Page 40 of This Is Who I Am

“Go.” Before I drop her hand, I plant a delicate kiss on the inside of her wrists. “Do your thing and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Deal.” She pecks me ever so lightly on the cheek and heads back inside.

* * *

On my way home, I linger by The Bay, perhaps hoping to run into Devon again. I looked up her website and while life coaching wouldn’t ordinarily be my thing, I really enjoyed our brief conversation earlier this week. But the waves are high and rough today and there’s not a soul in the water. I’m contemplating an espresso when a buff Black man starts waving at me from the deck of The Bay.

“Estelle?” he calls, waving like we’ve known each other for years.

“Um, yes.” I approach him. “That’s me.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He flashes me a wide grin. “I’m Bobby, a good friend of Cass’s.” His grin grows even wider. “She told me about you a few days ago. I’ve been keen to run into you.”

There’s forward, and then there’s Bobby. “Okay.” But he’s Cass’s friend, so I’m naturally interested in him. “I was just contemplating a coffee.”

“Then by all means, join me.” He makes a show of pulling back a chair and making sure I’m comfortably seated.

We order double espressos—“Why have a single when you can have a double?” Bobby states matter-of-factly—and then I’m alone with this man who, instantly, makes me feel at ease while also making me miss my friends back home.

“So, you’re the mysterious Estelle.” Bobby doesn’t have a hair left on his head but his eyebrows are very impressive when he waggles them like that. “My husband and I went to dinner at Savor on Tuesday and she told us all about you. Girl, I’m telling you, Mama Cass was glowing as if she’d just won a Michelin star.” He bats his lashes now. I’ve only known him a few minutes but I’m already thoroughly entertained. And I’m beside myself with what he says about Cass.

I soon learn that Bobby is the kind of guy who only needs a small nod of the head from his so-called conversation partner to carry on a monologue. His personality seems almost too much for a town like Clearwater Bay.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father passing away.” Apparently, he also has the gift to say the right thing in the appropriate tone of voice. By the time our espressos arrive, I’m already rather fond of him.

His eyes are warm and kind when he peers at me over the rim of his tiny cup.

“By the way.” He puts his drink down. “Cass probably didn’t tell you, but you’re invited to brunch at ours next Sunday.”

“Is that so?” I’ve barely spoken to Cass, but I doubt she would spring this on me last-minute.

“I get it if you two have better things to do on a Sunday morning, but even middle-aged ladies need to eat, right?”

I have to laugh, because calling someone a middle-aged lady ten minutes after meeting them is very bold, indeed.

“Not that you look a day over thirty-nine,” he says. “Cass was right. You are extremely H.O.T.” He actually fans his face with his fingers.

“Thank you.” Bobby is hardly the first flamboyant, loud-mouthed gay man I’ve met in my life. Playing along can be rather fun. “This middle-aged lady takes that as a B.I.G. compliment.”

“We love Cassie.” His demeanor shifts into a more subtle range. “Ever since Sarah, she’s been struggling.” He—finally—pauses for a breath. “So, Estelle, tell me all about yourself.” He all but drums his fingers on the table—maybe a double shot of caffeine wasn’t the best idea for someone with his puppy dog energy.

I give him the broad strokes of the past few months, only touching on my burnout, and ending with that night at Savor when Cass believed I was a restaurant critic.

“Cass said you might stick around a while?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s kind of up in the air right now.”

“Yeah, I get it.” His turbocharged energy has tamped down considerably. “I do miss San Francisco sometimes, but this is a great town. Lots of lovely people. Lots of romantic beach walks. Both Sadie and Sam Ireland live here.”

“Sam Ireland?”

“Sadie’s hot twin brother.” There go the eyebrows again. “Not that he would be of much interest to you.”

“How long have you lived here?” I ask. Moving back to Clearwater Bay was never my intention, but I don’t have much inclination to go back to Berkeley either—and I do own a house here, no matter how old and shabby it is.

“Almost six years.” Bobby whistles through his teeth. “God.” He shakes his head as though he can’t quite believe it himself. “That’s what happens when you fall in love with Sadie Ireland’s wife’s baby daddy.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that, please?”

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