Later that night, I finally convinced Harris to show his face. Harris; my friends Sarah, Jennifer, and Madison; Parker’s friends Spence and Watson; Robby and Trina; and, of course, Parker were milling around the Thaysdens’ porch. It was a tradition of sorts, that the “kids” gathered for dinner at the Thaysdens’ after the tournament and the “adults” gathered at Dogwood. Our hometown friends were all married now, but the spouses that weren’t Cape Carolina natives had politely bowed out after the first year. This was an old-school Cape Carolina tradition. It was awkward when other people joined in. But we couldn’t very well tell Harris to stay in my old bedroom.

We had all gotten the routine down over the past two decades or so: Parker cooked the steaks on the grill, Sarah was in charge of twice-baked potatoes, I handled the asparagus, which couldn’t have been simpler—olive oil, lemon, salt, pan—and Spence made his famous sangria. We had garlic bread if Watson wasn’t so drunk from fishing all day that he burned it. It hadn’t happened yet, but we were holding out hope.

I was feeling mightily uncomfortable, not only about my boyfriend ruining half the lives in that room, but also because of the night before with Parker. I stole a glance or two at him, looking so competent and strong in his apron at the grill. He wanted to be with me. The night before, I had been more than certain that I wanted to be with him too. But then there was Harris and the fun we had and the plans we had made.… So I avoided it. I sat here on a teak bench overlooking the marsh, with my friends gathered around drinking their beverages of choice, as Trina said, “So, of course, the teacher says, ‘Well, Robby Jr. was calling a girl at school ‘butt face,’ and when I told him he couldn’t call her that anymore, he started calling her ‘poopy-pants.’ And it’s awful, and I know it, and she is so serious, and what do I do? I burst out laughing. And she looks at me like, No wonder your kid is a delinquent.”

And then we all burst out laughing because, well, it was funny, and also Trina was so animated and adorable as she told the story that you just couldn’t help but join in the fun. Harris’s arm was around my shoulder, and he squeezed me to him and kissed my temple right as Parker caught my eye.

So I did what any woman in my position would do: I finished off the rest of my beer and reached down into the cooler beside me to get another one. The fact that this was my fourth beer was perhaps not totally ideal, which I realized as I stood up for dinner.

I have plenty of friends who are the good kind of drunk. You know, the ones who get really quiet so as not to make fools of themselves? Well, not me. I am the kind of drunk who doesn’t exactly realize that she’s totally wasted, instead finding herself more charming and adorable than ever. So I just get louder and tell more stories, and everyone else is laughing their heads off, partly because they’re drunk, too, thank God, partly because they actually think I’m funny, and partly because I’m embarrassing myself so badly.