Lilly dipped a rice cracker into the specialty market hummus her mother had laid out on the kitchen island and wondered how much her parents knew, if anything, about her ex-boyfriend.

“This is good hummus.”

“Better be. That little market is expensive.”

“How was the bus?” Her father asked. “Meet any wackos?”

“I had my earbuds in the whole time.”

A few weeks ago, Lilly had told her mother over the phone that she and Russell had broken up. She hadn’t gone into details.

“For crying out loud!” She heard her father shout after the information had been relayed.  “I actually liked that one.” 

Russell had made a good impression over Memorial Day weekend with her parents and younger sister Danielle alike, helping with the dishes, seeming to shake every hand in a sign of peace within two rows of them at mass, dominating but not too much in Trivial Pursuit. He had the right kind of last name and was self-deprecating about the recent success of the company he co-founded—an app service that calculated the environmental impact and social responsibility behind potential product purchases.

“Kind of like that Shazam thing but instead of telling you a song it tells you if the thing you’re buying was made by kids in China or causes cancer?” her father asked, nodding approvingly. 

“Exactly.” Russell had flashed his winner smile.

“Very clever. Very.” Her mother smiled tightly.

“He was on the approval matrix in New York magazine,” Lilly added.

“Not me personally.” Again with the smile. “Just my company.”

Now summer was winding down and this weekend was supposed to be, among other things, a break from everything to do with Russell. As they stood around the kitchen island with their beverages of choice, her dad wiping the tub of hummus clean with a swoop that threatened to splinter his cracker, she scrutinized their faces trying to tell if they had Googled his name these past few weeks. 

They looked old, which made her sad, but that was it. 

“Want ice cream?” her mother asked. “I bought your favorite Ben & Jerry’s. Chunky Monkey.”

“No, no. I’m good.” 

“Chunky Monkey is Danielle’s favorite,” her father corrected her. Danielle was in her second year of medical school in Dublin and Lilly felt pretty sure she didn’t know about Russell either.

“Lilly’s favorite is…” Her father grabbed an envelope from the wicker basket they kept the mail in, closed his eyes and held it to his forehead. He was doing a bit Lilly couldn’t place but, like most things with her father, she appreciated the effort. “Peanut Butter Half Baked?”

“Bingo!” 

Was Lilly blushing? Her father always knew how to cheer her up. She hadn’t been to the Cape since that time with Russell and was glad to squeeze in one more weekend before her parents closed up the old house. Her cell phone’s spotty reception here put her at ease. After their last phone conversation, she had blocked Russell across all platforms but every week or so he managed to text her from a new number.

“Be that as it may.” Her mother developed a formality to her voice when she felt ganged up on. “Chunky Monkey is all we have.” 

Lilly agreed to a bowl of ice cream, rationalizing that she was being magnanimous. She took the bowl, a sleeve of Pepperidge Farms chocolate chip cookies and another full glass of cabernet to last through whatever movie they were going to watch, into the living room. It was already late and it took a lot of scrolling to find something. Her parents weren’t sure which movies they had or hadn’t watched already. Her father finally suggested something with Amy Adams and her mother slurred her approval. Lilly gave a thumbs up and went to the kitchen for a refill and one last cookie. She and her therapist had set a goal for her to concentrate on her breathing and enjoy herself this weekend. For that reason, she didn’t protest about how loud her mother had the volume ratcheted up or that the TV was once again on that setting that made everything look like a cheap soap opera.

Twenty minutes into the movie there was a sex scene.  Lilly’s cheeks grew hot. She was far too old to be uncomfortable watching a sex scene with her parents. She felt her father shift his weight on the other side of couch. It wasn’t even a sex scene per se—more like a seduction, some dirty talk, frantic mutual undressing, light female nudity. She was relieved when the camera cut to inserts of scattered clothing on the tile floor the next morning.

“That actor reminds me a little bit of Russell,” her mother said later. 

