“Exactly. You were interviewed for the most culturally influential newspaper in the country and all you had to say about it was that it went ‘fine’?”

“Maud always says that understatement is a sign of confidence,” said Alvie.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Maud strolled out with a bottle of vodka in one hand and three shot glasses in the other. She was dressed in the same outfit of rolled-up jeans, black V-neck T-shirt, and white Converse high-tops that she’d worn to the engagement dinner at Celeste’s.

“Hello, ladies,” she said in her husky drawl. “Oh—and gentleman.” She sat on the landing of the front door and set the vodka and shot glasses down beside her.

“We started with wine, babe,” Alvie said.

“Wine? I thought you said we were celebrating tonight.”

Sanjay stood, picking up his bag and pulling it back over his shoulder. “Have fun tonight.”

“What do you mean? Come along,” Maud said. Sanjay shook his head.

“Thanks but I want to take some photos tonight after dark. The monument, the wharf . . .”

Maud checked her Apple Watch. “It’s four hours till sunset. And Tea Dance ends at seven. You haven’t experienced P’town until you’ve danced at the Boatslip. Bring your camera.”

Sanjay glanced at Gemma. She shrugged.

“Well, I’m all for experience,” he said.

37

The club was set right on the water, with a wide deck, hoppin’ bar, and a female DJ wearing a fluorescent sports bra and cranking out remixes of Lady Gaga and Kanye West songs circa 2010. Shirtless men abounded—young, old, six-pack abs, and potbellies. No one cared. Gemma felt she could take off her own shirt and no one would raise an eyebrow.

Sanjay had given up on taking photos an hour earlier. But he’d hesitated to leave his camera at their table.

“This is P’town! Lighten up,” Maud said, pulling him out of his chair by the hand. Gemma wasn’t sure if the comment meant that no one would steal his things, or that dancing was mandatory, but either way, the four of them fell into the groove of the crowd.

Maud ordered food for their table—chicken fingers, a hummus plate, and a spicy noodle salad. She insisted everyone stop and eat something because it was clear they were all crossing the line from pleasantly tipsy to sloppy drunk. But every time Gemma thought about slipping away to grab a bite, the DJ hit them with an even better song. A man wearing a Speedo, a glowstick around his neck, and a sailor hat handed out small water bottles. Gemma wanted to dump it over her head but knew she’d feel better in the morning if she started drinking something other than vodka.

“The club scene is dead in New York,” Sanjay said to Maud. “I’ve been there my whole life and haven’t seen anything like this.”