After closing the cafe at six, Birdie meets Max in front of the hotel and they head off in Max’s car to Home Depot to check out their kitchen remodeling section. But when she locates a parking space at the crowded big box store, Max makes no move to get out of her car. “What are we doing here on a Saturday night? We should be having some fun.”
“We determined last night this is our fun.”
“This is old lady fun. I’m not ready to give up on young person’s fun quiet yet,” Max says reversing out of the parking spcae.
“Where are we going?” Birdie asks, bracing herself against the door when Max whips out of the parking lot in the direction opposite the waterfront.
With a mischeivous glint in her eye, Max says, “On a road trip.”
“A road trip to where?”
“To Charleston. To a oyster bar I’ve been dying to try.”
Birdie groans. “Come on, Max. You know I don’t do restaurants.”
Max wags her finger at Birdie. “I’ve decided that’s all in your head. Not only are you forgoing the chance to be with friends, think of all the delicious food you’re missing out on. How’re you going to open a cafe when you don’t know what your competition offers.”
Birdie tilts her head to the side as she considers this. “You have a point. But the temptation to drink is too great.”
Max risks a glance at Birdie. “Then we need to work on that. Have you ever tried ordering a non alcoholic beer or a virgin cocktail, something besides water?”
“No. But maybe I should. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like such an outcast.”
“Focus on making the experience about the food not the beverage.”
Birdie shifts in her seat, settling in for the drive. “Fine. I’ll give it a shot.” She removes her phone from her purse. “What’s the name of this restaurant? I want to pull up their menu.”
“Leon’s. On Upper King Street.”
Birdie accesses the website and scans the menu. “This does sound good. In addition to raw and grilled oysters, they have a number of small plates I’d like to try. You may regret bringing me here.”
“Not a chance. I’m starving.” Max tunes into a classic rock station, and they sing along, loud and off-key, to songs they remember well from their youth.
Birdie’s phone vibrates in her lap with a text from Stan. “Guess who’s texting me?”
“Stan. What does he have to say for himself?”
She reads the text aloud. “I’m so sorry for doubting you, Birdie. Can you come over so we can talk?”
“Bastard,” Max says, palming the steering wheel. “Don’t respond to him.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not.”
They are approaching Charleston when raindrops splatter the windshield. Seconds later, it begins to pour.
“Where did this come from?” Max asks. “I didn’t know it was supposed to rain.”
Birdie pulls up the forecast on her phone. “Sixty percent chance of a shower. Typical summertime in the South. Hopefully it passes quickly.”
Leon’s parking lot is located down the street from the restaurant. They find a space, but with no raincoats or umbrellas, their clothes are soaked through by the time they sprint down the block. To make matters worse, the hostess informs them of a twenty to thirty minute wait.
After providing the hostess their name, they go in search of the restroom where, in a fit of hysterics, they removed smudged mascara from their cheeks and stick their wet heads under the hand drier.
They return to the front entrance and wait in the crowded space just inside the door. Birdie feels claustrophobic with so many bodies pressed together. When the color drains from Max’s face, she asks, “What’s wrong, Max? Do you feel okay?”
“That woman looks like Virginia.” Max inclines her head at a couple making their way through the swarm of people to the front door.
Birdie follows her gaze to the striking blonde. “Who? Our Virginia? Virginia Wescoat?”
“How many other Virginias do you know?”
“None.” Birdie looks from the woman to Max and then back at the woman. “But how would we know what Virginia looks like? We haven’t seen her in almost thirty years.”
“She has that look about her, the classic Carolina girl turned middle-aged woman—wholesome and outdoorsy with bleached hair and sun-kissed cheeks.” Max squints at the blonde woman’s partner. “I remember little about that guy she married, except that he was a first-class ass. I wonder if that’s him. What was his name?”
Birdie shrugs. “I don’t remember his name. But that’s not him, because that’s not Virginia.”
Max tears her eyes away from the couple. “You’re probably right. I’ve tried to find Virginia through social media. But it’s like she disappeared off the planet.”
Birdie lets out a humph. “She’s probably hiding from us. And I don’t blame her, after the way we treated her.”
“We tried to save her from making the biggest mistake of her life,” Max says.
“Virginia loved that guy, what’s his name. She was determined to marry him regardless of our opinion.”
The hostess calls Max’s name, and they follow her to a table for two in the center of the restaurant. “Nothing like being in the limelight.”
Max glares at her. “These people are enjoying their dinner. They aren’t paying any attention to you.”
“You’re right,” Birdie says, sucking in a deep breath. “Do you know if Virginia’s parents are still alive?”
“Her father died a long time ago, but her mother still lives in that big house on the ocean.” Max looks up from the menu. “Why do you ask?”
“Surely Virginia comes home to visit her. Makes me sad she never tried to get in touch with us.”
Max presses her lips thin. “Who knows? Maybe she hasn’t been home. Maybe she had a falling out with her mother as well.”
Their waiter, a handsome young man with a broad chest and muscular arms, arrives to take their order. “Evening ladies. Can I get you a beverage to start?”
Birdie smiles up at him. “I’d like a non alcoholic beer.” When he lists three, two that she’s never heard of, she says, “Beck’s, please.”
