40. Forty
Just before two o’clock, Ethan pulls up in his shiny silver truck, and I’m waiting for him on the porch wearing casual jeans and a plain white shirt.
He eyes the bottle of vodka sticking out of the box I hand him as he opens the door for me.
A smile tugs at my lips.
“I didn’t know what you had planned, so I brought stuff for your first lesson.”
I sink back into the passenger seat, toe off my flip-flops, and prop my feet on the dash as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
He smiles, then reaches across the center console to wrap his hand around my thigh. It’s a nothing move, ordinary, but the simple gesture feels a bit like a free fall.
“Let’s get you some lobster.”
With the windows down and the briny smell of the ocean blowing across my face, I don’t even ask where we’re going. I don’t care.
I want to stay in this truck with the warm wind whipping my hair around my face and Ethan’s hand on my leg forever.
The sun warms my skin as I watch evergreen trees fade to rocky coastlines and then back to trees as we drive.
When we come to a small coastal town, the water shimmers like sequins, and fishing boats bob playfully in the waves. There’s not much to it. A post office, grocery store, marina, and a few small businesses, but what’s there is picturesque. The houses, mostly big block rectangles, are painted in a color palette I can only describe as New England.
“This place looks like a picture that’s used to make a puzzle,” I say as we drive through town.
He snorts. “I’ve never heard anything described like that.”
“All I’m saying is, they don’t put trash on puzzles. This is the cutest town I’ve ever seen. People probably walk around singing sea shanties.”
As if scripted, a man in a striped blue and white shirt tips his old captain’s hat as we drive by. I shoot Ethan a look that says, see.
When we park, it’s under a big sign with bright red letters that say, Pound It!Maine’s best lobster pound.
I squeal as I get out of his truck, walking toward a cute white building with bright red trim.
It’s perfect.
We’re greeted at the counter by a round woman with a mouth that only knows how to smile.
“Ethan Mills, leave your fancy restaurant long enough to come to eat some real food?” she asks with a cackle.
Her frizzy red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showcasing bright, rosy cheeks.
He brings a hand to his chest in mock pain. “Marlene, it hurts when you say things like that.”
“The truth hurts, honey,” she says, her smiley eyes flicking to me and then back to him.
“Marlene, Nel here wants a true Maine lobster pound experience, and I knew we had to come here. Unlike you, I’m not threatened by the competition.”
He rests his hand on the counter and gives Marlene a smile that even she can’t resist blushing at. His effect is universal.
“Two soft shells, please, and…” he turns to look at me, holding up two fingers. “Two beers?”
I nod.
He waits for the food while flirting relentlessly with Marlene as I walk around.
There’s a large screened-in porch with a yellow canvas roof that shoots out over the bay. People sit happily snapping tails and claws off lobsters and making a mess with corn on the cob while wearing silly bibs that say Pound It! in red loopy letters at brightly painted picnic tables.
The smells of butter, seafood, salt water, and fryer grease remind me of Key Largo and all my hours in the restaurant. The scene is as familiar as my own face. Only it isn’t. I’m on an island a world away from my own.
I ache as I think about how far away my real life is.
I walk toward the picnic table where Ethan is putting the tray down, and stop in front of a shelf of t-shirts. Pound It! is written in the same loopy letters as everything else and has a lobster holding a hammer. I smile. I think of Travis.
As fast as the thought comes, it’s gone. Without tears. Without guilt.
When I sit across from Ethan and tie on my own ridiculous paper bib, I grin.
“I feel so Maine right now.”
The spread of food is so simple yet completely novel. A whole lobster lays next to an ear of corn on the cob with a ramekin of melted butter on a big metal pan.
He holds his lobster up like a puppet and makes it dance.
“Let’s teach Nel how to eat a lobster.”
I never stop laughing as he walks me through the entire process.
I snap the tail off as he does, clean the meat like him, and dig through the claws and other secret spots of the body to get the rest out. The sweet and salty taste is ecstasy to my taste buds.
“Oh my God,” I groan between bites. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
I know the mistake I’ve made the instant I look at him. Elbows propped on the table, there’s a look in his eyes that could have melted the butter.
“Oh really, Nel? That you’ve ever had in your mouth?”
“Okay.” I hold my butter-covered hands up. “Don’t be so literal, Ethan. Or… intense. God, you’re like some kind of walking… walking… stick!” I stutter.
“A walking stick? Is that what you call it?” He drops his head back and laughs.
“No, that did not come out right. I don’t even know why I said that.” I huff out a flustered breath. “All I meant is, you are an attractive man, and women notice it. Hell, I’m sure you’ve had men notice it. And as if that’s not enough, you have this smolder that makes women say stupid things because it gets too hot to think straight when you get all smoldery and sexual. So put on some sunglasses or something. And maybe a Halloween mask. I want to enjoy a meal without getting third-degree burns from you.” I throw an empty claw at him.
“Ethan?” a female voice calls from over my shoulder. “Ethan Mills, it is you. Must be officially summer if you’re on the coast.” The voice giggles.
I turn to see a beautiful blonde in a sleeveless dress with shiny hair and clear porcelain skin that glows in the sun. Her perfect looks seem photoshopped.
“Hey Rachel, good to see you.” He stands up and gives her a hug. “Rachel, this is my friend, Nel.”
“Hi!” I wave my butter-covered fingers towards her perfectly manicured hand. “I would shake, but I’m probably contagious.” I laugh.
She doesn’t.
Ethan bites back a smile. Looking at Rachel look at Ethan, there’s an obvious look of longing on her face. Like she’s spent her entire life in the dark, and he’s the first rays of light she’s seen. She looks how I feel—something I’m not prepared for.
My eyes bounce from him to her as I ask, “So, Rachel, how do you know my friend Ethan here?”
She smiles as though she has a million secrets to share as Ethan shoots me a look with an unspoken stop talking that I fully ignore.
“Hmm, now how would you explain that, Ethan?” she asks him coyly. “I would call us… summer friends, right?”
When she bats her long, thick eyelashes at him, I finish my beer in a single gulp, tipping the bottle straight toward the sky for good measure.
“That’s nice,” I say dryly.
“How do you two know each other?”
Her gaze goes from me back to Ethan, where it lingers.
“Oh, you know, the usual. He pinned me up against my silly RV, and I dry-humped his leg until I moaned his name. So… friends, I suppose, would describe us too.”
Both Ethan and Rachel stare at me with mouths hanging open as I snap a lobster claw with a nonchalant smile.
“You know Rachel, it was great to see you, but we have to finish this up and get going,” he finally says, scratching his neck. When she walks away—speechless—he looks every bit as uncomfortable as I hope he feels.
He holds his hands up defensively. “I can explain that.”
“No need,” I say, ripping another piece of shell off my lobster too aggressively. “I’m leaving in a couple weeks, remember? You’re allowed to have summer friends named Rachel.” I shrug before continuing. “Plus, it also explains why you didn’t tell me you would be here—you didn’t want to miss out on all your seasonal… what’s the word? Ah yes—friendships!”
I emphasize the s with a hiss as I snap a leg off the already angrily demolished lobster’s body.
I don’t wait for him to respond before I scrub my hands with the smallest wet wipe I’ve ever seen that does nothing against the sheen of butter that covers my fingers. I stand up slowly, rip off my bib, and march out of the restaurant without looking back.