Lounging on the beach on a Saturday morning in mid-June, Kate looked down at her phone buzzing with a text from Bernadette: Did you talk to Patricia? The answer was no, so Kate ignored her sister and went back to swiping faces of strange men in search of a viable plus-one for Nessie’s wedding. Giving up after another dozen swipes, Kate closed the dating app and opened the email that she kept revising on her phone but hadn’t actually sent to Patricia.
For the past two weeks, ever since she’d learned of Harry Leeper’s plan to designate the library block as a redevelopment zone, Kate had spent what little downtime she had brainstorming ideas to stop him. At the end of her shift at the Jetty Bar, Kate poured boiling water over the heap of leftover ice and mentally rewrote the language of a letter to the planning committee that always sounded more like a run-on complaint than a compelling argument. She needed to change course.
It was during an early-morning Freaky Freakazoid routine, between the ax throws and baking cookies, that Kate had swiveled her head through the air and straight into an idea: Rock Star Readers. Instead of imploring the planning committee to think big picture, Kate realized she would appeal to the public. She would create a library event that Sea Pointers, shlocals, and tourists would look forward to attending, and she would harness the energy of that event to galvanize the town against Harry Leeper’s fourteen condominiums. Ms. Rose’s imminent retirement, as tragic as it was, provided the perfect reason for the library to devise a “redevelopment” plan of its own.
As detailed in Kate’s proposal, Rock Star Readers would provide an hour of entertainment for children, but it would also serve as a time for the community to learn about the library’s uncertain future. It was by no means an earth-shattering idea, but it was at least on par with the ant farm.
At the end of Kate’s next shift, she asked Patricia if they could talk.
“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting!” Patricia exclaimed.
Kate laughed nervously, surprised and flattered. “Definitely not,” she said.
“Phew-wee Almighty with an armadillo bag to boot!” Patricia said, throwing her arms in the air, her head back in a full-body hallelujah. Kate couldn’t be sure, but she was almost positive Patricia made up bizarre phrases and then excused them as Southern colloquialisms. She’d googled “This here is fishier than a crawfish up a snatch,” which Patricia had said when $3 had gone missing from the cash drawer. Even Google had been mystified. “All right, darlin’,” Patricia said now. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it,” Kate said, making intense eye contact with the corner of Patricia’s desk. “I have an idea that could take the library to a new level, and possibly thwart Harry Leeper, but only if you—I mean, if the board—well, you and the library board—” The arc of her pitch was similar to her performance in pull-ups: clear determination that waned into self-doubt that fizzled into just awkwardly hanging there, unsure when to let go.
“Kate,” Patricia said too softly for any good news to follow. “We’re on the brink of being literally leveled with a wrecking ball. You’ve been here six weeks. The other associates have all been here much longer, not to mention Ms. Rose has decades on you, and she’s never once asked to initiate a new program, but here you are, trying to rock the boat after a month and a half.”
Kate nodded down at her lap, ignoring the pinpricks behind her eyes. She didn’t do anything wrong, she reminded herself. It was okay to ask.
“Which is why I’m so proud of you!” Patricia said, throwing a pen up in the air. “This is what needs to happen! Women need to advocate for themselves, and other women need to listen! Yes, Kate, of course let’s talk about it!”
Kate nodded, stunned. “Ms. Rose’s retirement will devastate the kids and significantly decrease our patronage,” Kate began. “We could fill that void with a brand-new program called Rock Star Readers that would ideally launch the first Friday in July, right before the Fourth, to maximize turnout.”
Patricia nodded cautiously and so Kate continued.
“Rock Star Readers would feature hometown heroes—local celebrities, if you will, who would read their favorite book to the kids after briefly summarizing their career paths so that high school students or those looking to switch careers could learn a bit more. And then afterward, we’d have a little reception—I already talked to Goldie and she said the Coffee Cow could sponsor—but yeah, a little reception to encourage the community to discuss current events, including—”
“Harry Leeper destroying the town as we know it?”
“Exactly.” Kate grinned. “We’d sustain current interest and generate new appreciation for the library as a public space to foster growth. Hopefully attendees would be willing to sign the petition I’ve been working on—I don’t have it here; I’m still tweaking the language a bit.”
“Petition?”
“A document explaining the Harry Leeper proposal and why the library should not be a redevelopment zone. Even if it’s underused right now, people would hate to lose the library. The only reason why it could happen is if the planning board tries to keep the public in the dark about the vote until it’s too late. But let’s not let them—let’s shine a light on what’s at stake.”
Kate handed over her one-page proposal.
“Once a smart kid, always a smart kid,” Patricia said, putting on her glasses. Kate couldn’t help but notice that Patricia bit her bottom lip as she read through the proposal. The wall clock ticked ominously as Kate waited.
Finally, her boss looked up and smiled. “Kate,” Patricia said, tapping the paper on her desk with a square-tipped French manicured nail, “this is our Hail Dolly.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s the best shot we’ve got.”
