by Amy Vansant
Emily cleared her throat and took slow, deep breaths. She slid down the wall to a squat, her butt hovering inches above the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, closed her eyes and thought calming thoughts.
Amidst fantasies of warm beaches and fuzzy bunnies, another idea screamed through her brain like a freight train, flattening the seagulls and crushing the rabbits.
She’d left Mark and Sebastian alone.
She should have stayed for damage control. Without her there to manage the conversation, she felt confident Mark would find a way, without meaning to, of implying she and he were married with triplets on the way.
Shit.
Emily stood, took a quick look in the mirror to ensure she didn’t look as crazy as she felt, and opened the door of the bathroom. She walked back to the table, breaking into a trot every third step.
When she reached the table, Sebastian was nowhere in sight.
“Hey,” said Mark as she sat back down.
Emily ignored him and scanned the bar.
“Crazy seeing Sebastian again,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
Emily nodded and chewed on her lip. Sebastian wasn’t back in his seat.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Mark. “You look like that dude from the movie when he thought he was being followed by the alien assassin.”
“Oh Mark,” she said. She took a long drink from her vodka. “Oh, Marky, Marky Mark.”
“What? You’re being weird. Not that that is all that weird, but...”
Emily put her hand on Mark’s.
“You know how I told you I liked some other guy?”
“Yeah... That cock-block,” he added, laughing.
“Sebastian,” said Emily.
Mark stared at her.
“Sebastian,” Emily repeated.
“Yeah...?”
Emily prayed for Mark’s rusty gears to start turning. Finally, his eyes began to grow wider. She heard the creak of machinery coming to life.
“Wait...” he said, tucking his head back on his neck and surveying her face.
Here we go...you can do it...
“Your dude...” Mark removed his hand from beneath Emily’s. He pointed at her with his index finger, and then jerked his thumb towards the back of the bar. “...is Sebastian?”
She nodded.
“The guy you like is Sebastian Krzyzanowski?”
Emily nodded again and then knit her brow.
“Wait, what’s his name?” She’d never heard his last name before. She couldn’t believe it had never crossed her mind to ask his last name.
“Krzyzanowski. My man Krazy Krizzy. His mother’s like, full-on Polish.”
“Krzyzanowski,” Emily repeated.
Jeez, what a mouthful.
Mark grinned and shook his head. “Old Sea Bass. Who knew? Now I’m really jealous!”
“People call him Sea Bass?” asked Emily, recalling the confusion with her mother on the phone and nearly chuckling. “That’s a thing?”
Mark thought for a second. “No... Now that you mention it, I think he kicked some kid’s ass for calling him that.”
Mark tilted his head and looked at the ceiling, like a bird searching the treetops for predators.
“Come to think of it. It might have been me.”
“Well, now Sea Bass thinks we’re dating. You called me your girl.”
“Oh, nah. I’m sure he knew what I meant. He wouldn’t think we were dating.”
“I— Wait. What do you mean he wouldn’t think we were dating? I’m not hot enough for you?”
Mark laughed.
“You should be so lucky,” muttered Emily.
“Bring it, baby. Any time.”
Emily chuckled.
“You are totally nuts,” Mark added, taking a sip of his beer.
Emily tilted her head back and exhaled.
“I am going nuts,” she muttered.
Emily spotted Sebastian and Greta walking toward her. She hadn’t seen Greta at Sebastian’s table. Sebastian nodded as he approached and Emily offered him a tense smile in response. The action made Mark turn, and he, too, watched Sebastian and Greta approach.
“See ya, dude,” said Mark, holding out his hand.
Sebastian slap-shook Mark’s outstretched hand as he passed. Greta never glanced at Emily, but caught Mark’s eye and smiled, eyelashes batting so hard she might have bruised her lower lids.
Once they had safely passed, Emily turned and watched Sebastian and Greta leave. A soup of relief and depression boiled within her.
“That’s Sebastian’s girlfriend?” asked Mark, his eyes still on the door.
