Sara forced a smile as she slurped the slimy, briny creature from its shell. Something was clearly still bothering her. Jacob belched as he set his own shell down and said, “Delicious. Now, would anyone mind telling me what we’re doing out here? In April?”
Sara half-choked. “Sorry. Horseradish.” She was trying very hard not to look at Irene, who had promised that at some point that weekend she’d finally tell Jacob what had been going on. George wasn’t holding his breath.
“Do we always need to have a reason?” Irene asked.
“Think of it like spring break,” George chimed in.
“Sure,” Jacob said. “All those times we went on spring break. Remember Cancún? When I did that body shot off of Mark McGrath? No? Me neither.”
George knew Jacob would just keep pushing until something snapped. The only hope was diverting him.
“Don’t look but I think the oyster shucker is staring at you.”
They all turned cautiously — except for Jacob, who half stood and craned his neck just to get a look. There indeed the burly, bearded man was looking back at them, not that there were many others to look at. Giant tattooed tentacles wound around his muscled arms, curling out from the white straps of his apron and disappearing down into his gauzy white gloves, which never stopped moving, automatically maneuvering a knife blade between the closed shells.
Jacob grunted dismissively. “You’d think by now you’d know my type.”
“He’s breathing,” George pointed out helpfully.
“He’s adorable,” Irene corrected. “And he’s staring right at you.”
She swiveled on her stool, and the morning light glanced off her cheekbones such that George could just make out the reddish lump under her eye. Was he just imagining it, or was Jacob looking at it too? Sara definitely was.
“I’ll go talk to him,” George offered. He’d had plenty of practice being Jacob’s wingman when Jacob didn’t want him to be.
Over Irene’s cheers and Jacob’s protesting, George slid back from his seat and marched confidently across the room. He had successfully solved the problem of the foul mood; now he hoped to begin phase two, beginning a memorable story that they could tell each other over and over again that weekend and always. They had just begun their second round of Bloody Marys, and he was feeling very good after the long drive. A second drink always suffused his worries in the pleasant buzz of uvula and the sting of nostrils. Painted a little haze on everything. Amplified the timbre of Irene’s delight as George smiled at the oyster shucker as they began to chat.
“Sorry, but where are these oysters from? They’re excellent.”
“We farm them just out there by the Shelter Island ferry. Can’t get ’em fresher.”
He held one up to show George. It was about the size of his open palm, dark and stony and still alive when the man slipped his knife into the thin slit and gave it a firm twist, cracking the shells apart before cleaning grit off the meat and placing it still in the pearly shell on a silver platter covered in crushed ice.
George pointed back at Jacob. “My friend was just wondering… we passed all these vineyards on the way over. But we don’t want to just drink the tourist stuff, you know? What do you drink around here?”
He watched as he momentarily looked up at Jacob, his knife slipping for the first time, just catching the glove. A small red splotch appeared on the glove, amid the dried, darker blotches of past slip-ups. He dipped the blade down again into the shell and in one swift motion flipped it straight up into the air. Like lightning, his other hand came around and caught the oyster in an empty glass. He repeated this trick and then poured a shot of vodka over each. Then he scooped a little cocktail sauce onto each and squeezed a lemon over them.
“For me?” George asked.
“You asked what I drink around here. Plus your friend looks like the jealous type.”
George winked and tapped the side of his glass against the shucker’s. He wasn’t wrong: no sooner had they each swallowed their oyster shots than George heard Jacob calling from the other side of the room, “When you and your new best friend are done over there, could you get us another round?”
The man looked over at Jacob as he began to crack open a fresh oyster. “Tell your friend to open his mouth.”
“That is never a problem,” George replied, and called over. “Hey, Jacob, open wide!”
Jacob turned on the stool and opened his mouth.
Without breaking eye contact, the man loosened the gray bivalve and positioned his knife underneath. Then in a fluid motion he flipped the oyster again, this time in a long arc, fifteen feet across the floor of the restaurant. Jacob had to lean back just slightly, enough to make Irene shriek in fear he’d fall, before, in one spectacular moment, he caught the projectile in his mouth and swallowed it whole. The girls cheered as Jacob stood up and walked over, grinning.
“You’ve got my attention,” he said.
• • •
Jacob took his sweet time getting the phone number of the oyster shucker, and Irene took a detour down to the docks, claiming she needed to collect some loose shells and gull feathers that he imagined might find their way into a painting sometime in the near future. George soon saw her walking around with phone out, frowning and trying to catch a signal. But he didn’t care, so long as everyone was happy.
Sara pulled him aside as they approached the car. “Did you see Irene take her Neulasta this morning?”
George hadn’t, but he said, “I’m sure she did. She’s fine.”
“I should have reminded her before we left.”
“I’m sure she remembered.”
“I just have a bad feeling. We don’t even know where the nearest hospital is.”
“Nothing is going to happen. Dr. Zarrani even said a trip would be good for her.”
“She also said Irene should have had the tumor removed.”
“No, she said she thought it would be better to be thorough, but it probably wasn’t necessary, and considering that it would possibly permanently ruin her vision in that eye, it’d be better not to do anything until we know if the chemo is working.”
“I know. I’m just worried.”
“It’s going to be fine. The scans are going to come back clean.”
“Don’t say that!”
“What? You think I’m going to jinx it? That bump under her eye is basically gone.”
“But you told me she said that doesn’t mean anything! I wish you’d take this seriously.”
George sighed. “I am.”
He tried to put his hand on her shoulder to pull her close, but she remained firmly planted just a bit too far away from him, her eyes narrowed.
“How much did you have to drink in there?”
“I thought we were supposed to be celebrating, for God’s sake.”
She crossed her arms — a bad sign. “All you’ve had to eat today are oysters, and you had the two Bloody Marys plus a shot at the bar. Maybe you want to let someone else drive?”
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Don’t worry so much, okay?”
“I’m just saying Jacob’s a lot heavier than you are. It doesn’t affect him as quickly.”
“He has the tolerance of a nun. He hardly ever drinks unless we’re all out together.”
He realized too late that he wasn’t helping his case exactly by reminding Sara that, in contrast, he had at least two drinks every night, whether they were out together or home alone. He was about to take it back, to try and explain what he’d meant, when he heard Jacob and Irene coming back over the gravel.