When Birdie arrives at Stan’s house for dinner, she finds him standing at the kitchen island, pouring rub over a rack of ribs.
“Stan! That’s way too much.” She drops her bag on the floor and takes the condiment bottle from him.
“Welp,” he says, his lips pressed thin. “Dinner is ruined.”
“No it’s not.” She transports the ribs to the sink and rinses off the rub. Patting the meat dry, she returns the rack to the cutting board. “Let me do it this time.”
“You were a million miles away when I came in,” she says as she sprinkled rub on the ribs. “Is everything okay?”
“Did Cary move out today?” he asks, his eyes on the ribs as though monitoring her progress. Is it her imagination, or his he angry about something?
“He did. Thank goodness. He’s made friends with the new owner of the Hitchcock estate. He’s renting her garage apartment. Poor woman. I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”
She sets down the condiment bottle. “There. Now. That’s better.”
“Birdie, are you sleeping with Cary?”
Her head jerks up. “What? No! Why would you ask that?”
“Because Cary hinted that you are.”
“Cary is a liar and a cheat! I warned you about him when you hired him. You should fire him.”
“I can’t. He’s too good of a salesman.” Stan studies Birdie with eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”
“What kind of question is that. Of course I’m sure. I would know if I’m sleeping with someone.”
“I’m sorry. But I have a hard time beliveing you after you lied to me.”
Birdie’s body tenses, and she grips the countertop. “You know what, Stan. This relationship isn’t working for me. Last week was blissful. But you’re a different man this week. I feel like a lovesick high school girl whose boyfriend can’t decide whether or not to break up with her. Well here’s a new flash for you. You don’t get to make all the deicsions about our relationship. And I’m deciding I don’t want to be with you. Not like this. Not unless you trust me. I realize that trust is earned, and once broken, it’s difficult to repair. But you’ve shut me out. You won’t even give me a chance.”
She waits for him to say something. When he remains silent, staring down at the raw meat, she picks her purse up from the floor. “I don’t need this kind of grief. I have enough going on in my life with Hannah moving to Charleston. I need someone who will support me.” Spining on her heels, she crosses the kitchen, and swings open the back door. “Goodbye, Stan.” She hesitates in the doorway, hoping he’ll call her name or come after her. When he doesn’t, she slams the door and runs to her car.
Tears blur her vision on the drive back to the waterfront. She hates feeling weak and vulnerable. Relationships are for the birds. She slows down as she passes the liquor store. She can almost taste the vodka. She speeds up, circles the block, and parks in the liquor store parking lot.
Don’t do it, Birdie. She throws the car in reverse, peels out of the parking lot, and races home.
Back at her apartment, she paces the floor with her phone gripped in her hand. Why doesn’t Stan call? Why is he taking Cary’s word over hers? Cary’s a pathological liar. Everyone in town seems to understand this except Stan.
Her stomach is in knots, and she’s afraid she might vomit. If only she had a drink. One teensy glass of Chardonnay to take the edge off. She stares at the phone. A watched phone never rings, Birdie. She hurls the phone across the room. It lands on the rug and tumbles beneath the coffee table.
When the sounds of a live bluegrass band drift up from next door, she stands at the window and stares down at the crowd on Shaggy’s porch, enjoying their Friday evening happy hour. She yearns to join them. No, Birdie. Don’t go there.
Birdie lets out a series of screams, her howls echoing throughout the empty apartment. Why? Because she can. Because she’s alone. Good riddance, Cary. She’ll miss Hannah and Gus, but she has good memories of their time here together. The past three years have been the happiest of her life. This tiny apartment is her home. She’s comfortable here. So what if she doesn’t have a yard. She has an inlet, which is even better.
Grabbing a tape measure and notepad from her junk drawer, she measures out the space in and around her kitchenette. Max is right. She has plenty of room to create a small kitchen with eat-in counter. Sitting at the table with her laptop, she studies photos of small kitchens and creates a board in preparation of her renovations.
When she looks up from her computer, she’s surprised to see the room has grown dark. She retrieves her phone from under the coffee table. She has no texts or missed calls from Stan. Not that she expected to. She would’ve heard the phone ring or bing. A heaviness overcomes her. He’s throwing their chance at happiness away.
When cheers erupts outside, Birdie grabs her bag and hurries down the stairs, out the back door, and around the building to Shaggy’s. The crowd on the porch is thinning. Only a few tables remained occupied. She claims an empty stool at the bar and orders a glass of chardonnay. But she doesn’t drink it. Not even a sip. To do so would be to travel back in time to a point in her life when she had no control.
She’s no longer that person. She’s not weak and vulnerable, despite how Stan makes her feel. She’s been strong for Hannah these past few years. She’ll continue to be strong for herself after Hannah’s gone.
Max appears beside her. “What’re you doing?” she asks, snatching the glass of wine away.
Birdie shifts her body toward Max. “I was having a moment. But it’s passed. What’re you doing? Are you here alone?”
Max’s slate blue eyes dance around the porch. “No. Yes. I’m not sure. I was supposed to meet someone, but he’s thirty minutes late, which means I guess he’s not showing up.”
Birdie frowns. “Meeting someone? As in a date? I thought you deleted your MatchMade account?”
“I did. I met this guy on Facebook.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment.” Birdie laughs and adds, “So am I, actually.”
Still holding the wine glass, Max plops down on the the empty barstool next to her. “What happened? More trouble with Stan?”
Birdie nods. “It’s over between us. He has too many trust issues.”
“Stan’s a fool!” Max takes a gulp of wine. “This dating business is for the birds. There are times when I’m lonely, but I’m not unhappy being alone.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been alone for three years. The last time I was alone, after Cary disappeared, I fell apart. Ever since Hannah decided to move to Charleston, the temptation to drink has been growing stronger.” Birdie gestures at the wine glass on the bar in front of Max. “But look! I ordered wine, and I didn’t drink. I didn’t even want it.”
“Because you’re stronger than you realize, Birdie. You’re one of the strongest women I know. You’re also beautiful, on the inside and out. When the time is right, you’ll make some guy damn lucky.”
“So will you, Maxine Summers. But for now, we have each other for company, and I say we focus on ourselves and our businesses. I’ve decided to take your advice and add a proper kitchen to my apartment. Since you know more about construction than most men, I could use your advice.”
“I’m your gal. Tell me what you’re thinking?”
Sliding off the barstool to her feet, Birdie holds out her arm to Max. “Come on. I’d rather show you.”
When they turn to leave, Max stops dead in her tracks. “That’s him. That’s the guy from Facebook.”
Birdie follows her gaze to a middle-aged man sitting alone at a table on the railing. “Oh. He’s kinda cute.”
Max bites down on her lip. “He is, isn’t he?”
Birdie nudges her. “Go talk to him.”
“No thanks. I’m done with men for now. It’s just you and me, Birdie. But hide me,” Max says, using Birdie’s body as a shield. “I don’t want him to see me on our way out.”