Several hours later, Kate sat in her childhood bedroom applying a second coat of mascara. Step three of Kate’s three-point plan—securing the perfect plus-one for Nessie’s wedding—was proving far more challenging than saving up money or developing her career.
“Do you like movies?” the former Division I baseball pitcher asked. Kate smiled politely, cursing her sister. Bernadette had helped set up Kate’s dating profile, selecting a variety of flattering photos that suggested Kate was cool but not too cool, worldly but not elitist, pretty but in an unassuming way.
Go Fish, the most successful dating app on the market with more than a thousand viable men in a twenty-mile radius of Sea Point, asked Kate to wait as it found her matches. After several seconds, the app apologized and explained there was no one who met all her criteria.
After a slight meltdown on Kate’s part that made Clementine ask if she wanted a lollipop, the sisters went through each filter and unchecked half a dozen boxes that Kate considered crucial and Bernadette declared absurd.
“It’s just to get back in the habit,” Bernadette had said gently. “The first guy doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“It would just be nice if I had someone to bring to the wedding,” Kate tested out, staring at the discouraging screen. “I wouldn’t actually date anyone who lives in Sea Point.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bernadette said. “You need to go to that wedding by yourself and show Thomas what an independent, confident person you are without him. Bringing some guy you’ve just met will reek of rebound.”
Kate nodded, acquiescing to her sister without any plans of ditching her step three. Bernadette hadn’t been single since eighth grade. She didn’t know what it was like to walk into a restaurant by herself, let alone a wedding, with an ex and his new girlfriend in attendance.
And so here Kate was, on a date with a thirty-seven-year-old who still identified himself as a former Division I athlete on his profile. Kate considered all the other things that this guy, Mike, had probably been, formerly. An all-star in Little League? A bedwetter? A serial killer? She had been a lot of things, formerly, as well: a successful PR exec, a proud New Yorker, a happy girlfriend who didn’t need to look for men online. But here she was. And here they were—two human bundles of emotional baggage trying to have a decent time with a total stranger.
If only the dating app provided footage of how these suitors treated their servers or what they did when there was a line at the bank. Did they shovel their own sidewalk or pay someone? Did they stop to read every historical marker in a city or give directions when a stranger asked? What were their feelings on Bagel Bites? TSA PreCheck?
Mike ordered them a second round as they continued to talk about movies like a couple of sixth graders stuck on a field trip bus. He liked Fight Club, The Departed, and anything by Tarantino, and Kate took comfort in these predictable answers. Mike was a roast chicken of a human being. Having called himself an architect online, he explained that he worked construction two towns over. Kate nearly choked on her wine when Mike told her he was considering a new job opportunity in Sea Point. “Have you heard of Harry Leeper?” he asked. Kate nodded politely as she swallowed bile. “He’s got a ton of projects and is looking for more hands,” Mike added, “so I may be in your neighborhood.” He glanced over at her with flirty eyes and Kate ordered a third drink.
An hour later, Mike kissed Kate outside of Summersault, and pretty soon it was a full-blown make-out with Kate leaning against a parking meter and Mike’s hands teasing the hem of her shirt. The former DI pitcher must have been a former something to many, many women because the man had moves. As her cab pulled up, Kate thanked Mike for the kissing. “And good luck in all your future endeavors!” she called over her shoulder, grinning. She was surprised at how fun it had been to do something that felt so former, even in the moment.
Ten minutes later, as Kate thanked the cabdriver and headed up her parents’ driveway, she heard the front door shut across the street. Ziggy’s familiar silhouette cut through the dark and Kate watched him head toward his truck. It was after ten p.m.
“Where are you going?” Kate yelled over, her words slurring.
“Emergency work stuff,” Ziggy called out.
“But where are you really going?”
Ziggy forced a laugh. “My life is this sad and boring—it’s just an emergency over at the High Tide Hotel. The toilet won’t stop running and the guest is freaking out, says she can’t sleep with that sound, and you know how Tucker is.”
“Fine,” Kate conceded. “But I know you have a secret…thing.”
“Is that right?” Ziggy grinned. “I think you’re the one with the secret.”
“I made out with a former Division I pitcher named Mike tonight,” Kate confessed, right before she burped.
After a slight hesitation, Ziggy smiled. “Good for you,” he nodded, “but I was thinking about the secret up in your room.”
Kate tilted her head for more explanation.
“You blast ‘Freaky Freakazoid’ every morning after your parents leave. Like, over and over.”
Even in the dark, Kate felt herself blush, caught. How long had Ziggy known?
“I’m learning the dance to it,” she whispered. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he smiled. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about my midnight rendezvous with Tucker’s running toilet.”
“Off with you then!” Kate yelled, waving goodbye as she skipped drunkenly toward her front door. And because her night had consisted of three cocktails and excellent kissing, Kate didn’t notice when Ziggy made a right onto Ocean Avenue instead of a left toward the High Tide Hotel.