Chapter 35 Now Sebastian
Now
Sebastian
“Today is not going to go perfectly, so just get that out of your heads right now,” I say to the blinking group of polo-clad teenagers huddled in the kitchen in front of Omar, James (our new head barista) and me.
“What matters is that we show people the restaurant they love hasn’t gone anywhere, it’s just gotten even better.
And the way we do that is by working as a team.
So, if you need help, ask for it. And if you can help, offer it. ”
I catch Omar stifling a smirk, but he nods.
Part of the agreement we came to when we decided to take over the restaurant together was that Omar would have the final say on menu development and culinary operations, while I’d oversee the finances, vendor relationships and staff—and that means no eye rolling in response to my pep talks, hokey as he may think they are.
“I have a question.” Parker raises her hand.
“Shoot.”
“Can I please help out with the IG account? This sounds like something my grandma posted.”
She holds out her phone, and I squint as she swipes through a carousel of photos from training this week.
I purse my lips and think, Mom. She’d insisted she’d be hands-off this weekend and let Omar and me take the reins, but I’m not surprised she finally broke my no-posting-until-we’re-open rule.
She’s been trying to get me to take press calls for months, and I’ve only agreed (begrudgingly) to one.
She assumes it’s because I’m nervous about how opening weekend will go.
But the truth is, the only journalist I’ve wanted to call since officially taking over the restaurant is one who definitely doesn’t want to hear from me.
“Why are we even bothering with IG?” Wade pipes up. “We should be focused on TikTok.”
I take a deep breath and think—not for the first time—that my mom has the patience of a saint to spend her summers surrounded by teenagers.
“Let me worry about marketing for now,” I say with a smile. “Once we get through opening weekend, I’m down to have you guys take the lead on some fun social ideas.”
Parker and Wade exchange a handshake that involves a complicated series of snaps and fist bumps, and then I dismiss everyone to their stations.
We open in thirty minutes and still have more prep to do than I’d like.
I’m about to head into my mom’s—my—office to respond to a few vendor emails when my phone buzzes.
It’s Gina from Manasquan Roastery: I’m out back!
Thank God.
I shove open the heavy door to the parking lot and jog over to help her unload the crate of coffee and espresso beans from her car.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, throwing her long red hair over her shoulder. “This should get you through the day, but like I said, if you need more just call me. It’s hard to estimate with a brand-new location.”
When I’d first pitched her and her brother Logan my idea for The Jetty, they’d been skeptical.
They’d partnered with other existing businesses on the Shore, but never a new, unproven one.
But after a few casual conversations (usually over beers with Logan or while surfing with Gina), I’d convinced them to take a chance on Omar and me.
I thank her and head back inside, then through the former snack bar entrance that now leads to The Jetty.
I’d come up with the name years ago, long before the other details fell into place.
Back when all I had were a few initial sketches and an idea for a boardwalk counter that sold café-quality coffee drinks instead of just hot dogs, French fries and soda.
I wanted the name to feel beachy without being too on the nose.
The Jetty felt like the perfect name for a place designed to call out to the constant flow of beachgoers: Hey, why not drop anchor and stay a while? Grab a stool and a coffee, let’s chat.
That’s the practical reason I gave my mom and Omar, anyway. The bigger reason, of course, is that the name reminded me of her.
I’d be lying if I said I’d always had a thing for Lina Mariano.
At first I lumped her together with all the other teenage girls who had cycled through summer jobs at my mom’s restaurant.
Sweet and helpful, sure, but not anyone I could see myself connecting with on a particularly deep level.
We got much closer the next summer, after the jetty accident.
I’d been surfing with some friends, and we knew she and her friend Maren were there, watching.
It was the summer we’d all suddenly become hyper-aware of when girls were in our proximity.
I remember keeping an eye on them. I knew how slick those giant gray rocks could get—I’d stumbled on them myself a few times.
When she slipped, my chest constricted in panic.
I ditched my board right there in the water and swam to her.