The chiseled actor she was referring to didn’t particularly look like Russell. Hadn’t this actor been called out for questionable behavior with women years ago? Oh god was her mother hinting at something? She looked at her father who acted focused on the movie. It was unclear if he hadn’t heard or was just ignoring her mother because he disapproved of her chatting the whole film.

“Mom, c’mon. Enough with the talking. Seriously.” 

A few scenes later her mother announced that they had already watched this movie before. Her father maintained they had not. 

“Yes, we did. He goes to bed with her and then the other one gets jealous and—

“Linda. Don’t spoil it.”

“Seriously, mom.”

Her mother kissed her cheek with wine-soaked lips and clomped down the hall while her father sat up straight and continued watching with renewed attention. Lilly stayed where she was—even as the plot unfurled like her mother said—happy enough to take her father’s side. 

◆

The next morning, she woke up late. Her father was dressed for golf and her mother was fidgeting with the espresso machine when Lilly came downstairs with wet hair from the shower.

“There she is. The Legend of Sleepy Lilly,” her mother said. “If you’d gotten up earlier, I would’ve made you eggs but I’ve got errands to run.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t want eggs. I never sleep that late.” She felt defensive. “Felt good for a change.”

“I bet.” Her father squeezed her shoulder. “Must be nice to wake up to something other than garbage trucks and car alarms for once.”

“Good burn on Brooklyn, dad.”

“What are your plans for the day? You’ll have to wait a bit if you want to use my car. The transmission is making a sound again so be careful on hills.”

“There’s like zero hills on the Cape, mom.”

“Want to be my caddy? I’ve got two weeks before the member guest. This is the year I beat Dave fucking Krogman like a drum.”

“Tom!”

“What? Fuck is not a swear. And Dave’s a deadbeat cheater and a faker. Every year he brings a loudmouth ringer from New Jersey who lies about his handicap.” Her father looked at her and she shrugged. “I think you played soccer with his daughter.”

Lilly was used to her parents updating her on people she barely remembered. It was a small summer town.

“Do you want to use the beach club? If you want to use the beach club, I should’ve called to put your name in already. You’d have to spiff up a little too.”

Her mother did this thing where she would get aggressively helpful. Lilly practiced her breathing techniques.

“I just want to chill. Thanks. If I want to go to the beach, I’ll go to the town beach.”

“You sure?”

“Linda. Don’t nag the girl. She wants to chill.”

“Ok, ok. Chill away,” her mother said. “I’m sure the blogging life takes a toll on you.”

“Mom, you always say that. I’m not a blogger. I’m the head of social media which has literally nothing to do with blogging.”

Actually, Lilly’s position at the progressive athletic wear company had been downgraded to consultant and her hours trimmed back. Other co-workers had their hours cut too but Lilly couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with Russell. She knew her co-workers read the type of tech gossip sites that reported every sordid detail. She imagined she saw window screens minimize as she walked by their work stations. When the story first broke, she had wondered if she should make a statement and post it online, something wise and selfless that would garner all kinds of supportive comments. But she didn’t get very far, unable to decide even what the appropriate app for public apologies was now.

“This isn’t me nagging but I did run into Helen Wombley at the market.”

“Who?”

  “She said Nicole and her twins are down. You know Nicole and what’s his name got divorced.”

“Oh really?” Lilly couldn’t help feeling a tinge of satisfaction. Lilly had silenced Nicole’s Instagram account—with its perk-filled business trips to Tokyo, family ski vacations in Aspen, pole dancing workout videos—long ago.

“They were such a great looking couple. Anyway, Nicole’s around if you want someone to go out with.”

“I barely know Nicole.” 

“You’ve known her forever. I thought you two were pals?”

“Her parents are good people,” her father added.

Lilly and Nicole were in the same sailing camp as teens. The college-aged instructors always gave Nicole special treatment. Lilly recalled a particularly humid day on a Beetle Cat as Nicole and the achingly cute instructor flirted while she struggled to man the boat, the spastic rudder bruising her ribs and the bottom of her shorts drenched with salt water. Later as she furled the sails alone, she heard Nicole tease the instructor, loud enough for her to hear, that he could’ve gotten a BJ if they hadn’t had a third wheel. 

