Page 50 of Enemies to Lobsters
Marlow drops beside me in the booth across from Stevie, redoing her blonde topknot and making it worse. “Her E.S.I.?” She sounds so tired. Poor Marlow. She needs so much more than a fifteen minute breakfast break.
Stevie grins, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “Her Emotional Support Ike.”
My face burns. They love to tease me for using Ike as a buffer. They’re right, of course.
Marlow snickers, but doesn’t rub it in. She kicks her feet up on the bench on the other side of Stevie. “I never thought that of the three of us, Little Miss Women’s Liberation here would be the first one to get married,” she says off-handedly. “Where’s your husband today, anyway?”
“He’s fishing.” But I wish he were here.
“He’s fishing,” Stevie says, imitating me, her voice high-pitched and breathy.
“Yeah, he’s fishing. And I’m not Little Miss Women’s Liberation.” No one who has witnessed my Donna Reed lifestyle these past few months could accuse me of that. “I just don’t want to get married.” I’m fighting a grin as I say the words. I know how it sounds.
Stevie smirks at my simple gold wedding band. “I have some bad news for you—”
“Why not?” Marlow cuts her off.
In all of the years we’ve been friends, I’ve always told them that I didn’t want to be trapped or lose my identity. I don’t want to live a life that was prescribed for me by my grandparents. But a few months in Cape Georgeana married to Ike have made me question myself. Marriage to Ike is nothing like that—of course, it’s not really marriage. I can’t put my feelings into words, though. The thought of marriage—a real one, not the thing Ike and I have going on—makes me want to run. I want to hide in my apartment in New York and live in my sweatpants. Then I wonder if I’m turning into my mother and whether that’s a good thing. And that brings on a round of introspection I don’t have the bandwidth for on an empty stomach.
“I need pumpkin pancakes.” I pick up my menu. “You guys have those again, right?”
Marlow nods, but she’s not letting me off the hook. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything, but I want to live life on my terms. I have no interest in giving up my identity so that my grandparents can sleep better at night,” I snap over my plastic menu.
Stevie imitates a catty sound. Marlow gives me a look that says she sees right through me. Luckily, my phone buzzes in my bag giving me an easy out. It’s Ike. Normally I wouldn’t answerat the table, but my friends are being annoying, and what if something happened to him in the last five minutes, and he needs me? And maybe I need my Emotional Support Ike after that hard conversation.
“I’m going to grab this really quick. Sorry.” I swipe to answer, and my friends' eyes are on me. “Hey, Magnum—Ike!Ike.” I’ve never used the joking nickname in public. I called him Magnum until he grew the beard out, and he absolutely hated it. It still slips out occasionally, especially when I’m frazzled. “What’s up?”
“Just making sure we’re on for the game tonight. I forgot to ask earlier.”
Duh. The Yankees are about to beat the daylights out of the Red Sox. The teams keep trading spots at the top of the division, but I smell another World Series in our future. “Of course. Should I grab some stuff from the market since I’m already over here?” I know he loves to demolish a few plates of nachos when baseball is on the T.V.
Marlow and Stevie are still silently watching me.
“Yeah, but could you grab a lot? I invited August and a few friends. I hope that’s okay. We all want to celebrate when the Pinstripers go down.”
I bark out a laugh. “Pfft. My boys will be fine. It’s your Red Sox you should be praying for.” I know I must be smiling like a teenage girl on the phone with her crush, but I can’t seem to rein it in. “I’ll get the stuff. Text me if you want anything specific.”
“You know what I like.” There’s a loud sound on his end. “Shoot, I gotta go. Thanks, Di.” He makes a short kiss sound into the phone. It’s his version of “goodbye,” I guess.
My cheeks turn warm. He’s so cute. “Bye.” I swipe to end the call, smiling as I drop my phone into my bag. When I look up, both of my friends' faces are ninety percent toothy grin.
“What?”
“Byyyyye,” Marlow imitates me this time.
“Girl.” Stevie shakes her head at me. “Don’t make me state the obvious.”
I can only shake my head. “Don’t read into things—”
“Your marriage is anything but fake,” Stevie announces over me.
My eyes dart around the room. It doesn’t seem like anyone heard her. “Good grief, keep your voice down.”
“Okay, it just seems like you aren’t having any problems hanging onto your identity as a fan of the worst baseball team in the history of baseball. You’re holding your own. And it’s, like, stupidly obvious that you’re falling for him.”
Stevie always thinks she knows everything. I look at Marlow like, “Can you believe her?”