Max bats her eyelashes at the waiter while she quizes him abut draft beer. When he suggests the Holy City, she jumps on it. “That’s what I’ll have.”
Birdie waits for him to leave the table. “You’re shameless. You were planning to order the Holy City all along.”
“So what if I was?” She looks away, staring at a group of young women seated at the bar. “Do you remember that time the three of us—you, me, and Virginia—drove to Mardi Gras when we were in college.”
Birdie nods. “And I did most of the driving, because y’all stayed drunk the whole time. Funny that I ended up being the drunk.”
“You’re not a drunk, Birdie. Don’t talk like that,” Max scolds.
“Excuse me. An alcoholic.” She corrects herself. “A recovering alcoholic.”
The waiter brings their beers, and they pause to take a sip.
The refreshing beer hits the spot, and for the first time in three years, Birdie feels like a normal person, enjoying a cocktail in a restaurant. Whoever said cocktails must contain alcoholic?
Wrapping her hands around her frosty mug, Birdie stares down at her beer. “Do you remember in high school when we snuck out of the house to go to The Rolling Stones concert in Columbia?”
“How could I forget. I got grounded the longest. A month, when you and Virginia each got two weeks. What’s with the nostalgic mood tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Max says in a curious tone. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how fast our lives are passing us by. We just turned fifty—”
“Ha. Three years ago.”
“Whatever. I’m not ready to be old yet. I don’t want the fun to end.”
“Me either. And you’re right. I need to get out more, to stop being so anxious about my alcoholism.”
Max holds her mug up to Birdie. “The more you go out, the easier it will get.”
“I’ll become a food connoisseur. And speaking of which, let’s order. I’m starving.”
Signaling for the waiter, Birdie places their order. “We’ll have the raw and grilled oysters, a dozen of each.” Dragging her finger down the menu, she chooses several small plates and a basket of hushpuppies to share.
The waiter eyes her, his brow furrowed. “The plates are small, but that’s a lot of food.”
“We’re sampling,” Birdie says, but when the food arrives, they polish off nearly every last morsel.
After the waiter clears the dirty dishes, Max leans across the table, “Don’t look now, but the men at the table behind you are watching us.”
When Birdie shifts in her seat, Max kicks her under the table. “I told you not to look.”
“They’re kinda cute, if you don’t mind the hair loss.”
“Quiet,” Max says out of the corner of their mouth. “Here they come.”
The two men appear beside their table. They look enough alike to be brothers. One is slightly taller than the other, although that’s not saying much. “Say ladies, can we join you for a drink?” the taller of the two says.
“We’re harmless,” the other one adds. “I promise.”
Max and Birdie exchange a look of indifference. “Sure, why not,” Max says.
“Introducing themselves as Mark and Tim, they slide their chairs up to the table with Mark beside Birdie and Tim next to Max.
Mark says, “You two looked like you were enjoying yourselves so much, we wanted to get in on the fun.”
Max gestures at the dirty plates. “We’ve been enjoying ourselves in stuffing our faces with all this food, if that’s what you mean.”
The men laugh out loud. “I must say, we couldn’t help but notice you have healthy appetites for such slender figures,” Tim says.
The waiter clears the table, and when the other order another round of drinks, Birdie asks for a cup of hot tea. “I’m driving,” she explains, and no one gives her a hard time.
For once, she’s not embarrassed by her disease. She has a problem. She will always have a problem, but she’s proud of the hard work she’s done to get her problem under control.
“We’re real estate developers,” Mark explains. “We live in Spartanburg, but we do a lot of business in the area.”
The foursome talks on for two hours. Even though Mark and Tim mentioned that they’re divorced, neither of them makes a sexual advance toward Birdie or Max. They share some great laughs, a discussion on world affairs, and a respectful debate about politics. They are four friends enjoying drinks on a Saturday night. Mark picks up the tab, and they exchange phone numbers, promising to stay in touch, although Birdie doubts they will.
The rain has stop and a light drizzle is falling as they walk to Max’s car. Birdie gets behind the wheel and navigates back through town toward the Ashley River.
As they’re crossing the bridge, Birdie reaches over and squeezes Max’s knee through her white jeans. “I had a really great time tonight, Maxie. Kudos to you for suggesting an impromptu outing. We need to be more spontaneous.”
“I totally agree.” Max rests her head against the back of the seat. “Mark and Tim are nice guys. Restores my faith in humanity to know that nice guys like them still exist.”
Birdie chuckles. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“Are you going to call Stan?”
“I’m not sure. I think I’ll let him stew for a few days.”
Birdie hasn’t thought about Stan all evening. For three years, she’s spent most of her free time with Hannah and Gus. Primarily because she enjoys their company. But also because she feels sorry for Hannah not having any friends in town. She’ll probably go out with Stan again. But she wants to be on her own for a while before committing to a serious relationship. While she sees Max nearly every day, they haven’t spent nearly enough time together.
She looks over at Max. “Would you like to take a trip with me?”
“Sure! Where do you wanna go?” For the rest of the way back to Palmetto Island, they discuss all the places they’d like to visit.
There’s nothing like having a true friend, that special someone who loves you in spite of your flaws. Who loves you for you. Birdie will choose to spend time with her best friend any day over some judgmental man who is waiting for her to make another mistake.