“Yes.”
“Her tits are insane.”
Awestruck, Mark shook his head side to side, like a tourist witnessing the grandeur of the Grand Canyon for the first time.
Maybe the Grand Tetons.
Emily glowered at him.
“Yours are nice, too! But seriously,” he added, giggling. “You are screwed.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emily dressed for dart night, more nervous than usual about seeing Sebastian. For weeks, she’d had her crush to nurture, and now not only did Emily have to wait for Sebastian and Greta to break up and for Sebastian to realize she was his ideal mate, but she had to worry he thought she was dating Mark.
She’d read two books and drunk approximately forty-five thousand cups of tea over the weekend. When she felt low, she’d curled in her window seat with a cup of tea and a good book. The act was so melodramatically pure. She’d performed similar one-woman plays in college, sitting on her wide windowsill, staring forlornly through the window. If it was raining, even better. Staring into the rain could win her a Tony. In college, instead of tea, she’d systematically dip an entire package of shortbread cookies into a jar of Nutella, but the concept was the same.
Emily liked to think she’d grown. In college, she’d run to the mirror to watch tears slide down her cheeks and pretend she was in a heart-wrenching music video.
She hadn’t done that for at least two or three years.
There were a handful of people at the Irish Rover when Emily arrived. The second board was open and she challenged a relatively new guy, determined to kick his ass. She was agitated and not above taking out her frustrations on a rube.
Emily won five dollars before Sebastian came through the door. He perched on his usual corner stool and ordered a Chicken Club.
“Hey,” he said when he caught Emily glancing his way.
“Hey,” she said.
The rube asked for a second game and Emily obliged. She tried to concentrate, but she could feel Sebastian’s presence as strongly as if he was standing beside her, stroking her arm. She wanted the game to end so she could stand at the bar and make idle chit chat with him. Maybe this time, she would say the perfect thing to make Sebastian fall madly in love with her.
She rushed her throws, and returned the new guy’s five dollars. One of the regulars challenged the newbie to a game and Emily agreed to sit out a round.
Emily stepped to the end of the snug bar to reclaim her Chicken Club.
“So, Mark, huh?” said Sebastian. His voice had the lilt of a child teasing another kid on the playground.
“I’ve been working on a website at his father’s truck store,” Emily said, playing it as cool as her spazz-inclinations would allow her. “I guess you knew him in high school?”
“We weren’t really in the same crowd, but yeah. He dated a few girls I knew.” Sebastian made air-quotes as he said the word “dated.”
Emily scowled. “What do you mean dated?” she asked, aping his air-quotes.
Sebastian raised his brows and shrugged, looking away as he did.
Emily dropped the topic. She knew Sebastian was implying Mark had a way with the ladies, which wasn’t breaking news. She felt protective of her friend, and wished she could tell Sebastian that Mark had always been a gentleman to her. Other than the time he slammed her into the d
rywall.
Sebastian’s curiosity about Mark meant seeing her with her handsome friend had made an impression upon him. Warning her about Mark, meant either Sebastian was concerned for her, which was cute, or he was jealous, which was even better.
More people arrived for Dart Night and the crowds made it easier for Emily to resist the urge to orbit Sebastian, waiting for something to click.
Emily and her randomly selected Dart Night partner played the strongest team in the first round and lost. There were fewer competitors than usual, and the night wrapped early. That made Emily happy, because though she lost the big game, she preferred freelancing in the snug. The extra Wednesday night dart players made it easier to find a partner, which increased Emily’s chances of winning. The key was to find a strong partner who didn’t mind having a cinderblock named Emily tied to his ankle.
Emily was plotting a potentially profitable pairing when Sebastian called her name from his seat at a nearby table. It was 9:15 p.m., and the drinking patrons had overrun the Rover’s dining area.
