On the Rocks (16 page)

I was really beginning to despise modern technology.

“You guys are all pigs,” Grace said as she hopped up off her chair, removed a bottle of wine from the rack, and began fishing through the kitchen drawers for the corkscrew.

Before I could probe Bobby further as to how common this practice was, Wolf returned from a run and popped into our living room, his earphones hanging around his sweaty neck like a scarf.

“Hey, guys. What are we talking about?” he asked as he went straight to the kitchen and removed a bottle of coconut water from the fridge.
That’s it,
I thought.
I’m padlocking the refrigerator.

“Abby being ditched by a guy who highlights his hair,” Bobby said.

“Would you shut up about that?” I yelled. “Wolf, I thought you were going to set me up with Paul. What happened to that?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I talked to him on Monday. He wants to meet you, little Abs! You’re set for next week. Saturday night, okay?”

“And here you were ready to fire poor Wolf when he’s been working so hard to find you a man.”

“I don’t want to be fired!” Wolf said. “Fired from what?”

“Don’t worry about it, Wolf. Thanks so much for setting this up! I’m looking forward to it. Ignore Bobby. He’s an idiot.”

“Okeydokey,” Wolf said with a shrug.

“What are you mad at me for?” Bobby asked.

“I’m not mad. I’m still shocked that you use memory devices for girls in your phone. I mean, how many girls can you possibly date at one time? Crosby, Stills, and Nash? Seriously?”

“Yep. I thought it sounded cooler than putting her in there as Bing Crosby, don’t you think? And to be clear here, these aren’t girls I was actually dating. They’re just girls I met. Half of them I never saw again.”

“Who’s Bing Crosby?” Wolf asked, understandably confused after walking into the middle of this ridiculous conversation. Though it was equally unnerving to find out there was someone on this planet who didn’t know who Bing Crosby was.

“Almost a nickname for a girl I met once,” Bobby replied nonchalantly.

“I don’t get it,” Wolf said.

“My thoughts exactly,” I said. At least someone else in this room was normal. It seemed the foreign national and myself were the only people who weren’t aware that this was common practice. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“American girls are weird,” Wolf added as he shook his head, perplexed.

“No, we’re not,” I said in defense of girls everywhere, which really wasn’t a fair assessment. I knew some who should be wearing straitjackets for sure.

“Oh yes, you are,” Bobby said as he stretched his arms above his head.

“Well, look at what we’re dealing with. If you’re the prime example of today’s man, no wonder some of us have gone a bit batty. You are the poster child for dysfunction,” I teased. If we were going to have this conversation, then I was going to have a drink. I motioned to Grace to pour me a glass too.

“I’m a shining example of what a normal, red-blooded American male is thinking. I told you, you should use me a resource,” Bobby reminded me.

“I think the saltwater has damaged your brain,” I said, still reeling from the possibility that Ryan had saved my number in his phone under something other than “Abby.” I was beginning to understand why some girls stole phones and searched them. Maybe they weren’t that crazy after all.

“Fine, whatever, don’t listen to me, but you’re only hurting yourself. Why aren’t you on Facebook anyway? I looked you up after Grace said you were staying in the house. You’re the only girl I know who doesn’t have an active profile.”

I refused to answer his question. I was not about to tell Bobby what had led me down the road to deactivation. So I lied. “For that exact reason. I don’t want guys like you making predetermined judgments about me before you even meet me. And besides, every girl I know uses that stupid thing to spy on people or just be nosy (myself included). No thanks. I’d rather not subject myself to that. I value my privacy.”

“Well, if Grace hadn’t promised me you weren’t a troll, I might have thought twice about hanging with you all summer. I’m telling you, it matters.”

“Gee, thanks. You sure do know how to give a compliment,” I said, poking the pasta with the spoon to see if it was still crunchy.

“Look, we can solve your problems right now. Go put your bikini back on and go sit on the deck with a cocktail, and I’ll take your picture. Better yet, only put on the bottom and I’ll take your picture. Then we’ll set your profile up again and wait for the floodgates to open.”

