Page 28

Danielle

I t’s been two weeks since Mike and I made up. We finally made it out to Marnock for a real date last Saturday. Tonight, Honey is in the kitchen with him steaming the crabs for dinner. Mike’s parents are bringing Shelley, and they are all coming to our house to share a meal. Honey wanted to give them a taste of our North Bay culture, so we’re having crabs and corn on the cob. Honey’s special chocolate snowball dessert is already in the freezer for later. I suggested just ordering in from the restaurant, but Honey insisted on cooking for our company herself.

I can hear pieces of her conversation with Mike drifting through the open window as I sit in a rocking chair on the front porch, shucking the corn and tossing the silk into the small trash can I’m holding between my knees.

“That’s right,” Honey says to my boyfriend. “Yep, go ahead and add the mustard seed to the water now. This recipe calls for a cup of beer, just for flavor. Will that be all right? The alcohol cooks off. You know what? Never mind. Forget I said that. We’ll use apple cider vinegar instead.”

“Wait. Why are they scratching? These crabs are still alive?” Mike sounds apprehensive.

“They’re still kicking, just stunned from being put on ice. Don’t let them get you. Oh, there goes that one.”

I hear a high-pitched scream that seems to come from Mike, followed by a clatter.

“Get back here, you little twerp,” Honey yells at the crab. “Gotcha.” Then to Mike she says, “You might not be quite ready for this part. Why don’t you go find my granddaughter and help her with the corn? You probably had plenty of that in Idaho. Maybe you can teach her a few tricks for how to clean it faster. She’s been out on that porch for hours.”

“I can hear you,” I call out.

“Haven’t said nothing that wasn’t true,” Honey shouts back.

The door opens and Mike steps onto the porch wearing the World’s Sassiest Grandma apron I gave Honey for Mother’s Day last year. I laugh and motion to the rocking chair next to me, then put the trash can between us.

Handing over half a dozen ears of corn, I tell him, “That looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” Mike takes the corn and sits down to shuck it, but he’s too distracted to get much accomplished. Every few seconds his eyes dart to the road, searching for his parents’ rental car. He’s nervous, and if I’m being honest, so am I. They have come to the restaurant a few times with Mike while I was working, but we haven’t had much time alone with his family, and they have yet to meet Honey. It’s no secret that she doesn’t always make the best first impression.

“Hey.” I put my hand on his knee and try to sound convincing for both our sakes. “Everything is going to be great tonight.”

Mercifully, it isn’t much longer before we hear the muffled sound of a car engine and see a minivan turn at Major Dollar and head our way. Before the car has fully stopped, the door flies open and Mike’s firecracker of a sister is sprinting toward us. Mike stands to greet her, and she hugs him quickly before turning to me and reaching out with both hands. She pulls me up out of my rocking chair and wraps her arms around me tightly.

“So great to see you again,” she says.

“You, too.”

Their parents walk up the porch steps to join us. His mom has the same dark blonde hair and gray eyes that Mike and Shelley do, and Mr. Miller is round and bald with a graying beard. They are both smiling.

“Hi, Danielle,” he says.

“Nice to see you. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to my grandmother. Everyone calls her Honey.” I carry a bucket filled with the newly-shucked corn into the house and lead them inside.

Once the crabs and corn are finished cooking, we all sit around the table on Honey’s screened-in back patio. Mike is sitting between both of his parents and Honey and I are across from them. Shelley has a chair at the end of the table.

“I’ve never eaten steamed crabs before. I’m so curious to learn.” Mrs. Miller tucks a paper towel into the neck of her blouse like a bib.

“It’s a little weird at first, but you get used to it,” Mike tells his mom.

“Jordan showed me the other day,” Shelley says. “I think I remember.”

“Well, go ahead, son. Let’s see what this town has taught you.” Mr. Miller turns to Mike to get a better view of his demonstration.

“Okay.” Mike picks up a crab. “This is controversial, but we like to start with this area here. It’s called the apron.” I smile while Mike tells his parents my mom’s silly anecdote about crabs with a wider apron having a ticket to the White House.

“Seems like you’ve learned a lot about this.”

“Yeah, well, I had an excellent teacher.” He winks at me from across the table, and I fall just a little bit harder in love as I reach for the salt for my corn.

“Oh, Mike. I almost forgot. Dolores over at the library gave me a copy of the paperwork for you,” Honey says.

“Paperwork?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Thanks.” Mike dips his chin and looks down as though he’s intensely focused on his crab.

“Mike?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just figured North Bay should have some in-person NA and AA meetings.”

“That’s not nothing. That’s great. Good job, Mikey.” Mrs. Miller rubs Mike’s back while she smiles up at him. When she realizes she is getting crab seasoning on his shirt, she tries to wipe it away, but only makes it worse.

“It’s cause for celebration, is what it is. Save some room for dessert,” Honey reminds everyone. “I made chocolate snowball.”

“That sounds amazing,” Mike tells her. Then in a shyer tone he says, “As long as we’re celebrating, I also got some news from Coach that I wanted to share.”

“Oh.” His mom clasps her hands together in anticipation. My heart is suddenly in my throat. It sounds like whatever he is about to say will be good for his career, but it could mean he will be leaving North Bay even sooner than we thought. I brace myself for the news.

“My contract has been extended, and they’re making me the starting shortstop on the Blue Crabs next year.” It’s not exactly a promotion for him because, with Davis on the way out, Mike has already been starting in most of their recent games, but this is great news. He gets to continue doing what he loves, his coach has recognized his talent, and he gets to stay in North Bay with me, at least for now.

“That’s fantastic. The position and the meetings. Both of them.” I scramble from the table to his side. He stands up to meet me and catches me as I leap into his arms.

“That’s my boy,” Mr. Miller says.

I am not processing much beyond my own happy squeals and Mike's low chuckle at the base of my neck, but I know Mike’s mom tells him, “It looks like you are fitting right in here in North Bay.”

That’s the truth. We overanalyzed and overcomplicated things until they all fell apart and we had to put them back together again, but in the end it was simple. This is where he belongs. Right here with me.