Sebastian sat with the pretty man, Ryan, who she’d noticed her first night at the bar, and a striking redhead with hair that flowed like lava across her shoulders. The girl sat on Ryan’s side of the table. Emily had seen her in the bar before, but didn’t know her name.
“Emily!” called Sebastian, again. “Come sit.” He motioned her to join the table.
Emily felt a pain in her right ankle.
“Ow!”
Someone had kicked her. The only person close enough to kick her was Benny.
“What the hell! That hurt!”
Benny waggled his eyebrows and motioned to Sebastian’s table. “You’re getting the call to the big leagues.”
Emily huffed and leaned down to rub her throbbing anklebone. “I really regret talking to you about him.”
Benny grinned.
Emily gathered her darts and snaked through the crowd to Ryan and Sebastian’s table. She took the empty booth space beside Sebastian. The basic math made her giddy.
1 couple + Sebastian + Me = 2 couples.
Everyone in the bar could see what Sebastian had not yet grasped; they made a lovely couple.
“Hey,” she said, sliding into the booth beside Sebastian. “I’m Emily,” she added, extending a hand to the red head.
“Jessica,” said the girl.
“Like the Rabbit!” Emily immediately regretted the reference. The girl looked young and she probably had no idea who Jessica Rabbit was.
Sure enough, the girl seemed confused.
“Rabbit?” she asked, scrunching her nose very much like a bunny.
“She was a sexy cartoon who looked like you,” said Ryan, pulling Jessica to him and kissing her on the head.
The girl grinned. “Neat.”
Emily nodded to Ryan, acknowledging his help in clearing the confusion. She imagined Ryan had a long history of explaining references to younger women.
Since the night Emily first overheard Ryan brag about his love life, the two of them had interacted many times during various dart games. Emily had gotten to know him as more of a bachelor wise-ass, than her first impression of him; a psychotic misogynist. Ryan wasn’t in the market to settle down, and he knew his audience when weaving a tale. The story with the knife probably wasn’t true. Probably. Anyway, Emily had no plans to date him, and he was perfectly pleasant at the Rover.
“I call you Rabbit all the time,” said Sebastian to Jessica. “You didn’t know why?”
“No. I just thought I was cute.”
Sebastian looked at Ryan, who smirked.
“So, Emily,” Sebastian said. “I guess you’re wondering why I called this meeting.”
“Because you missed me?” Emily grinned, pleased with her response. She embraced the bravado brought forth by cocktails.
“Yeah, no,” said Sebastian. “I have a question for you: What does P.S. stand for at the end of a letter?”
Emily glanced at Ryan and Jessica and found them both staring at her.
“Would you like to phone a friend?” asked Ryan.
“No. It stands for postscript.”
“Ha!” said Jessica. “Sebastian told us it stood for personal space!”
“Damn,” said Sebastian. “Okay, you can go now, Google. I’ll call you back when we need more information.”
Emily’s jaw fell slack.
“What? Seriously?”
Sebastian nodded. “Shoo shoo,” he said, accompanying the comment with the appropriate hand gesture, ushering her from the booth.
Emily sat, glaring at Sebastian. The awkward silence grew. Finally, she curled her lip and began to slide from the booth.
“I’m kidding!” said Sebastian, putting his hand on Emily’s leg to stop her from leaving. She wore shorts, and she felt the warmth of his touch on her bare thigh.
Emily looked down at Sebastian’s hand and then caught his eye. He looked away and quickly returned his paw to his own lap. He seemed flustered.
Was that a moment?
“Okay, now tell them you were kidding and P.S. really stands for personal space,” said Sebastian.
“Can’t. It’s postscript, like, a thought you add after the rest of the letter, post-letter.”
“I thought for sure it stood for psss,” said Jessica. “Like ‘Psss, I have another secret.’”
Ryan patted Jessica on the hand. “That totally makes sense.” He turned to Sebastian and beckoned to him with his index finger. “Pony up.”
“Jeez,” said Sebastian, reaching into his back jeans pocket to retrieve his wallet. He pulled out a dollar and slapped it on the table.