“Okay, that is ridiculous,” Grace said in my defense as she sipped her wine. “No guy is that shallow. She could get fired for doing something like that. I’d imagine the nuns at her school prefer their teachers to keep their clothes on.”

“We are
all
that shallow,” Bobby deadpanned.

“See, this is the problem with dating,” I said as I turned my focus solely on Bobby because he was the only American-born male in the room and therefore the only worthy recipient of my wrath. “Do you realize how stupid this has all become?”

“What?” he asked, defensively.

“You think I’m crazy for not allowing myself to be cyber-stalked by strangers, because that’s your idea of how to date. It’s just so lazy! No one picks up the phone and calls a girl anymore to ask her out. First, he does a complete background check and then writes something on her Facebook wall. How is that going to get a girl excited to date you? Don’t feel like chatting? Send a text. Send an email. Send an IM. Don’t feel like making the effort to get off the couch, but your laziness is about to send your would-be girlfriend over the edge of reason? Skype. Facetime. No problem. Modern technology has made it possible for guys to not have to do anything, or even be physically present, and still think they’re dating! Our generation’s idea of a love letter is a late-night drunk text asking if you have any more beer in the fridge. You heard it here first, kids. Romance is dead.”

“Speaking of, do you have any more beer in your fridge?” Bobby asked as he stood up from the couch with his hands up, as if he were surrendering to authorities.

“Grace, help me out here. You know I’m right.” I looked at her, but she just shrugged.

“I don’t really know. Johnny calls me all the time, plus I see him at work every day. I never had these problems, so I can’t help you,” she said. Since their fight over Memorial Day, things seemed to have improved between them.

“I’m just giving you the guy perspective,” Bobby added, as if he was the only guy on earth I had to talk to. That might very well have been true, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. “I’m trying to help you, but if you don’t want to listen to me, that’s fine. Just keep in mind that I have lots of girlfriends, and well, you’re getting negged by strange dudes simply because you’re not on Facebook.”

“If you think not being on Facebook is the reason why I never heard from Ryan, you’re wrong. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I declared with defiance, even though there was a very small part of my brain that was wondering if he was right.

“You have a better explanation?”

“Maybe he’s dead.”

“You’re right. Death is a way better alternative.”

“I refuse to believe that that’s the reason. I just won’t. And I am not going to start using Facebook again. No way.”

“Suit yourself. And enjoy waiting for your phone to ring.” He pulled open the screen door and went to sit on one of the chairs outside. For someone who barely knew me, he clearly had no problem telling me what he thought of me, my life, and my current social situation. And yet, I oddly enjoyed talking to him. I really was a lightning rod for the deranged.

My phone didn’t stay silent for long. When I was straining the now-overcooked pasta into a colander, I did get a message, just not from anyone I wanted to hear from.

Hey you. How’s Newport?

It was Ben.

It’s good. How’s it going there?

I waited and waited and with each passing moment hated myself more for caring, and worse, for letting him know that I cared. Five minutes later he responded. I wanted him to tell me he was lonely. I wanted him to tell me he was bored. I wanted him to tell me he had fallen into a canyon and was in traction. Not exactly.

Not bad, actually. They have these outdoor movies here, they’re great, you’d love them. Now there’s something you can’t do all year round in Boston. I’m running out to see one now. Have fun.

I shook my head in disgust and tried to not let myself care that Ben had just told me he was going on yet another date. Whatever, he was someone else’s problem now, and as I looked around the kitchen at my new friends I told myself, whoever she was, she could have him. Wolf pulled plates out of the cabinet, and I poured the pasta into a large serving bowl and tossed it with some basil leaves, Grace’s tomatoes, and cheese. “Looks yummy,” Wolf said as he grabbed the bowl and took it outside to the table on the deck. Grace gathered the wine and the silverware, and I took the plates and a basket of bread, and we all headed outside to have dinner.