“I just want to decompress, read my book.”

Lilly performatively grabbed an orange from the bowl on the counter and headed out to the back patio so she could get a signal on her phone. Seeing there were no texts from Russell, she breathed easy and felt the day had real potential.

◆

Lilly threw sunscreen, a towel and the books she was slowly reading—one a biography of Huey P. Newton for the book club she was determined not to skip this time, the other a book of Paris Review author interviews on the craft of writing—into a monogrammed tote and headed to the local beach. 

The last place Lilly wanted to be was running into acquaintances and making small talk at her parents’ beach club. Plus, wasn’t she way too old to use her parents’ membership? Her mother always insisted it was fine but it made Lilly self-conscious. The public beach would be better, anonymous and she wouldn’t need “to spiff up.” 

Even though it was an overcast day, she had to wait in a line of idling cars for forty minutes. When she arrived at the makeshift kiosk, a teen in medieval orthodonture told her the beach sticker on her mother’s Volvo was outdated and made her turn around. Lilly drove to another beach but the lot was full. She felt so pale, she wanted at least a little sun. There was no way she could backtrack and call her mother now. 

After getting turned around in yet another rotary, Lilly found herself driving past a roadside clam shack she had no doubt passed countless times over the years without a second thought. Suddenly eating there seemed like a quintessentially Cape Cod thing to do and wasn’t this weekend all about having the type of fun she had been denied all summer? She waited in line behind a couple locals—contractors in paint-splattered pants, soft-shoe’d nurses on a lunch break maybe—and complimented herself on finding an underrated gem in plain sight. She doubted even her sister had been here. 

She entertained an image of coming here with a new boyfriend next summer. She’d make sure her mother had the right beach sticker and after some sun and a swim, she’d bring him here and tell him what to order. Later he’d cite that afternoon to his friends as the moment he knew he was in love.

She ordered fried clams with bellies for the first time since she was a teenager as well as a chocolate frappé. She found a sunny corner at one of the adjacent handful of blue picnic tables and started to slug back the breaded clams one after the other, dunking them in a little paper container of chunky tartar sauce to cool them off first. The plump bellies exploded, pungent and briny, searing the roof of her mouth till her eyes watered. The frappé was so thick. She had to suck absurdly hard on the straw, making her pleasantly lightheaded as she closed her eyes. A radio, probably in the kitchen, was playing that Tom Petty song that made her think of summer. Or was this Bryan Adams? Either way it all felt good, the sun finally shining on her face. 

A ping noise alerted her to a text. Her lids snapped open.

WHY CAN’T WE TALK THIS OVER? DON’T FREEZE ME OUT.

Immediately Lilly felt nauseated. Her hands and mouth stained with grease and bread crumbs, the frappé hardening like cold cement inside her. The phone was animated with non-stop buzzing and dings as texts poured in. With an oily hand she shoved the phone in her pocket to muffle it. She stood up quickly, felt a prick and strained to see behind her. A few blue splinters had punctured the skin below the hemline of her khakis; blood trickled down the pasty back of her thigh, beelining towards her white Ked slip-on. She wiped herself off but the napkins were dirty and she made more of a mess. She saw teen boys at a neighboring table, tan and shirtless in form-fitting board shorts, laughing. Did one of them just whisper PMS? She didn’t even throw her trash in the steel drum garbage, just fast-walked her way to the dirt parking lot, got in the Volvo, her bleeding thigh hot and sticky on the seat, and sped off.

◆

The texts were his usual. He just wanted to talk, to explain, to correct the record. Half the things written about him weren’t even true and the other half were exaggerated. None of what he did was during the time they were serious together. He already had investors interested in a podcast he was launching where he spoke with other de-platformed individuals. He didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t contact him.