“Why would it stand for personal space?” Emily asked. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“If you’re writing a letter to someone, clearly, you want personal space,” he said. “Duh. You’re far away from that person, and probably for a good reason.”
“Probably as far away as the 1800s,” muttered Ryan, putting the dollar in his own wallet.
“But how would Personal Space ‘Say hi to your mom for me’ make any sense?” asked Emily. “P.S. is always followed by some afterthought.”
“Hey, I just call ’em like I see ’em. I don’t make the rules.”
Sebastian was lying. Emily could see in his face that this argument had been just like his Batman vs. the superhero universe rant. He purposely drew people into idiotic arguments for his own amusement.
Ryan yawned, loudly, and all eyes turned to him.
“Let’s hop around a bit,” he said. “I’ve been in here all night.”
“Hop around!” said Jessica, holding her hands beneath her chin to mimic rabbit paws.
Sebastian glanced at Emily, but they both looked away, fighting the urge to laugh.
“Sounds good,” said Sebastian.
“Sure,” said Emily.
The four settled their tabs and stepped outside into a fog of humidity. After the dry chill of the air conditioning, it felt like a warm embrace. They walked down the street in the aimless way people do, right before someone says, “Well, I guess I better get home.”
Emily couldn’t let that happen. She wanted to keep Sebastian near for long as possible.
“Want to go out on my boat?” said a high, desperate voice Emily didn’t recognize.
Who said that?
Eyes trained on Emily.
Oh no.
I said that.
Emily’s father kept a seventeen-foot, center console Parker at a nearby marina. She knew where the keys were and how to operate the boat, and her dad didn’t mind if she used it. He didn’t expect her to tool around the Chesapeake Bay in the middle of the night with a boat full of drunks, however, no matter how crucial the move might be to her love life.
“Boat sounds perfect!” said Ryan.
“A boat?!” squealed Jessica.
“I guess...” said Sebastian.
The group’s weaving path shifted in the direction of the marina. Emily silently practic
ed the speech where she explained to her father why taking the boat out in the middle of the night had seemed like a reasonable idea. The last time she’d taken it out, the wind had pushed her into another boat’s propeller, rubbing away part of the “P” in Parker. She’d demoted the “Parker” to “Farker.”
At the marina, the group piled into the boat and, old salt that Emily was, she lowered the engine. She ran through her mental checklist four or five times, worried she’d do something to blow them all into lust-filled chunks of flesh.
Emily made a note that Lust-filled Chunks of Flesh would make an excellent sequel to Petri Dish of Lust.
“Ryan, release those lines in the back,” she said. “Sebastian, you go to the bow and let loose that line. Then fend the poles as I pull out; I might need some help. Same goes to you on the fending bit, Ryan.”
“Aye-aye, Captain!” said Ryan, untying the back lines.
Sebastian looked at Emily, his face awash with confusion.
“What?”
Emily pointed to the front of the boat.
“Go up front, untie that line, throw it up on the dock and then, as I pull out, if I start to drift toward any of these poles here, or another boat, just push against them so I don’t hit them.”
“Ah. That makes more sense. Stop talking like a damn pirate.”
Sebastian walked to the front of the small boat, untied the line and threw it on the dock. Released, Emily shifted into reverse and pulled slowly from the slip. When she drifted too close to the back of another boat, Ryan leaned out and pushed off, saving the day.
So far so good.
Emily putt-putted from the marina and into the middle of the wide Severn River, where even the worst captain couldn’t scrape the name from her boat.
Emily cut the engine and the four of them bobbed in the dark, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water against the boat. Conversations from the bar picked up where they’d left off beneath a bright summer moon, the crew nearly whispering so as not to disturb the peaceful evening.
Ten minutes after positioning themselves in the center of the river, Jessica announced she was hot in a breathy, dramatic voice usually reserved for soap queens and porn stars. A mischievous grin crept across her face.
