Page 8 of The Way We Touch
From the roar of a stadium, to dead silence. Forgotten.
I’ve heard guys talk about the shock of retirement, and I’m not going to lie, I’m not looking forward to it. Even if I have been floating the possibility of this being my last year. It all depends on that trophy, even if that trophy means more to my dad than it does to me.
“That just leaves Dylan, but she’ll be working at the restaurant most days.” Nodding, I picture a kid living on the coast in south Alabama.
My mind travels a thousand miles down the dark road ahead of us, far from the lights of Manhattan. I think about the life I left behind when I graduated from UT.
Taking out my phone, I pull up my contacts and select my father’s name. In the glow of the dashboard light, I text him what I’ve been thinking for weeks.
I’m not going back there.
2
Dylan
“Girl, you’d better wash your hands with mayonnaise.” My lifelong bestie Craig stands at my shoulder, watching as I carefully grate a small amount of ghost pepper into a glass bowl. “Olive oil. Lard.”
“I have coconut oil.” My voice is quiet, focused. “I only need a little bit for the recipe.”
“Don’t touch your eyes or your nose or your… you know.” He tips his chin in the direction of my crotch, then takes a step back, holding a damp washcloth at the level of his eyes. “Or me.”
I lean forward with a silent laugh before raising my gloved hands like a monster. “Craaaaig…” I make crazy eyes. “I’m going to keeel you…”
He hops back, letting out a squeal, and I snort. Then I almost drop the dangerous fruit, which makes me squeal.
“Stop distracting me! This is delicate work.”
“I had nothing to do with whatever that was.” He flicks his wrist, rounding the bar. “Threatening my life with a pepper.”
Craig and I have been thick as thieves since his family moved from Mobile to the house across the street when we were kids. We bonded instantly, playing Barbie vs Bratz together every day after school. I had a Nutcracker Barbie, while he preferred the feisty Yasmin. She reminded him of a drag queen, and he’s always been ready to play dress up.
My aunt Thelma, who took over long-distance parenting from Birmingham after my mom died, said Bratz dolls were “inappropriate”—whatever that means—and she would send me a new American Girl doll every year for my birthday.
It was the only time Barbie and Yasmin joined forces to take down the giant with the weird eyes. Then they’d go on “safari” together, which meant we’d take them into the backyard, and then they’d return to changing outfits and ignoring Ken.
“That pepper’s going to get you in trouble.” Craig tucks his nose and mouth behind his shoulder as he finishes wiping down the counter.
We’re prepping for the lunch crowd at Cooters & Shooters, my family’s bayside bar and restaurant. Our dad named it, and our mom got the biggest kick out of it.
I was too little to understand why my brothers all stared wide-eyed at him. It took Garrett asking why the restaurant was named after a girl’s coochie for my dad to explain the original definition of the word.
A cooter is a large, aquatic turtle. Dad said you had your river cooter, your Florida red-bellied cooter, the northern red-bellied cooter… Our mom only laughed harder the more he listed, and the logo and interior design were set.
The restaurant is basically just a big, open dining room with strategically placed booths separating the tables from the bar area, complete with turtles in terrariums and driftwood lining the walls.
The pool tables are on the side porch with a screen door separating them from the rest of the place, and massive ceiling fans run down the center, turning their large blades lazily, keeping the humid air moving with or without the bay breeze.
By day, it’s casual family dining, complete with a fenced-in, beachside play area for the kids. Parents can relax, finish their food or conversations or drinks with their children safely playing as they watch.
It was my mom’s idea when she and Dad opened the place. She said she was never able to eat out after giving birth to four rowdy boys and a girl who didn’t know she wasn’t as big as they were.
It’s true. All four of my brothers are six-foot-plus and two hundred pounds or more, while I clock in at five-foot-four. Back then, my metabolism was so high, I was as skinny as Craig still is, but these days I’ve got more curves.
A cool, gulf breeze wafts through the open-air restaurant, and a nostalgic smile lifts my cheeks remembering those days when we were all here together.
By night, things get a little rowdier. The bar crowd picks up, and the jukebox gets louder. It’s still perfectly fine for families, but most parents with kids clear out by seven. Probably because they want the kids to sleep, and with all the nightly shenanigans, I imagine they get pretty keyed up.
I know my brother Jack’s daughter does when she stays with Aunt Deedee—especially on a “Dare” night. The Dare nights have taken on a life of their own.