Lilly had been down this road with him. She was surprised he was trying so hard with her. When they were together, he rarely even posted photos of the two of them online. That stung, but felt like a blessing after the allegations. Lilly was never officially name-checked as his girlfriend and hadn’t replied to the one reporter’s phone messages she received. There were two Getty Images of them together that one blog commenter had linked to and speculated on. “If that’s his girlfriend, no wonder he was out every night hunting for strange.”

Lilly didn’t engage and blocked the number. Queasy from the impulsive lunch, she vomited as quietly as possible in the upstairs bathroom and took a long shower. She lay on the bed in the guest room, under the enormous crucifix that had scared her as a child, doing her morning pages and then made progress on her book about the Black Panthers. When she came downstairs, she was looking forward to a glass of merlot and helping her mother cook dinner. She wondered if her parents had seen the latest James Bond movie. She figured at least her dad would like that. 

“How was the beach, sweetheart? Did you Netflix and chill?” 

She was surprised to find her father, pink from the shower and in his lime green blazer. His sharp cologne filled the foyer.

“Linda!” He yelled and checked his watch.

“You’re leaving?”

“The Goodmans are having their end-of-summer cocktail thing,” her mother said, hurrying down the hall in white jeans that were too tight, struggling to clasp a sea shell bracelet to her wrist. “I said that last night.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well the hideous invitation is right on the fridge. Besides we figured you were going out with Kelly or Jen?”

“What? I haven’t seen Kelly or Jen in years.”

“Ok, ok. We just figured you wouldn’t want to hang out with us old farts again.”

“That’s the whole reason I came here.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” her father proposed. “The Goodmans put out quite a spread. Last year they had an oyster bar. A guy with an earring played Jimmy Buffett songs.”

“Actually, I don’t think kids are allowed.” Her mother was addressing her father. “You know how Diane is about RSVPs.”

“I’m hardly a kid.” Lilly felt like she needed to make this point even though there was no way she was going to third-wheel it with her parents to a cocktail party.

“The Goodmans are RSVP Nazis.” Her father conceded. “Why don’t we all just stay in then?”

“Tom. Do you have any idea how long I just spent getting ready?”

“No, no, no. You guys are going,” Lilly said. 

The only thing more pathetic than tagging along would be guilt-tripping them to stay home. “Please. I just want to watch a movie anyway. Maybe the new Bond,” she added for her father’s benefit.

“Now I don’t want to go. That new Bond’s really grown on me,” her father said.

Lilly theatrically ushered them out.

“Have fun storming the castle!” she called after them, waving. 

Her mother gave the tight smile she gave when she didn’t understand something but her father laughed at the reference.

She was sad to see them go which made her feel even more pathetic but at least now she was positive they didn’t know about Russell. They wouldn’t have left her alone like this otherwise.

Before her father’s convertible was even out of the driveway, Lilly was on the couch with a glass of wine, eating her way through a Tupperware container of overly-dressed pasta salad. Her parents had a lot of channels. Maybe she’d watch one of the Criterion movies she’d been meaning to cross off her list. Was it Truffaut or Godard she liked? There were four remote controls of varying size lined up on the end table and a fifth protruding from between the couch cushions. 

Ten minutes later, Lilly was still mashing buttons on various remotes, struggling to actually turn the television on when her phone vibrated against the thick glass of the coffee table. She could make out that it was an unknown number. 

Without picking it up, she leaned over her phone squeamishly as if checking a rat trap.

HEY BITCH! DRINK?…

THIS IS NICOLE WOMBLEY BTW

◆

Lilly agreed over text to meet Nicole out for one drink at Spinnakers. She put her hair in a ponytail, threw on a windbreaker and borrowed her mother’s Volvo again. The transmission was making a bit of a weird sound.

Lilly figured Nicole must be desperate if she was resorting to texting her. Her husband must have gotten the friends in the divorce. Lilly didn’t want to go for drinks with anyone too fulfilled right now. Being an ear to bend was as much as she was up for. Plus she was confident Nicole was too absorbed with her own busy life to have clocked anything, like Russell, happening in Lilly’s.

