Chapter Twenty
Addison and Kizzy sat on the beach for most of the week, reading, drinking wine, searching for job listings for Addison, and blowing up pictures of Terrence Williams’s abs.
The tide suddenly rolled in, taking out an older couple sitting by the shoreline. The seniors jumped from their chairs, grabbing their flip-flops from the surf and laughing as the cold water shocked their toes. The husband gave the wife a swift pat on her rear, causing Kizzy and Addison to react in unison.
“How sweet!” Kizzy exclaimed.
“How mortifying,” Addison scoffed.
They both laughed.
“I’m glad Rome didn’t squash the hopeless romantic in you.”
“Me too, I guess.”
Lisa had given them each a Life Assessment Worksheet before she left. It had annoyed them both when she handed them off, but they spent the afternoon contemplating their answers. Specifically:
What do you want out of life?
What are the obstacles to achieving your goals?
What are the steps to reaching them?
They shared their answers to the first question over sunset and rosé.
“I want to get my career back, but in a way that leaves more room for other things.”
“I love that for you! Though it may be difficult, given your tendency to take it all on.” Kizzy paused before admitting her answer.
“I want the family at the ferry dock.”
When Kizzy said it, the family at the ferry dock, it made Addison feel like she was lying to herself. She wanted some iteration of that too, though she worried she was too controlling to dream of something that seemed so hard to control.
Their deep thoughts were interrupted by Sally running toward them with a tennis ball in her mouth. Ben stood tall at the top of the steps, causing Addison to fumble her throw. He walked down to them, barefoot in jeans with an open button-down. His abs were not as insane as Terrence Williams’s, but they were nothing to shake a stick at. His hair was all over the place, and between that and the outfit, he was a bit of a mess—a sexy mess.
“I like what you did with your hair there,” Kizzy joked, motioning to the part that was standing straight up. Ben licked his fingers and flattened it. It was undeniably adorable.
“You two want to go to town tonight?”
“Maybe. Where to?” Addison asked.
“It depends if you want to stay out of trouble or if you’re looking for it.”
“We’re looking for it!” Kizzy shouted, like a college kid on spring break.
“OK, then!” Ben laughed, and joked, “We can search for your one-night stands. I can be your wingman!”
At least, they thought he was joking.
They shared a conspiratorial look, and when he added, “It’s one-hit wonder night at the Sandbar!” they both agreed. Neither had heard of such a thing, but it certainly went with the one-nighter theme. It sounded like the perfect antidote to their introspective day.
The night was fun, just the kind of fun they all needed. It wasn’t wingman-like at all. Simply three friends drinking and laughing and dancing together. When “Come On Eileen” came on, they screamed on the dance floor like drunk teenagers. Half a dozen songs later, ironically during “I Melt with You,” by Modern English, Ben excused himself to get some air. Kizzy ran off to the ladies’ room. Addison followed Ben out to the street, where he sat on a bench. She slid down next to him, appreciating the cool night air—she was also melting.
“Wow! What a fun night!”
“Yeah, you never know what to expect on this island.”
“I haven’t danced that hard in so long!” she gushed, while catching her breath. “My mom used to blast music—all disco—and make my sister and me help her straighten the house before the housekeeper came. We would dance hard like that. It’s one of my best childhood memories.”
Ben was quiet, kind of staring straight on at nothing.
“You OK?” she asked, tapping him on his knee, and catching her breath.
“I’m not much of a wingman, sorry—not that either of you needs a wingman.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I’m surprised that you’re single, to be honest. What’s up with that?”
“I never met the right person, I guess. My friends say I choose poorly.”
“Oh—you like the bad boys?’
“The opposite. I pick painfully nice guys who end up boring me to tears. It sounds awful, but I think I like to have the upper hand.”
“You should definitely look for a main character type—a side guy could never be worthy of you.”
“Noted.” She smiled at the compliment, but on second thought, it gave her pause. Why was he doling out dating advice and playing the wingman?
“What about you?” she asked instead.
“Well, that was the first time I’ve really danced. You know, without Julia.”
And voilà—the man from the book appeared right before her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “How long has it been now?”
“Three years, forty-three days.”
He laughed at his preciseness, and his humility tugged at her heart.
“But you’ve dated?”
“I haven’t dated. Just, you know—had the tit-for-tat sex.”
Addison laughed. “Are you always so open about these things?”
“Not at all, actually. Not only have I not danced with anyone since Julia, I also haven’t talked to anyone since Julia. I mean, really talked. Julia was a major league listener.”
“I can’t imagine how much you miss her.”
“Talking about her helps. Not that anyone lets me. It’s nice to talk to someone about Julia who didn’t know her. Someone who doesn’t find it painful to talk about her—or laugh about her. Her sister, Nora, and I manage to do it sometimes. Just bring up funny stories, or her amazing laugh. But her parents, or her best friend—they still look at me like I will break in two if they even say her name.”