I felt strangely protective of her after that, and even more so as I got to know her better.
She had this innocent way of looking at the world that made me want to build a moat around her, safe and secure.
The irony that I’m the one who wound up hurting her isn’t lost on me.
When I kissed her I’d felt something I hadn’t expected to feel. It had excited me. Scared me. I’d had plenty of attention from girls, but I wasn’t nearly as experienced as everyone assumed I was. And those girls didn’t know me—not really. But Lina did.
I’d felt horrible about how I’d treated her, but then again I’d felt horrible about a lot of things that school year, thanks to what had gone down between my parents. Horrible had become my new normal.
It wasn’t until the following summer—my first one away from Brantley Beach—that I found my thoughts drifting to Lina Mariano almost daily.
I’d gotten a job with the department of youth recreation on campus, teaching surfing lessons, lifeguarding and overseeing ropes courses.
Whenever something remotely interesting happened—like when one of the less-athletic fifth graders stood up on his surfboard for the first time, or that time a group of campers pitched and organized a full-day beach cleanup—the first person I wished I could tell was Lina.
I’d imagine her laughing and smiling at all the right moments, how her big brown eyes would sparkle with wonder.
I got the idea to develop the photos the first semester of freshman year.
Maren had given Lina an old film camera one day that last summer we worked together, and Lina had worn it on a lanyard around her neck that whole week, snapping pictures of the staff and occasionally letting me take some of her.
She’d been so disappointed when it ran out of film and she’d found out the model was so outdated, nowhere nearby could print the photos, let alone sell her another roll.
But I’d popped the film out, taking care not to expose it, and held on to it.
When I found out my roommate was planning to declare a film-and-media-studies major and had access to the darkroom on campus, I asked if he’d mind taking a stab at developing the pictures.
He said not to get my hopes up but he’d give it a shot.
The pictures were like a salve for me, homesick as I was and yet unwilling to admit it. I thought about mailing them to Lina so many times, along with a long-overdue apology letter. But I never quite landed on the right words—and anyway, I couldn’t imagine parting with them.
Eventually, as I got better at building the barrier that kept my homesickness at bay, I thought of Lina less and less frequently.
She became a reminder of then, like mornings spent surfing with Andre and Theo, and working at the restaurant, and having what I thought were two happily married parents.
Remnants of a past life I was no longer living.
Until, of course, she showed up at the clerk’s office the same day as me.
Pieces of my past had already been flooding into my present, ever since my mom had told me she was sick and needed to sell the restaurant.
But the dam broke that day. Claire and I finally admitted we weren’t on the same page about what came next for us.
We’d agreed to give it one last shot when I came across the mistake on the marriage license application.
I think I actually laughed out loud. If there’s a God looking out for me, he has a sense of humor.
Lina coming back into my life was the last thing I expected. And when I finally let go of my baggage enough to realize what I had right in front of me, I was all in.
Of course, I still managed to royally screw the whole thing up.
No surprise there. And last year, when I worked up the courage to call the person who knows her best to find out if I had any shot of fixing things, she made it clear that I’d run out of chances.
Lina Mariano had moved on, and the last thing I wanted to do was hold her back.
Now I’m back to unproductively thinking about the same girl daily. Only difference is this time instead of just thinking about her laugh or her smile, I’m thinking about how soft her skin is, and the way her lips taste first thing in the morning, the little groan she makes when—
Yeah. Not productive at all.
After I shelve the coffee beans and do one last round of check-ins with every station, I unlock the front door.
I have no idea how this summer is going to go—if this new version of my mom’s beloved restaurant will resonate with people, if Omar and I will do half as good a job running this place together as she did, if this town will welcome me back with open arms or recognize me as someone who didn’t realize how special it was until it was too late.
And I have no idea if I’ll ever see Lina again.
But as I give James the green light to roll up the garage-style window to The Jetty, I can’t help but feel a flicker of hope. It’s a new summer, after all. Anything can happen.