“Abby,” Bobby asked from the other side of the table as he grabbed a piece of bread from the basket. “Do you want to see my Facebook page? Maybe I can throw some pictures from the summer up there and tag you in them so your ex can see you having fun with a handsome stranger. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughed to himself, and I couldn’t help but smile. It would be kind of fun, but I didn’t care enough anymore to even try and make Ben mad. He could live his life, and I would live mine, thousands of miles away, at the beach, with my new friends, and maybe, just maybe, a new guy in my life. I clung to this thought all through dinner—that Ryan was just playing a little too hard to get, but would eventually reach out like he said he would. Later that night, I crawled into bed with my phone, willing it to ring, but knowing deep down that it never would.

I
AGREED TO MEET
W
OLF’S
friend Paul the following Saturday at a Thai restaurant with outdoor seating and a killer selection of dumplings. Wolf showed me a picture of him he had on his phone so I would recognize him, and truth be told, I liked what I saw. He had a tall muscular build and, more important, dark hair that clearly had never seen the inside of a peroxide bottle, which made him one of the most normal guys I had met all summer. I spotted him immediately when I entered the bar, and without hesitation, I walked up to him and confidently tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, are you Paul?” I asked. He turned and smiled at me, immediately making me feel comfortable—or at least I would have been if I wasn’t distracted by the blisters that were covering his bottom lip.

“I am! You must be Abby. Wolf told me a lot about you, it’s great to meet you!” he said, seeming at once friendly, easygoing, and, in all likelihood, contagious.

“He told me a lot about you too,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. He did tell me that his name was Paul, but he failed to mention that Paul might or might not have some form of herpes.

“Do you want to get a drink? Pull up a stool,” he said, motioning to the seat next to him. I sat down and smiled nervously before ordering a very stiff vodka tonic. “So Wolf told me that you’re a teacher, is that right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I teach kindergarten. I love it, but it does leave me a good bit of spare time. I’m working at a little store down the street two days a week this summer to stay busy.”

“You’re lucky. I work in advertising, so I’m pretty busy all the time. I’d love some time off to concentrate on other things.”

“It’s one of the perks, that’s for sure,” I said. I didn’t know what to do. Did I ask about the mouth blisters to make him feel at ease? Or would that be considered rude? Was I supposed to pretend that I didn’t notice them? These were so not normal questions to ask oneself on a first date. I realized that the next time I felt unfit to be seen in public because I had a zit I should probably reconsider, since there were way worse ailments running around this island.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?” he asked. I wanted so badly to not be grossed out by the blisters he had all over his mouth, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t a shallow person, but did guys these days think that mouth sores didn’t even warrant an explanation? I thought about asking if he’d had an allergic reaction to something, but I didn’t know the protocol for handling uncomfortable and potentially contagious medical conditions. If there was one thing I had learned from my mother over the years it was that sometimes honesty is really not the best policy.

“I read a fair amount,” I lied. Unless he considered the weekly tabloids or the latest edition of
Coastal Living
reading material, I hadn’t read anything in ages. “What about you? What would you do if you had more spare time?”

“Actually, I’m a beekeeper. I’d do it full-time if it paid the bills, but sadly, it’s just a hobby,” he replied, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to say.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand. What do you mean you’re a beekeeper?” I asked, completely convinced that I hadn’t heard him correctly. I was pretty sure I still had water in my ears from my morning at the beach.

“I have honeycombs in my backyard. Have you ever tasted really fresh honey? It will blow your mind. I’ve been doing it for years. I absolutely love it.”

“No, I get my honey from the plastic bear-shaped containers sold in the grocery store. I guess I’m a wimp that way. To be honest, bees scare me. I don’t even like Honey Nut Cheerios.” This was by far, one of the strangest hobbies I had ever heard of in my life. I wondered if maybe he was allergic to the bees, which would at least explain the blisters.
It might be time to get a new hobby
,
Paul,
I thought.

“You’re missing out! Few people appreciate how beautiful bees are. There’s so much more to them than most people understand,” he said, staring dreamily into space as if it made him happy to just think about his insect friends. I was going to kill Wolf.