18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
brADY
When she opens the door, she’s sparkling.
Her hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s got on a loose tank top over a black string bikini, a pair of cutoff jean shorts and flip flops.
She tells me I look nice. I kiss her on the cheek, noticing how the scent of sunscreen mixes with her shampoo. “You smell incredible,” I reply.
I offer to drive, because I stashed the beach chairs in my trunk this morning and because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.
This is a date, and I want to treat it that way.
We get to First Light Beach in minutes; it’s a stone’s throw from the Diamond Excelsior resort.
First Light is on the bay side and the tide is out so we trudge out to a sandbar in the middle of the crystal clear Brewster Flats.
I hope that I give off five-star boyfriend material vibes instead of male stripper vibes. I really want her to take me seriously.
We unfold the b each chairs and settle in. I offer her a bottle of water, which she gratefully accepts.
“So, how did everything go last night after I left?”
“Good, I guess,” she says. “It was weird, though. I learned a lot about Arrow and her personal life.”
“Bad stuff?”
“Just complicated. I feel bad for her. She’s had a lot of rough things happen in her younger years that have made her pretty guarded.”
“I hear that.”
Gretchen wrinkles her forehead. “Was your childhood…” Her voice trails off, the trace of a question resting in the inflection at the end.
“Bad? No. I mean, not really, anyway. I’ve been pretty fortunate overall.
But, you know, my dad’s always been an asshole.
When I was younger and my mom left, she told me to go easy on him, and I couldn’t understand why she would say that when all he ever did was act like a piece of shit towards her.
So, on one of my visits to see her, I asked her how she could forgive him like that.
And she told me that he had a terrible childhood – his father was abusive to everyone in the household, and he had to grow up much, much faster than most kids do. ”
“That’s sad,” she says.
“It is sad. It doesn't excuse the way he treats people now, but at least it provides an explanation.”
“So you’re not mad at him for kicking you out?”
“No. I don’t appreciate it, that’s for sure, but I think it’s just part of who he is.
He’s happiest alone, I think. Also, I try to channel those feelings into something positive.
I keep a running l ist in my head of all the things I’ll never do when I become a parent, just based on the things that have been done to me that I didn’t think were right. ”
“I like that. I think it’s a smart way to cope with a difficult relationship,” she says. “Still, I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“It’s really okay,” I assure her.
“Are you close with your mom?”
“I am. She’s in Iowa. We talk several times a week on the phone and I visit her a few times a year.”
“That’s sweet. Does she ever come here?”
I shake my head. “Not to the Cape. Sometimes she’ll visit someplace that’s not too far away, though.
She’s done author events and things like that,” I explain.
“She’s actually got a writing conference in Connecticut in a few weeks.
I might see her then,” I say. “But I’m sure she’ll come visit more once I settle down somewhere. ”
“And where are you hoping to settle, exactly?”
“I’m not sure. I need to start by finding a job. The stripping is incredible money, but you know. It’s not a life plan – at least not for me.”
“No, I hear you. This is definitely a temporary thing for me as well,” she says. “How’s your job search going?”
“Slow. But not bad. I’m always looking. And I’ve got a few open applications, so that’s good. Also, I have a Zoom interview this Friday.”
“That’s good – what’s the position?” she asks.
“It’s an Market Research Analyst job at a marketing firm.” I leave out the part about it being located in New York. Cross that bridge if we come to it , I figure. No need to worry about it now .
“Cool,” she says.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you looking for a teaching job for the fall?”
“Yes, but only as a sub. I told you I still have a few grad credits left, right?”
“Uh huh,” I nod.
“So I need to make sure that my schedule’s pretty free for all of that. The good news is I only have one semester left. And I’ve done a projection for how much money I’ll have by the end of summer at the rate I’m going at Cosmo. It’s good. Like, I might not even need to work for a little while.”
“Mmm. You’re speaking my language. I love economic projections.”
Gretchen laughs. “Noted. If I ever want to get you all hot and bothered, I’ll start using words like ‘net proceeds’ and ‘commodities exchange.’” She claps her hands and doubles over. “I have no idea what a commodities exchange is, actually.”
“I would explain it to you, but you’d fall asleep,” I reply. “Really, though, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting a job as a teacher when you’re ready to apply. I feel like the market for teachers is pretty open on the Cape.”
She nods. “It’s not bad right now. It just makes more sense to finish up the credentials so I can start fresh at a school next September. If I can sub in the meantime, I’ll be able to make a name for myself in the field, and who knows? Maybe I’ll get hired at the school where I sub.”
“Sounds like a solid plan,” I tell her. “And you definitely want to stay on the Cape?” I wonder aloud.
“I do. My whole family is here. I love it here,” she says. “What about you?”
“I could go either way, to be honest. I love Cape Cod. I think it’s a really special place. But I think it would depend on a lot of different factors.”
“Like?”
“Like the money, for one thing. My housing situation, for another. Luis will be back at the end of August. Stuff like that.”
“That makes sense,” she agrees. A mosquito lands on her shin and she gives it a smack. “Do you have any other family on the Cape? Any siblings?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“Really? Me too. I wouldn’t have pegged you for an only child.”
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing. You seem like you could be the oldest in a tribe of many.” I smile, envisioning Gretchen chasing a brood of little ones around.
“I think my parents would’ve had more kids,” she says. “They had a tough time with me when I was a baby. My mom went through a lot.”
“Are you guys close?”
“Me and my mom? Yeah, definitely. My folks live in Eastport. I still see them every Sunday.”
“Right. For brunch," I recall. "Do they know about your current job?”
She shakes her head. “No way. My dad would lose his shit.”
“Protective?”
“Extremely. He’s a police chief. He’d kill me.”
I nod. “Yeah, I haven’t told my mom about it either.”
“It’s temporary,” she shrugs. “And it would only worry them.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “So what do they think you do for work right now?”
“They don’t know about what happened. They still think I work at the pub. I was going to tell them once I got a new job, but that never materialized the way I’d hoped it would have. So I haven’t said anything, really.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What about you? What do your parents think you’re doing?”
I adjust my feet in the sand. “My mom knows I’m looking for work. There’s nothing she can do to help me from so far away anyway. And I haven’t spoken to my dad since he kicked me out.”
“That’s a shame for him,” Gretchen says. “He’s really missing out.”
“On knowing I’m a stripper?” I laugh.
“On being your dad,” she explains.
We continue like this for hours. We talk about our closest friends (I mention that Big Mike can probably help Gretchen find a job as a teacher), our favorite restaurants, our college experiences, and so much more.
We feast on the (fairly elaborate, if I do say so myself) lunch I’ve packed for us.
There are several sandwich options to choose from, since I wasn’t sure what she would like.
We polish off a bag of Cape Cod sea salt and cracked pepper potato chips together, and each drink a vodka seltzer.
I love that with every passing moment, I’m learning more and more about her: about her friend, Jenna, that she’s a turkey-and-cheese kind of girl, that she’s never seen any of the Star Wars movies but has seen every Pixar movie (she’s a huge Pete Docter fan), that she loves chocolate and is scared of heights.
I file away each new bit of information like a puzzle piece.
By the time the day comes to an end, I feel like I’ve known her for a lifetime.
There are no parties tonight, and I would love to hang out with Gretchen until the wee hours of the morning, but I made plans to help Mike pick up a piece of furniture that Gina found on Facebook marketplace that is apparently gigantic.
Given the fact that he’s done me several solids over the past few weeks, I can’t cancel on him, despite how badly I want to.
So I bring her home, kiss her goodbye, and tear myself away.
I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.