what the world is constantly thinking. She laughs because it feels good. She smiles because it feels good. She jokes…again…because it feels good.
And I get wanting to feel good.
It’s why I wanna be around her as much as humanly possible.
She makes me feel good.
After ordering creamy shrimp scampi, creamy shrimp scampi dip, and creamy shrimp Florentine – all dishes very far away from the disaster that’s still smelling up my house – I clean up what I can and grab us a couple of cold bottles of water to have with our eventual meal. We start a game of frisbee with Houndrix, making sure to leave the doors and windows open to help de-funk the dead crab cake situation.
We watch him chase the flying object for a good distance and praise him whenever he throws his body into the air to catch it. Laughter over him and us both dramatically throwing ourselves into the sand to catch it bounces down the beach. We’re so engulfed in the fun that we nearly miss the delivery man who has been banging on my door long enough to need an increase in his tip.
On the patio, we take a picnic style approach with us sitting on the bottom stair to let our feet stay nestled in the sand. Wet wipes are used to clean our hands prior to us tapping our plastic forks together in a “cheers” gesture. The containers are wedged between us for sharing, and like two dolphins maneuvering through the same territory, we gracefully dance around one another during our gorging.
Brooklyn tells me about work, passion for what she does more apparent every time she talks about it, while I barely have anything to contribute on that aspect when she shines the lighthouse beam my direction.
It’s not as though I’m not passionate about my shop.
I am.
I love being there, meeting the people, digging through whatever is the freshest batch of “trash” to scavenge for treasure.
It’s just true treasure digging days are fewer and further between, much like meeting new non-tourist faces. Part of me misses the time when I could help someone find something that they didn’t even know they were looking for instead of just helping someone snatch up a cool trinket to post on their IG travels account.
“Grandmother has always been obsessed with her spoon collection,” Brooklyn snickers in between bites of shrimp. “Find her something special, and she’ll basically adopt you into the family – whether or not we work out.”
The urge to argue there is no “whether or not” because I know “we will” surges up the back of my throat in an ugly, word-vomit style. Instead of spewing it, I swallow it back down, take a swig of the bottled water, and happily nod. “Mission Spoonpossible is a go.”
Brooklyn laughs and cringes at the comment.
“Your mom collects them, too?”
“No, she’s obsessed with baking pans.”
“Your Grandfather”
“Grill forks.”
“Dad?”
“Also grill forks. Though, that is because of my grandfather. The two of them have spent more time together in his life than he ever did with his actual father who was always too busy doing something else to be bothered with him.”
“What about you? What do you collect?”
“Pineapples.”
The retort instantly receives a smirk. “I feel like I should’ve known that shit.”
“You probably should’ve by now.”
“Right. I mean…the pineapple tattoo on the back of your neck gives it away.”
“Kinda…” Brooklyn taps me with her toe prior to her fork poking a piece of pasta. “What about you and your family? Any of them collect anything?”
“You mean besides cash in their bank accounts?”
My sardonic snip receives a sympathetic smile.
“My dad collects baseball cards because his father collected baseball cards, so he’s training Harrison to do the same despite the fact Harrison hates baseball.”
“Your mom?”
I rip off a hunk of breadstick and shrug. “Wine glasses? But I wouldn’t say she collects them for collecting purposes so much as just to drink out of them.”
“You?” Her mirth-glazed gaze meets mine. “I mean besides boardshorts.”
“I have an equally extensive wetsuit collection.”
Laughter momentarily bounces back and forth, and I can’t help thinking how much better it tastes than the food I’m holding.
After shoving the bite into my mouth, I add, “I like boards, too. Got a killer collection in my garage, hence why my vehicle is never parked inside of it.”
“Just different sizes?”
“Sizes. Shapes. Styles. Designs. I’ve got some killer throwback boards I cleaned up. Some new age shit I’ve been fortunate enough to test before mass market sales. I even have my first board