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For a brief moment, as I stare at the stars, I wonder what Natalie is doing at this very moment. Does she have a boyfriend? A girl like that couldn’t possibly be spending her nights alone.
I finish my drink, lie back on the stone wall, using my hands under my head as a pillow, and close my eyes.
Does she ever think about that kiss?
I had wanted to kiss Natalie for so long, but we were always with groups of people. Not until that night on the beach, that is.
Something took over me that night when I got lost looking down into her perfect grey eyes. At that moment, I realized how much I needed her. Maybe it was the fact that the two of us were finally alone with each other for the first time, but I did it.
And I would be able to die happy just knowing I had kissed her sweet lips, even just that one time.
We didn’t see each other again until my birthday a week later. Well, actually, I saw her that night. She never saw me.
But that was something I had been trying to get out of my head. The image of Natalie from that night had haunted me for months afterward. So I was relieved to see her today, just as beautiful as ever.
A loud sigh escapes me as I struggle to get the thought of her out of my head. I wish she had come tonight.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, so I instantly look at it, hoping it might be her. But instead, it’s my younger brother, Nick.
Nick: He’s out.
* * *
Twelve hours later, I’m parking my car at the Boston Yacht Club that’s just twenty minutes away from school. I get out and head toward the entrance, noticing how pristine and regal everything looks. As I get closer, I see a man standing by the docks holding paperwork in his hands. He seems to be evaluating all the employees busy cleaning and inspecting the massive boats and yachts docked.
My instincts tell me this is the guy I’m supposed to be introducing myself to. As I approach him from behind, he turns around and displays an ultra-white smile.
“So, you must be the new guy,” he says as he holds out his hand to me. He’s tall, slender, and wearing a khaki pair of pants with a navy polo shirt and a new-looking pair of Sperry boat shoes. His hair is combed back with a little too much gel, so no one strand is out of place, and his wire-rimmed glasses make him appear older than I believe he actually is.
“Hi. Yes, I’m Nathan. But most people call me Nate,” I respond as I shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Nate. I’m Tom Anderson, the general manager around here.” He turns his head and looks around at everything before bringing his attention back to me. “Mark had a lot of nice things to say about you. He tells me you’re one of the hardest working employees he has ever had. Never missed a shift.”
“Well, to be honest, Mark has been more of a mentor to me than a boss over the years.” I run my hand through my hair and look off in the distance before saying, “He's a really great guy.”
Mark is the manager at the Greenwich Yacht Club where I have spent the past five summers working. But more importantly, he has been the only real father figure in my life.
At sixteen years old, I decided to get a job to help my mom out. And on the way home from school one day, I spotted a big “Help Wanted” sign on a light pole for the local yacht club not far from my house. The rest is history.
Mark and I always got along well, and he must have seen something in me — maybe the son he never had — because he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about boats. I picked up the skills fast and found working with boats to be physically demanding, proving useful when I needed to let off a little steam.
A few months ago, Mark had called Tom (without me knowing) to help me find a job close to school. He knew that me going to college this year would depend on whether I could find work, so he did everything he could to make this happen for me. No words could describe how appreciative I felt when he told me what he had done.
Tom smiles. “He said I’d be horribly mistaken if I didn’t give you a job here, so no pressure, but don’t screw up.” He chuckles to himself. “He and I were childhood friends, so I’m only happy to help when he asks a favor of me.”
“I won’t let you down, sir. I promise,” I respond.
“Just call me Tom, ok? Sir makes me feel so old,” he says as he watches a beautiful yacht pull up next to the dock behind me. He continues to look off at the boat when he says, “Well, you’ll pretty much have the same responsibilities that you had in Greenwich, so I expect you’ll know your way around everything.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Tom. I know my way around boats pretty well.”
“Great, I have some things I need to take care of in the office, but Greg,” he points to a skinny guy cleaning a boat nearby, “can show you where everything is.”
Tom looks down at his glistening Rolex. “So make yourself at home, and oh yeah, we’re pretty flexible about the schedule here, especially while you’re in school. If you put the work in, there won’t be any issues with things. So, just let Greg know your availability, and he should be able to find shifts for you to fill. Any issues with anything, just let me know.” He smiles, and I nod back in understanding, then he leaves for the main building.
The place is pretty impressive, and it isn’t hard to see why people pay big money to become members here.
There is a high-top bar overlooking the water, an upscale restaurant to the side where a live jazz band performs, sailboats lined up on another side, and multimillion-dollar yachts awaiting their daily inspections and cleanings. This place is at least three times the size of the yacht club back in Greenwich, but I’m confident I will have no problem keeping up with the workload.