There were only two places to get a drink in town. The grill room at the dusty surf ‘n’ turf restaurant on Main Street or the little bar at the marina. Lilly dreaded running into people she knew at both. She chose Spinnakers hoping it might be less crowded, but it was standing room only when she squeezed her way inside. 

The crowd was as constant as the faded buoys and framed limericks adorning the walls. The Series 7 set in customized fleece vests and flip-flops, middle-aged men’s faces flushed as their Nantucket reds, pounding gin ‘n’ tonics with one eye on the baseball game, the women in sailor-striped tunics or preppie pastels texting to check on the babysitter. But for the most part it was a younger crowd, baseball hats and college sweatshirts frayed at the collar; fresh-faced yacht crew members in polos emblazoned with boat names blowing off steam. There was a sloppy frat house din to the place.

She spotted Nicole being mooned over by a bartender. She was wearing a form-fitting floral romper that showed off her long legs. Her hair looked amazing. Lilly felt like a slob, her hair a greasy rat’s nest, and was about to turn on her heel when Nicole spotted her and waved the college kids at the bar squeeze down. 

“Lilly! God you never change. Got you a Seabreeze.”

She thrust a plastic cup in her hand; the fruity cocktail sloshed over her fingers.

“You look amazing,” Lilly told her.

“What?!” She answered but Lilly was sure she heard her.

“Great to see you! It’s been a minute!”

“You doing alright? My mom said your mom said you had a break-up.”

Damn it. Her mother never missed a chance to cast her as a victim and now Nicole had beaten her to the punch. At least Nicole didn’t seem to know more than that. Lilly tried to laugh it off but her laugh sounded nasal, more like a honk. 

“That was nothing really. A conscious decoupling as Gwyneth would say.” What the fuck was she blathering about? She switched gears, lowered her voice. “But what about you? I heard about you and Peter. Now that’s hard.”

“Actually, it was a relief. I got two kids out of it and the moment word was out literally every single friend of his was trying to fuck me and he knows it.” Nicole shrugged. “Which is almost better than sex.”

“Wow.” Lilly tried to sound encouraging but with a hint of concerned skepticism. “You’ve landed on your feet?”

“My mom thought she saw you eating at that random clam shack by the rotary? My kids always want to go there. Is that place even sanitary?”

Small fucking town. Lilly shuddered to think what she looked like alone and bingeing clams by the fistful earlier. It was now painfully clear Nicole had reached out to her out of pity. 

“To swinging single,” Lilly said, blowing past Nicole’s comment and holding up her cup to toast. She was being ironic but that was lost in the bar’s clamor and the line rung in her ears like bad romcom dialogue. 

They touched plastic cups and drank. Nicole was looking past her.

“I actually see the new tennis pro over there. Sven. He’s hilarious. Have you taken a lesson with him?”

“Oh? No.Can you take lessons using your parents’ membership still?”

Nicole focused on her like she was seeing her for the first time. “Of course not. I use my own membership.”

“Right. Yeah. I knew that.” God, Lilly wished she was on her parents’ couch watching a French film, anything but this. She took a long sip to save herself from having to speak. 

“Sven’s putting on his jacket. I’m gonna grab him before he leaves. I’ll bring him back. You’re ok here for a second, right?”

Nicole didn’t wait for her answer. She squeezed across the bar, turning heads and tossing out waves like she was running for office, before heading off her quarry. He couldn’t have been more than 27 or 28, Lilly thought. He was more than happy to post up with her by the scuffed-up jukebox. Nicole wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Lilly finished her drink and then downed Nicole’s too. 

She tried to flag the bartender repeatedly. When he finally did walk towards her it was to serve the older man next to her.

“The usual and whatever this young lady is having.”

It took Lilly a moment to realize he was referring to her. 

“Oh? A Seabreeze please,” she stammered, embarrassed by the inadvertent rhyme. She may as well stick with what Nicole had thrust in her hand. 

The bartender hopped to it.

