Page 56 of By the Book
The Breakwater was one of Hastings Rock’s fanciest restaurants—which meant, of course, that I’d never eaten there. It sat on the waterfront, and although it was too new to have ever been a warehouse or a factory, it had been built to suggest a glammed-up industrial aesthetic. It was the right size and shape to fit in with the older buildings, but instead of corrugated panels, it had new-looking vinyl siding and a fieldstone veneer. You know, because you were dining upscale.
Inside, it was all dark steel and lightly stained wood, with a wall of windows that looked out on the harbor. Pendant lights with caged bulbs hung overhead, just bright enough to push back the darkness and lay a golden patina over everything—the utensils, the glasses, the little touches of brass meant to ornament the space. At this time of year, with tourist season in full swing, every table was full, and voices blended with the sounds of people enjoying a nice meal. The air smelled like lemon and fried fish and the brine of the water. I had the feeling I was going to need wine—a lot of wine—to get through the evening.
My mom gave her name to the hostess, and a moment later, we were being ushered toward a table against the wall of windows. Bobby said hi to a few people he knew, and I nodded a smile and reveled in the fact that Bobby was holding my hand. He cleaned up good, in case you were wondering: a polo, a pair of black jeans, pristinely white sneakers. I’d been planning on wearing one of my old Sonic the Hedgehog tees and my Mexico 66s, mostly because I knew it would drive my mom crazy. Bobby must have known, because all he’d done was hand me a button-up, a pair of nice shorts, and my chukkas. I decided I was glad one of us could act like an adult. My parents had dressed up too, and they kept the conversation light and minimal on the drive over. But something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the vibe was somewhere betweenbusiness-meeting-about-your-allowanceandbreaking-bad-news-in-public-so-you-don’t-make-a-scene, like they were about to tell me my goldfish had gone to the great toilet in the sky.
We sat. We ordered drinks. My dad got an old fashioned. My mom had water. Bobby got a Rock Top—their summer ale. I settled on a mojito. It seemed like a long time ago that I would have ordered a gimlet without really thinking about it. I caught a smile on Bobby’s face, and I knew, without him saying anything, he’d thought the same thing. Once the appetizers had been ordered, a lull came, and everyone took a drink. So far, so good, I thought. Now if we could just get through the next hour and change without anyone saying anything.
Of course, my mom immediately ruined it by saying, “You’re not from Hastings Rock originally, are you, Bobby?”
Bobby shook his head. “Portland. Well, a suburb.”
“What brought you here?” my dad asked.
“Work.” Then Bobby smiled. “And the water.”
“Bobby’s a fantastic surfer,” I said. “When the sheriff’s office had an opening, he saw his opportunity.”
“I used to love to surf,” my mom said.
I was pretty sure everyone in the restaurant heard my jaw hit the table.
“You know how to surf?” I asked.
My dad burst out laughing, and my mom said, “Dash.”
“I didn’t mean—” But then I couldn’t help myself: “When have you ever surfed?”
“I wasn’t always an old crone,” she said, but her laugh undercut the tone. “It drove my dad crazy. Everything I did drove him crazy.”
My dad leaned in. “Did you always want to work in law enforcement?”
“Pretty much,” Bobby said. “My dad lovesWalker: Texas Ranger. I never had a chance.”
More laughter. My mom smiled at Bobby over her water. My dad asked something about the academy. Bobby bumped my knee under the table, and, like I was in a daze, I realized this was normal. Like nothing from the last few days had happened. Like we were ordinary people, and having an ordinary time as my ordinary parents met my ordinary boyfriend.
“Do you see yourself staying here long-term?” my dad asked.
Before Bobby could answer, my mom said, “He wants his grandchildren on the same side of the Mississippi as him.”
“Grandchildren?” I said. “We’ve been dating two months.”
“Pshaw,” my dad said.
I’m not even kidding. He actually said it.
“Yes,” my mom said, “but it’s serious, isn’t it? As soon as I saw you two, I knew this wasn’t just a fling.”
Bobby glanced over at me. His eyes crinkled with his smile, and he put his hand on mine.
“Okay,” I said, “yes, it’s serious. But can we please have some chill? I’m trying not to scare Bobby off.”
“He’s not going to scare,” my dad said. “Look at how he looks at you.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I said, “Keeping Bobby from realizing he can do so much better is a full-time job. Please don’t make it any harder.”
My dad made a scoffing noise. My mom shook her head, but she was smiling.
“You’re going to love the farm,” my dad told Bobby. “Are you a hunter?”
