We Are Okay(25)

Mabel was on the sidewalk, her dark hair spilling from under a knit cap, her hands in fingerless gloves clasped together. I had a parka zipped over my sweater.

“You look like an Eskimo,” she said. “How am I going to offer to help keep you warm?”

We laughed.

“I can ditch it if you want, baby,” I joked.

“Why don’t you run upstairs, get rid of that jacket, and come back with some of Gramps’s whiskey.”

“Actually, the whiskey’s not a bad idea.”

I let myself back in and crossed the living room, slipped through the open pocket doors to the dining room, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that lived on the built-in hutch.

Then I was back on the street, stuffing the bottle under my jacket. Two girls walking to the beach at night was one thing. Add an open and visible bottle, and we’d be inviting the cops to stop us.

It was almost three in the morning and the city was still. Not a single car passed us all four blocks to the beach. We didn’t have to bother with crosswalks. We stepped straight from the street to the sand, scaled a dune, and then found ourselves near the edge of the black water. I was waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but it wasn’t happening, so eventually I had to give in to it.

“Remember how we used to practice kissing?” I asked, pulling the top off the whiskey.

“We were determined to be experts by the time we were sophomores.”

“Experts,” I said, laughing. I took a sip, and the burn of it surprised me. We were used to pilfered beers or vodka mixed with whatever juice was in our friends’ pantries. “Here, drink at your own peril,” I rasped.

Mabel took a sip, coughed.

“We were so giggly and nervous,” I said, remembering us as freshmen. “We had no idea what it meant to be in high school. What we were supposed to act like, what we were supposed to talk about . . .”

“It was so much fun.”

“What was?”

“All of it. Let me have another try with that.” Her hand felt around in the dark for the bottle, and then she found it and I let go. She tipped her face toward the hazy moon. Handed the bottle back. I took a swig.

“Better this time,” she said, and she was right. And with each subsequent sip it got easier to swallow, and soon my body felt heavy and my head swam, and everything Mabel said made me laugh and every memory I had was meaningful.

We were quiet then, for a little while, until she sat up.

“It’s been a long time since we practiced,” she said, crawling toward me until our noses touched. A laugh started in my throat, but then she put her mouth on mine.

Wet lips.

Soft tongue.

Her legs wrapped around my waist and we kissed harder. Soon we were lying in the sand, her salt-thick, tangled hair through my fingers.

She unzipped my parka. Her cold hands found their way under my sweater as she kissed my neck.

“What would Sister Josephine say?” I whispered.

I felt her smile against my collarbone.

It took her a couple tries to get my bra unclasped with one hand, but when she did, the cold air against my skin was nothing compared to the warmth of her breath. I unbuttoned her sweater, pushed her bra over her breasts without unfastening it. I had never felt so ravenous. It’s not like my experience was vast. It’s not like I was used to being touched this way. But even if I had already been kissed by dozens of mouths, I would have known this was different.

I loved her already.

With our jeans unfastened, Mabel’s fingers grazing the elastic of my underwear, she said, “If we regret this tomorrow, we can blame it on the whiskey.”

But the sky was fading from black to gray; it was already tomorrow. And I didn’t regret anything.



We opened our eyes to the morning fog, a flock of sanderlings darting across the sky. Mabel’s hand was in mine and I was looking at her fingers, smaller than mine and a few shades darker, and I wanted them under my clothes again but didn’t dare say it.

Without the darkness we felt exposed, and the early-morning commuters were already heading to work. The overnight shifters were finally off. We had to wait at every crosswalk.

“What are they all thinking of us?” I asked.

“Well, we’re clearly not homeless. Your jacket’s too nice.”

“And we did not just roll out of bed.”

“Right,” she said. “Because we are covered in sand.”

The light changed and we crossed the Great Highway.

“Maybe they think we’re beach creatures,” I said.

“Mermaids?”

“We’re missing the tails.”

“Maybe they think we’re scavengers, up early to comb the sand.”

“Yes,” I said. “Like you probably have a few gold watches in your pockets, and I have some wedding bands and rolls of cash.”

“Perfect.”

I was aware of how our voices were a little higher pitched than usual, our words rushed. I was aware of how we hadn’t looked into each other’s faces since we stood up and dusted the sand off our clothes. Of the sand that still clung to my skin and the scent of Mabel everywhere.

Gramps spotted us before I saw him. He was waving at us from across the street with one arm, pulling the garbage bin out to the curb with the other.