On the Rocks(92)

“I see,” Wolf said with a nod. “And to say ‘get hammered’ means to drink lots of booze?” he asked.

“Yes,” we said in unison. I looked at Grace as she downed her vodka. She was well on her way to hammering herself. I couldn’t blame her.

Wolf reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and proceeded to type something. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I keep a list of all the idioms I mix up so that I can learn them. The Apple people should probably look into this. American idioms, there’s not an app for that.”

Grace stood without saying a word and grabbed her purse. “I don’t care what you want to call it, but yes. Let’s go hammer ourselves.”

It seemed rude to say no.



WE HAD BEEN IN 41 NORTH for all of three minutes when Grace broke away from us and beelined for the bar, or more specifically, for the drinks that would be found at said bar. She was newly single, heartbroken, and determined to make everyone believe that she didn’t give a damn about either.

“Is she going to be okay?” Wolf asked. The bar was packed with a bunch of Navy guys who were stationed at the base in Newport, and Grace was holding court in the middle of them.

“She will be. I think,” I said.

“Okay, if you say so. Do you guys want to dance?” Wolf asked.

“I’m going to get a drink first,” I said. I decided I needed a few more drinks in me before I was ready to hit the dance floor.

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” Bobby yelled over the noise of the crowd as the two of us made our way over to the bar. Since my meet-and-greet with Ben, I felt like Bobby was being slightly protective of me in a big-brotherly sort of way. I liked it. I never had a big brother, and lately, I’d wished I had one. At least I wouldn’t have had to worry about a big brother stealing my wedding dress.

“How do you really think Grace is doing?” he asked as we ordered drinks. “Do we need to worry about her keeling over from alcohol poisoning tonight or what?”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure. I glanced over at her working the room like she was competing for the Ms. Newport pageant. “I think she’s fine. You know, faking it like only a good woman can.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Suit yourself,” I said with a smile.

“You could single-handedly undo about fifteen years of praise with your quips, you realize that?”

“Fifteen, huh? That would mean that you were . . .”

“Do you want to play this game?”

“No, not particularly.” I had learned a few things over the course of the summer. Bobby was as good a verbal boxer as any.

“Didn’t think so.”

“So what’s the latest and greatest? Any update on the job front?”

“Hah, job hunt. The last one I was interviewing for fell through, unfortunately. I imagine things will be pretty slow now until after Labor Day.”

“Hmmm. Labor Day,” I sighed, realizing that summer was lumbering toward its close. Soon I’d be heading back to Boston and my little apartment and my new class of bright-eyed five-year-olds. I wasn’t looking forward to leaving the beach, but at the same time I couldn’t wait to get back to my old life and actually live it again.

“You were right,” I said to Bobby as we jostled with other people trying to get the bartender’s attention. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but you were, so I guess there’s no harm in my admitting it. You were right, I was wrong.”

“That’s not surprising. I’m always right. What exactly was I right about?” he asked.

“That guy from the Red Parrott, the one who never called me.”

“He did highlight his hair! I knew it,” Bobby said as he swayed to the music.

“No, I’m talking about why he never called me, although yeah, you were probably right about the dye job too.”

“How’d you find out? What, did you come out and ask him or something?”

“Yup,” I said.

“I was kidding. Did you really ask him?” He laughed, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. I mean, what do I care at this point? I ran into him, and he admitted that he couldn’t find me on Facebook, so he ran. I probably didn’t do much to make him think he made a bad decision by yelling at him in the middle of a bar, but whatever.”

“You’re hysterical sometimes. Crazy, but hysterical. Anyway, who cares? I repeat: that guy was a loser.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to think that guys were that shallow. I know better now, thanks to you.”

“You didn’t think he was shallow? Abby, he highlights his hair.”

“I guess,” I said as I took a sip of my beer. “Thanks for helping to show me the ropes. I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am right now without you.”

He blushed and flashed an awkward grin as he ran his hands through his dark hair. I wasn’t trying to embarrass him, but I was pretty sure that was what I had just done. Apparently, I couldn’t even give praise to a member of the opposite sex without eliciting some sort of adverse reaction. I should come with a warning label and an epi-pen.

“Well, he was a tool anyway,” he said. “You can do better. You know, like the mailman.”