Track 22 Rock Lobster
Track 22
Rock Lobster
Matt
Matt lay on the bottom bunk, googling queen-size beds. It was an excellent distraction from the unfortunate attraction he was developing for his fake girlfriend, his engaged fake girlfriend who lived in Ohio and who was, for all intents and purposes, a total stranger. Looking at her like she hung the moon was great for the believability quotient of their ruse, but not so great for his heart. It wasn’t just that she owned a record store, which to him was the closest one could get to heaven on earth, or that it felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day to talk with her. And it wasn’t the breathtaking contrast between her light eyes and her olive skin, or the way his room suddenly smelled like a rainy spring morning. It was an inexplicable feeling of familiarity, as if he had known her for a long time, even though they had just met.
Plus, it was obviously absurd that he had never thought to replace the bunk beds. He knew why.
Without ever discussing it, he and his mom had gone to great lengths (or the opposite, really) to leave everything in the house as it had always been. It was comforting to them both, after the divorce, to limit change. Now, with his mom marrying Jake, it seemed all bets were off. Jake’s house—a 1950s old colonial with multiple fireplaces and good insulation—was much better suited for year-round living. Matt could take his mom’s room and turn this one into a gym if he wanted to. His fantasy was cut short by reality. Maggie walking through his bedroom door, her silky olive skin glistening under his oversized bathrobe, was even sexier than it had been in his imagination.
“I’m up,” he announced, banging his head on the top bunk. He ignored the sting, grabbed shorts and a decent shirt for dinner, and escaped to the shower.
On his return, he stood outside his closed bedroom door, contemplating whether to knock, when his mother walked by.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, not sure Maggie’s dressed.”
“So?” She looked at him with the same suspicious expression she’d get when he came home drunk or high in high school, doing his best to act straight and hold a conversation. Now, he countered with a dubious shrug and entered, praying Maggie was fully clothed. She was lying on the bottom bunk, dressed in a beachy white sundress with her hair tied behind her in a loose braid.
“Sorry, I didn’t feel like climbing up.”
“No problem.”
“The sun really wiped me out today. I can barely keep my eyes open,” she added with a sweet pout.
“We have time for a quick nap.”
“Do we? That would be amazing.”
“We do. I’m tired too,” he said, ascending the ladder to the top bunk. As ridiculous as they were, the bunk beds came in very handy when sharing a room with a beautiful, engaged stranger of the opposite sex.
He lay on his stomach staring out the window toward the house across the street, as he had countless times before. The view was prettier now that the olive trees Ben had planted had grown full and tall.
Maggie was still below, and he wondered if she had already drifted off.
“Hi,” she whispered, to check if he was awake, he imagined.
“Hi,” he responded with a small laugh.
“Paul’s nice, don’t you think?” she stated randomly.
“Yeah, seems like a good guy.”
“I agree. Too bad they didn’t meet earlier; they would have made cute kids.”
“Very.”
She paused, like she was done chatting. She wasn’t.
“Do you want kids?”
“I guess. Yes. I want kids. This house will be all mine soon, and is too big for just me,” he laughed. “You?”
“Yes. Always. Someone to look like me—you know what I mean?”
“I imagine that’s hard.”
“It wasn’t that hard for me. More like just a gnawing.”
“Do you think you’ll have kids soon, you and Jason?”
“I don’t know. We’ve never talked about it.”
“You never talked about it?”
“No. We only just got engaged, and it’s not very official. More like engaged to be engaged,” she admitted. “I don’t even have a proper ring yet. Wanna hear something funny?” she pivoted.
“Sure,” he laughed.
“If I was your real girlfriend, I would feel a little envious of Dylan. She’s so gorgeous and free, the complete opposite of me.”
He couldn’t help but protest.
“You’re just as beautiful as Dylan, just two different types.”
It was true that Dylan’s beach blanket bingo vibe was a far cry from Maggie’s vintage store chic.
“Which is your type?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t really have a type. You?”
“Hmm. Well, all the guys I’ve dated had one thing in common: they were all jealous of Jason!” she laughed, adding, “Feeling jealous about Dylan is kind of like a taste of my own medicine really.”
“I get that. Who can compete with that kind of history?”
“No one, really. Plus, I was never willing to give Jason up, even just a little.”
“I get that too, though I would think if I really fell for someone, they would have to love and accept Dylan because she’s a part of me. Especially now that she and I have a lifetime guarantee of sorts—you know, with our parents getting married.” He yawned, muffling the last part of the sentence.
Matt looked at the clock. “We still have time. You know you only need twenty minutes for a solid disco nap.”
There was no response. He took a peek; she was out cold. He set the alarm on his watch, but never fell asleep. Dylan texted about pre-gaming, and he slipped out quietly to partake.
In the kitchen, Matt and Dylan downed their second shot of tequila, sucked a lime, and then licked salt off their forearms before dissolving into giggles. There was truly no one in his entire life that he felt more at home with than Dylan. He contemplated telling her the truth about Maggie, one less person to be lying to. As if choreographed, Maggie came down the stairs, looking quite fetching, just as Dylan’s boyfriend, Steve, came through the back door looking quite red.
Dylan reacted.
“Dude, you’re really burnt—you look like a lobster!”
“You should see my back.”
“I’ll get you two Advil and rub some aloe on it.”
“Would it be awful if I stayed home tonight? I won’t be much fun like this.”
“It’s fine. I’ll run you back a bowl of paella.”
Steve headed back out to the guest house while Dylan slipped by Maggie on her way upstairs to fetch the aloe.
“You look pretty,” Matt said as Maggie entered the kitchen, for no one’s ears but her own.
“Thanks.” She looked over her shoulder to see that Dylan was out of earshot. “Funny that a marine biologist is dating someone that burns so easily.”
“That is funny,” Matt agreed.