, and still think they’re dating! Our generation’s idea of a love letter is a late-night drunk text asking if you have any more beer in the fridge. You heard it here first, kids. Romance is dead.”
“Speaking of, do you have any more beer in your fridge?” Bobby asked as he stood up from the couch with his hands up, as if he were surrendering to authorities.
“Grace, help me out here. You know I’m right.” I looked at her, but she just shrugged.
“I don’t really know. Johnny calls me all the time, plus I see him at work every day. I never had these problems, so I can’t help you,” she said. Since their fight over Memorial Day, things seemed to have improved between them.
“I’m just giving you the guy perspective,” Bobby added, as if he was the only guy on earth I had to talk to. That might very well have been true, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. “I’m trying to help you, but if you don’t want to listen to me, that’s fine. Just keep in mind that I have lots of girlfriends, and well, you’re getting negged by strange dudes simply because you’re not on Facebook.”
“If you think not being on Facebook is the reason why I never heard from Ryan, you’re wrong. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I declared with defiance, even though there was a very small part of my brain that was wondering if he was right.
“You have a better explanation?”
“Maybe he’s dead.”
“You’re right. Death is a way better alternative.”
“I refuse to believe that that’s the reason. I just won’t. And I am not going to start using Facebook again. No way.”
“Suit yourself. And enjoy waiting for your phone to ring.” He pulled open the screen door and went to sit on one of the chairs outside. For someone who barely knew me, he clearly had no problem telling me what he thought of me, my life, and my current social situation. And yet, I oddly enjoyed talking to him. I really was a lightning rod for the deranged.
My phone didn’t stay silent for long. When I was straining the now-overcooked pasta into a colander, I did get a message, just not from anyone I wanted to hear from.
Hey you. How’s Newport?
It was Ben.
It’s good. How’s it going there?
I waited and waited and with each passing moment hated myself more for caring, and worse, for letting him know that I cared. Five minutes later he responded. I wanted him to tell me he was lonely. I wanted him to tell me he was bored. I wanted him to tell me he had fallen into a canyon and was in traction. Not exactly.
Not bad, actually. They have these outdoor movies here, they’re great, you’d love them. Now there’s something you can’t do all year round in Boston. I’m running out to see one now. Have fun.
I shook my head in disgust and tried to not let myself care that Ben had just told me he was going on yet another date. Whatever, he was someone else’s problem now, and as I looked around the kitchen at my new friends I told myself, whoever she was, she could have him. Wolf pulled plates out of the cabinet, and I poured the pasta into a large serving bowl and tossed it with some basil leaves, Grace’s tomatoes, and cheese. “Looks yummy,” Wolf said as he grabbed the bowl and took it outside to the table on the deck. Grace gathered the wine and the silverware, and I took the plates and a basket of bread, and we all headed outside to have dinner.
“Abby,” Bobby asked from the other side of the table as he grabbed a piece of bread from the basket. “Do you want to see my Facebook page? Maybe I can throw some pictures from the summer up there and tag you in them so your ex can see you having fun with a handsome stranger. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughed to himself, and I couldn’t help but smile. It would be kind of fun, but I didn’t care enough anymore to even try and make Ben mad. He could live his life, and I would live mine, thousands of miles away, at the beach, with my new friends, and maybe, just maybe, a new guy in my life. I clung to this thought all through dinner—that Ryan was just playing a little too hard to get, but would eventually reach out like he said he would. Later that night, I crawled into bed with my phone, willing it to ring, but knowing deep down that it never would.
I AGREED TO MEET WOLF’S friend Paul the following Saturday at a Thai restaurant with outdoor seating and a killer selection of dumplings. Wolf showed me a picture of him he had on his phone so I would recognize him, and truth be told, I liked what I saw. He had a tall muscular build and, more important, dark hair that clearly had never seen the inside of a peroxide bottle, which made him one of the most normal guys I had met all summer. I spotted him immediately when I entered the bar, and without hesitation, I walked up to him and confidently tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, are you Paul?” I asked. He turned and smiled at me, immediately making me feel comfortable—or at least I would have been if I wasn’t distracted by the blisters that were covering his bottom lip.