Page 27 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“God, Mom, howdidyou manage?” I’ve always admired her stamina and positive attitude, but like any child I simply took her strength for granted. So many of the women I met growing up here were also strong and fiercely independent. I just assumed that was a female trait.

“Well, when you have a baby to feed you do whatever you have to,” she says with a shrug. “I waitressed and cleaned houses and hotel rooms. I peeled shrimp. Sold bait. There was almost always work if you were willing to do it. And it was so blissfully casual here—when I couldn’t bring Lauren with me I left her with other mothers I knew. And I kept their kids in turn. But it was my job at the Galleon Esplanade that became the closest to full-time and kept me going.”

We’re getting close to Jennette’s Pier now and I can see the gulls swooping down, no doubt eyeing the fishermen who’ve dropped their lines.

“There were a lot of people around my age on the beach when I got here. Many of them came to surf or work at a hotel or restaurant for the summer. A lot of them never left. It’s a place that can speak to you if you’re listening.”

She’s smiling full out now and her long dark hair with its threads of gray streams out behind her.

“Now, that’s a pier.” Spencer takes in the local landmark and whistles admiringly.

“It’s been rebuilt three times,” she tells him. “The first two times it was made of wood. This one’s concrete and way longer.If you walk all the way to the end you’re a thousand feet out in the Atlantic.”

After that we turn back toward the house and walk in silence for a time until the sun begins to lose some of its intensity.

“What do you think?” my mother asks. “Are you hungry? I thought we could grab dinner at Miller’s. It’s a great place to eat and watch the sunset.”

“I’m game,” I reply. “Except I’m still stuffed from all the snickerdoodles. Maybe we can just do drinks and appetizers?”

“Absolutely,” Mom says.

“Sounds good. Do we need to change or anything?” Spencer asks as we near the house.

Mom and I laugh. When we arrive at Miller’s the downstairs is hopping but there’s no wait because it’s comfortably preseason. Heads turn as we make our way through the main dining room toward the back deck. We return smiles and waves the whole way, but don’t stop until we’re outside and on the dock that sticks out into Roanoke Sound.

“Wow. What a view.” Spencer takes it all in, his eyes roaming over the marsh grass, across the slightly choppy water, and up to the great red ball of sun as we make our way out toward the end of the dock. Shards of reflected light shimmer and dance across the surface. “Did you actually know every person in the restaurant or did it just seem that way?”

“Most of them.” My mom smiles. “That won’t be true in season but right now there are a lot of locals.”

As if in confirmation a couple I’ve seen but never met looks up from their table in the cupola as we approach. They get up to hug my mom and congratulate us on our engagement before she makes the introductions.

I see Spencer’s questioning look as we reach the end of the dock and lean out over the railing. “Think of them as theater folk in New York only with flip-flops and an affinity for fishing.I’m guessing word went out by smoke signal five minutes after we called to break the news.”

“There are no secrets here,” my mother says automatically, then adds, “Or at least not many.”

The sun slips a little farther and the brine-scented breeze stiffens. The sea grass sways at the edge of the marsh. We simply stand and breathe it all in for a while. Spencer is beaming and I realize I’m smiling, too. My shoulders are looser, my body more fluid. As if it understands it’s in a place that doesn’t require the same level of readiness.

“The wind’s picking up and the temperature will drop as soon as the sun sets. Let’s go upstairs and grab a table in the bar. We can watch it set from there.” Mom turns and leads us back the way we came, then up the outside staircase and through the doorway to the bar, where we settle at a high top positioned in front of a windowless opening with a stellar view and fresh air.

Before we’re fully settled on our barstools a twentysomething-year-old with blond dreadlocks and a sunny smile comes out from behind the room-length bar. After hugs all around and congratulations on our engagement, he takes our drink orders.

Spencer grins.

“Holden is the son of a good friend of mine,” Mom says by way of explanation. “And an excellent bartender.”

Our margaritas arrive in minutes. We raise plastic glasses emblazoned with the wordsPeace, Love, and Sunsetsand clink them in toast. They’re tart and delicious. We’re all smiling after the first few sips, our eyes pinned on the glowing sun.

“Gosh, I can’t think when I’ve felt this relaxed and we’ve only been here a couple of hours,” Spencer says after another sip of his margarita.

“This place can do that to you.” My mother is clearly pleased. “Maybe it will inspire something. Wasn’t Lin-Manuel Mirandaon vacation on an island when he first read Alexander Hamilton’s biography?”

“True,” Spencer says. “Hawaii, as I recall.”

“Well, just let us know if a song starts coming to you, and I’ll ask for extra napkins,” I tease, although he has in fact started more than one song in just this way.

He laughs but in truth thisisthe most relaxed I’ve ever seen him if you don’t count the first minute or two after sex.

We look over our menus, and I worry slightly that Spencer is going to try to turn this into a foodie experience, but he says, “All the appetizers look great. I’m happy to try anything you put in front of me.”

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