“Thank you,” she said. 

The man was probably a few years younger than her father, bulkier and squatter. Gray chest hair burst from the openings of his misbuttoned and untucked Oxford and it was hard to tell the spills from sweat stains. His barrel chest was probably attractive once but now competed for prominence with his belly, like a camel’s double hump.

“I think I know those freckles. Are you a Maddock?”

“Oh, yes. Lilly.” Lilly didn’t like being identified but it couldn’t be helped. She had her father’s features. “Hi.”

“Ah yeah. Lilly the writer.”

It had been so long since she’d heard herself described that way she thought for a minute he was mistaking her for someone else. 

“Dave Krogman.” He smiled even as he talked. “Friend of your parents. I remember being over for drinks one night and you were heading off to celebrate with friends. Your story was going to be in The New Yorker or something?”

“Oh jeez. Definitely not The New Yorker.” Lilly imagined herself, probably in one of her tailored indie band t-shirts and black jeans, bubbly and talking herself up to her parents’ friends as she headed out the door; desirable, full of potential. 

“Must’ve been the time I got into my college lit mag?”

“Regardless, I was impressed.”

“Good memory.”

“Ever since I started beating him in golf, your father never has me over to the house anymore.”

Now Lilly remembered the name. Always Dave fucking Krogman according to her father.

“It’s hard for me to imagine anyone taking golf so seriously.”

“My feelings exactly.” 

He polished his smudged tortoiseshell glasses with his shirttail giving her a peek at his swollen belly. He was bursting out of his madras shorts. 

The drinks came. He and the young bartender exchanged a joke she didn’t quite catch.

“Thanks again for the drink.”

“Of course. They know me well here,” he said unprompted. “I’ve been staying on the Hold My Calls all month.”

“Excuse me?”

He motioned towards the docks. “That’s my sailboat.”

She followed his gaze out the dark window. “That sounds like a fun way to spend the summer.”

“That’s debatable. When you’re in a marital spat, it’s better than staying in the dog house,” he said. “But you’re too young to know about all that.”

“Keep cleaning your glasses. Nearly all my friends are married. With kids.” 

“Well there’s no rush. My daughter Ali just had her first one.”

“I remember Ali. I think I’m older than her.”

“Really?” He sucked on his capped teeth, looking her up and down. “Hard to believe.”

“I should get back to my friend.” She craned her neck, hoping to get Nicole’s attention. 

“Stop by the boat anytime if you want to go for a sail. Or have a nightcap on the deck.”

Now that she was moving away, he was staring right at her chest. “Second to the last slip on the right. Hold My Calls.”

She smiled politely and made her way over to where Nicole and Sven were talking, motioning to the other end of the bar. 

“Can you believe that guy creeping on me? Almost my dad’s age. Like no thank you.”

When Lilly realized Nicole and Sven either didn’t hear her or were just ignoring her, she pretended like she had a call, clasped her phone to her ear and walked out of the bar and to the car.

◆

The kitchen lights were still on. That was typical of her mother who didn’t even recycle. Lilly walked in the back entrance and swung opened the refrigerator door. She took out a plastic tub of leftover spaghetti Bolognese and jumbo bag of Cape Cod potato chips. Planning to top it all off with some Advil, she reasoned that carb loading would help stifle a potential hangover. 

“Hello police, I’d like to report a hamburglar.”

Lilly caught the scream in her throat and spun around.

“Dad! You scared the hell out of me.”

“If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air. Quaint little villages here and there. You’re sure to fall in love with old Cape Cod,” her father crooned. “Remember that one?

“Definitely not.”

She stood there, hugging the assortment of snack food. She imagined how ridiculous she must look. Meanwhile, even glassy-eyed with his silver hair mussed and shirt rumpled her father still looked straight out of an old Rat Pack photo. 

“Grab me one of those fruity waters, will you?” He sidled up to thekitchen island. “So I guess your quiet night at home didn’t last long?”