“Was Julia funny?”
“Not particularly. I mean, once in a while she would come out with a real zinger. But she had a great sense of humor. When she laughed, when she really laughed, her entire face would contort, and her eyes would fill with tears. Her laugh was everything. Complete strangers would laugh, watching Julia laugh.”
“Well, I don’t feel like a complete stranger—after reading your book.”
“I don’t even recognize the guy in that book anymore. He was so angry.”
Addison was quiet. Ben mistook her introspection for judgment and apologized again.
“I’m really sorry about the bungee cord thing. I have a hard time with change—like things to be a certain way. You should have seen the fit I threw when they tried to replace the sidewalk on our block.”
Addison thought to say, I heard, but the only thing worse than throwing a fit about something is throwing a fit about something with witnesses. She saved him the further embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” she said, falsely adding, “I forgot about it already.”
It wasn’t completely false. Her eyes were open, but the more time she spent with him, the more she trusted he was a good guy. Possibly even a great one.
The night had definitely taken a turn. The first beats of “99 Red Balloons” echoed from the club. She wondered if she should steer him back inside.
“It’s so nice to be with someone that doesn’t look at me with a pained expression,” he said with a somewhat pained expression.
She sank further into the bench and placed her hand on his knee in comfort as he continued.
“It’s not just here, you know. Anyone I meet who has read my book knows my pain. It’s like I’m wearing a scarlet W on my chest. I think it’s why I didn’t properly introduce myself to you. I was so excited to be anonymous.”
And although the sweat on her back was not completely dry, she could think of nothing better to say than, “I think you could use a hug.”
“I’m still a little sweaty,” he said, as if reading her mind.
She shrugged, stood up in front of him, and motioned for him to do the same.
He did, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed with all of her might, not even cringing when her hands reached the sweaty spot on his back. After a solid minute of their bodies pressed together, Ben nuzzled into her neck and whispered in her ear, “I am really sorry, Addison.”
It brought her an odd sense of comfort that wiped out the last threads of distrust she had previously felt for him. She broke away and looked into his eyes. She was sure she saw something warm and loving in them, under the sadness. Like looking into the sun, it suddenly became too much.
Ben clearly felt it too. He broke away.
“Want a tour of the ice cream flavors at Scoops?”
“Absolutely.” She blushed, embarrassed by the sudden intimacy.
Soon, they plopped down onto the stoop in front of the ice cream shop with two cones. On one side, two kids were selling painted shells out of their wagon; on the other, a couple seemed to be breaking up. It was hard not to listen to them fighting, and Addison and Ben were happy when the girl stormed off and the guy followed.
Ben got up to check out the painted shells.
“What’s your sign?” he asked Addison.
“Sagittarius.”
“How much for the painted Sagittarius shell?” he asked the two young proprietors. They consulted with each other for longer than contestants on Shark Tank. Both Ben and Addison were holding in laughter.
“Two dollars and fifty cents,” the older of the two (who couldn’t have been more than eight) finally announced.
Ben handed him a five. “Keep the change,” he said. “Two fifty, each.”
Their eyes nearly burst out of their heads. Ben handed Addison a gold-painted shell with the sign of an archer decoupaged onto it. It was pretty.
“I’ll keep it always,” she joked—though she meant it.
Am I a hoarder now?
“What’s your sign?” Addison inquired.
“Couldn’t you tell on the dance floor? I’m an Elaine,” Ben said, waving his hands in the air in imitation.
Addison laughed. He was an Elaine. “I see that. I think everyone wants to be an Elaine.”
“You?”
“I’m a Jerry. I really love cereal.”
Speaking about the friends from Seinfeld reminded her of her own friend.
“Kizzy! We ran out on Kizzy!” Addison suddenly remembered, adding, “She’s very fragile right now!”
As if on call, Kizzy came flying out of the club, covered in foam.
“Guys!” she shouted. “It’s a foam party! Come back!”
They joined Kizzy back inside, where copious amounts of frothy bubbles were blasting out from a contraption on the ceiling. As the volume rose and the lights dimmed, they belted the lyrics to “Stacy’s Mom.” At first, the foam situation felt kind of good—cool and wet and decadent. But soon the three began to slip and slide and feel genuinely ancient compared to the rest of the crowd, who now looked to be about 99 percent fake ID holders. They shook off as much lather as they could and made their way to the front door. Riding home, side by side by side, they laughed about their fun night and analyzed whether Stacy’s mom really had it going on or if she was a bit of a perv.
“Would you describe these walks as wide sidewalks or narrow streets?” Addison asked Ben when they stopped between their houses.
“Depends on the day,” he responded, leaning off his bike and placing a sweet good night kiss on the top of her head.