Two days before our departure, Liz’s father announced that we would be eating lobsters for dinner. (He did all the cooking; I’d never seen Patty so much as fry an egg.) This was for my benefit; he had learned, to his alarm, that I had never eaten one. He returned from the fish market in the late afternoon bearing a sack of squirming red-black monsters, removed one with a carnivore’s grin, and made me hold it. No doubt I looked horrified; everyone had a good laugh, but I didn’t mind. I loved her father a little for it, in fact. A lazy rain had been falling all day, sapping our energy; now we had a purpose. As if in acknowledgment of this fact, the sun emerged in time for the festivities; Jonas and I carried the dining table out to the back porch. I had noticed something about him. In the last couple of days, he had adopted a manner I could only describe as secretive. Something was afoot. At the cocktail hour, we drank bottles of dark beer (the only proper accompaniment, Oscar explained); then on to the main event. With great solemnity, Oscar presented me with a lobster bib. I had never understood this infantile practice; no one else was wearing one, and I felt a bit resentful until I cracked a claw and sprayed lobster juice all over myself, to an explosion of table-wide hilarity.

Imagine the perfection of the scene. The table with its red-checkered cloth; the ridiculous bounty of the feast; the golden sunset streaming toward us across the sound, then sinking into the sea with a final flash like an elegant gentleman tipping his hat in farewell. The candles came out, polishing our faces with their flickering glow. How had my life led me to such a place, among such people? I wondered what my parents would have said. My mother would have been pleased for me; wherever she was, I hoped its rules included the power to observe the living. As for my father, I didn’t know. I had severed all ties completely. I saw now how unfair I’d been and vowed to get in touch. Perhaps it was not too late for him to make my graduation.

When we’d finished dessert—a strawberry-rhubarb pie—Jonas clinked his glass with his fork.

“Everybody, if I could have your attention.”

He rose and moved around the table so that he was standing next to Liz. With a little grunt of effort, he turned her chair so she was facing him.

“Jonas,” she said with a laugh, “what the hell are you doing?”

His hand fumbled in his pocket, and I knew. My stomach plunged, then the rest of me. As he bent to one knee, my friend withdrew the small velvet box. He opened the lid and held it before her. A huge, nervous grin was on his face. I saw the stone. It was enormous, made for a queen.

“Liz, I know we’ve talked about it. But I wanted to make it official. I feel like I’ve loved you all my life.”

“Jonas, I don’t know what to say.” She looked up and laughed uneasily. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “This is so corny!”

“Say yes. That’s all you have to do. I promise to give you everything you want in life.”

I wanted to be ill.

“C’mon,” Stephanie said. “What are you waiting for?”

Liz looked at her father. “At least tell me he asked you first.”

The man was smiling, a conspirator. “That he did.”

“And what did you tell him, O wise man?”

“Honey, it’s really your decision. It’s a big step. But I’ll say I’m not opposed.”

“Mom?”

Ever so slightly, the woman was crying. She nodded ardently, speechless.

“God,” Stephanie moaned, “I can’t stand the suspense! If you don’t marry him, I will.”

As Liz looked back at Jonas, did her eyes pause at my face? My memory says she did, though perhaps I imagined this.

“Well, I, um—”

Jonas removed the ring from the box. “Put it on. That’s all you have to do. Make me the happiest man alive.”

She stared at it, expressionless. The damn thing was fat as a tooth.

“Please,” said Jonas.

She looked up. “Yes,” she said, and nodded. “My answer is yes.”

“You really mean it?”

“Don’t be dense, Jonas. Of course I mean it.” At last she smiled. “Get over here.”

They embraced, then kissed; Jonas slid the ring onto her finger. I looked out over the water, unable to bear the scene. But even its broad blue expanse seemed to mock me.

“Oh!” Liz’s mother cried. “I’m so happy!”

“Now, no sneaking around tonight, you two,” her father laughed. “You’re in separate rooms for the duration. Save it for the wedding night.”

“Daddy, don’t be gross!”

Jonas turned to her father and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”

They shook. “I know you will, son.”

Out came the champagne, which Liz’s father had kept in the wings. Glasses were filled, then raised.

“To the happy couple,” Oscar said. “Long lives, happiness, a house full of love.”

The champagne was delicious. It must have cost a bundle. I could barely swallow it down.

—

I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to.

As soon as I was sure Jonas was out cold, I snuck from the house. It was well after midnight; the moon, fat and white, had risen over the sound. I had no plan, only the desire to be alone with my feelings of desolation. I removed my shoes and took the stairs to the beach. Not a breath of wind blew; the world felt stuck. The tiniest of waves lapped upon the shore. I began to walk. The sand beneath my feet was still damp from the day of rain. The houses above me were all dark, some still boarded up, like tombs.