Page 17 of Her Pretty Words
The bar hidden at the dead end of the street is packed with locals. There aren’t pretty surfboards lining the walls or conch shells by the door. Nothing to attract vacationers.
It’s dark inside, with wood floors and cozy booths. I spent my summers eating shrimp tacos and laughing with my family here. The cushiony booths have whisked me into slumber a dozen times. My grandfather always insisted on carrying me to the car instead of waking me up to walk myself. But as soon as his hands wrapped around me, I secretly woke up. My grandmother once caught me peeking open an eye as her husband held me in hisarms. She pressed her lips into a thin line and never said a word. Those little moments that I thought would fill the rest of my days are long gone.
“Little Miss Brookes, is that you?” a woman in her seventies with bright rosy cheeks calls from the bar. She makes her way to me and then squeezes me into a hug that is borderline suffocating. She smells like salt water and cigarettes. “Tammy!” I beam, squeezing her back.
The old woman worked with my grandma for over twenty years at the library. I would spend hours a day sitting on the floor, my back against the shelves, living in the pages of a story. She always picked out books for me to read, and the two of us would spend hours discussing them.
“I was just thinking about you last night, isn’t that funny?” I nod and she pinches my cheek. Her eyes skim over the words on my shirt and she lets out the loudest laugh. No one looks our way, like they are accustomed to Tammy’s nightly laughter. “What brings you to town?”
Other than needing to escape my fiancé, I say, “I missed it.” Not a lie.
She links our arms and brings me to the bar to sit beside her. “Minerva Day.” She giggles. “I changed your diaper once and now you wear shirts with dirty jokes on them. You’re making me old.” She sips on her iced tea. The bartender comes over, and I recognize his dirty blond hair immediately.
“Elliot!” I stand on my knees, the stool wobbles as I lean over the bar to hug Tammy’s grandson, catching him by surprise.
“Um, hi…strange woman hugging me from behind the bar,” he says. I pull back so he can see me. It takes him two seconds before he pulls me back into our hug.
He was never into reading or hanging out with me at the library, but Tammy had us over her house once a week fordinner in the summers. Elliot and I would play with the other kids on his block when we finished eating.
I sit back down, smiling wide at my old friend.
He grabs a wet glass from the dishwasher and dries it off before filling it with tap beer, sliding it in front of me. “It’s on the house,” he says.
“Thank you.” I glimpse a simple black band around his ring finger and smile. “You’re married.”
“You remember Sarah, don’t you?”
How could I not? She lived on his street, and we would play after dinner until the sun fell. He’s had a crush on her since we were eight. “So, after all these years she finally started liking you back.”
“It only took her eleven years and two boyfriends. But yeah, she likes me. I hope.”
Tammy grins at me. “Are you still seeing that boy? The one you brought here a few summers back?”
I want to say no. It would be much easier than explaining, but I was never good at lying. Especially to Tammy. “Yeah, we’re still together,” I mumble.
“Is he here?” Elliot asks.
When Walter was here that one summer, he insisted we stay home while my family went to Tammy’s house for dinner. It was the only time we were truly alone, and he wanted to make the most of it. It’s hard to remember us like that, touching every chance we got. It lasted less than a year before it felt like a chore—like it was only for his pleasure.
“It’s a solo trip.” When I say it, I see a hint of realization flicker across Elliot’s face.
“Let me guess. You want a grilled chicken sandwich and fries?”
I’m grateful for the change in subject. I grin. “And a side of ranch, please.”
“Coming right up,” he says.
I spend the rest of the evening chatting with Tammy about books, even the ones I’ve written. Elliot tells me how he proposed to Sarah on the beach where they had their first date.
I’m laughing so hard that tears trickle out the corners of my eyes as he re-enacts how she tackled him to the ground. He dropped the ring, and they spent thirty minutes digging in the sand for it.
I tiredly ride my bike home. Mosquitoes feed on my exposed arms and legs, and by the time I set my bike against the back porch, I’m itchy and cursing every bug that lands on me.
I soak in the bathtub; the water is cold by the time I’m done reading on my phone for the night. I towel off and wear only my underwear and a T-shirt. It’s pitch black outside my bedroom window, except for the dim yellow light coming from my neighbor’s window.
My family and I never got to know who moved into the house after my best friend moved out of it when I was five or six. But whoever it is, I can’t help but decide I don’t like them. Not when they replaced that sweet boy whose name I can’t remember.
It’s on the tip of my tongue, but before I can form the name, I drift off to sleep, dreaming of an annoying man I met once at the airport.