Lilly quickly put back the spaghetti and brought the chips, two cans of cran-raspberry flavored sparkling water and glasses with ice over. She liked this tableau, father and daughter catching up in the kitchen. She tried to appear as sober as possible considering she drove her mom’s Volvo home.

“Nicole texted me randomly. Wanted to meet for a drink.”

“The Grill Room?”

“Spinnakers.”

“Ah,” her father nodded. “Crowded?”

“Yeah. I saw your golf pal. Dave.”

“Oh, fuck that cheapskate.” Her father made a sour face. “He’s a cheating asshole. I have a half a mind to petition the club to revoke his membership. But first I’m going to beat his ass in two weeks. What was he doing there?”

“Just standing around drinking like everyone else.”

“Nicole back on her feet?”

“I’ll say,” Lilly said.

“Good for her. She was always a firecracker.”

“I mean, yeah, she’s putting on a good show.” Lilly cleared her throat. “But you can tell she’s in rough shape. Not a happy camper that’s for sure.”

“That’s too bad.” Her father didn’t sound convinced. He was just sitting there, watching her eat chips. Was she acting really drunk? She removed her hand from the bag.

“You know,” he started. Oh god she was going to get a lecture about driving drunk.

“Russell contacted me.”

Her breath hitched. She realized she was drunk as she hadn’t thought about Russell since she left the bar. She wanted this conversation terminated as quickly as possible.

“When? He shouldn’t be contacting you.” The anger she’d had for Russell paled compared to what she felt now.

“We used to play Words with Friends so he messaged me. Said you were having issues at work. Said you weren’t returning his calls.”

“Yes, because we broke up. I like a clean break.” She tried to sound in control. “He clearly didn’t tell you what really happened.”

She didn’t mean to say that last part but she was so flustered, so mad. She didn’t want her father to know what happened. That was the whole point. Before she could clarify, he spoke.

“He told me what happened.”

“Did he?” She would kill Russell. “I can guarantee he didn’t tell you everything.”

“Of course. You’re right.” Her father nodded. “So your mother and I Googled it.”

Lilly put her hands on the kitchen island’s cool granite and practiced her breathing. The idea of her father reading the snarky articles with the vivid descriptions, email transcripts and snippets of late night texts was too much. Plus, there was the comments section. 

“Really awful stuff.” He was being understated to spare her.  “Just awful.”

Lilly stared into her pink flavored sparkling water, wanting to disappear in the bubbles.

“Yeah I’m fine though, dad. I’m seeing a therapist type-person. I’m fine.”

She mustered a brave toothless smile to assure him. She wanted to give him permission to never bring this up again. He nodded back and she clamped a plastic clip on the bag of chips to signal she was about to go to bed.   

“The thing is your mom and I don’t want to see you throw the baby out with the bathwater.” 

She froze.

“When your mom met me, I was no great shakes. Granted that was a different time.”

Lilly was sure she was going to throw up. To steady herself she met her father’s gaze the way you focus on the horizon line when you’re seasick.

“You’re saying you want me to go out with Russell again?”

“I’m just saying life moves fast. We don’t want you to end up, you know, unhappy.”

Lilly stood there, blinking. 

Her father kissed her on the head and made his way off to bed. In a daze, she unfurled the bag of chips, her crunching amplified in the empty kitchen. 

◆

Her hands are slick from the chips as she gets in her mother’s Volvo and slams the door hard. She definitely shouldn’t be driving. But it’s only a couple miles back to the marina. 

She imagines the wet chill of the wind blowing the hair across her face as she strides across the dark water, hulls on either side of her rocking like cradles with the chop, the creak of the dock below her feet, announcing her arrival. 

Hold My Calls. Second slip before the end. 

Taking advantage of the empty road, she drives fast and turns up the radio on a Fleetwood Mac song. Or is this Steely Dan. She’s really flying now.

She hasn’t thought far enough in advance to know what she will do when she gets on the boat. 

But she knows she’ll stay until morning and only leave when the marina is bustling with people. Small summer town and all.