Dispatches From Our First Day at the Beach

IT WAS OUR first day at the beach, one of the first without our daughters, who were busy with their own adult lives. So I only lugged my own beach chair and bag, not the supplies the girls could never help bring from the car because they were on their cellphones.

The day was gorgeous. The water was perfect for swimming and surfing, the ideal backdrop for a man with no intention of doing either. I was there to sit under a large umbrella, my body glistening with a thick layer of sunscreen for the rare moments when I trudged to the restroom. My only goal: Read a trash novel I would never in good conscience allow in the home. (“Jake Stryker was the best investigator in the FBI. But now, he was the hunted one.”) I sat in a boneless slouch, at one with my canvas chair, a disturbing, vaguely human form.

My blissful reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice next to me.

She: You have a shelf.
Me: What?
She: You have a little shelf. See how your cellphone rests on it?
Me: It’s just leaning against my chest.
She: Nope, it’s lying flat on your tummy. It’s like a little tummy desk. See, there’s room for a stapler, some Post-its, and maybe a ...
Me: [sitting bolt upright to express my outrage] AM NOT!
She: I was referring to your tummy, not you, so “am not” is the wrong response.
Me: IS NOT!
She: Better. But it definitely is.
Me: If I’ve gained a little weight recently — not saying I have — it’s probably due to inactivity during the pandemic. It’s my Covid 5.
She: More like Covid 10. And what about your pre-Covid 15?

As I stood to forcefully rebut this, my cellphone stuck straight out from my stomach, neatly held in place.

Me: [removing the phone in a dignified manner] May I remind you we are on vacation, a time to set aside judgment. And, no offense, you insulting my stomach is like the paunch calling the kettle ...
She: Birthing two kids — yours, if memory serves — takes a toll. What’s your excuse?
Me: Actually, I deserve a little credit. I was there for the births, supporting you and serving your every need.
She: You watched Letterman.
Me: It’s my fault Letterman had good guests?
She: Both times?
Me: Coincidence. And why are TVs in birthing rooms anyway?!
She: Look, dolphins!

A hundred yards offshore, six dolphins arched in and out of the water, taunting me with their sleek bodies. She was right about my paunch, though lately my pants had felt big.

Me: Actually, I think I’m losing weight. My pants are looser.
She: And lower.
Me: Maybe. I do have to keep hitching them up, almost like they’re being forced down by something. Gravity, I guess.
She: Or some immovable force from above.
Me: There’s more dolphins!
She: Where?
Me: Made you look. Go back to your book. What are you reading, anyway?
She: Contemporary essays on the abiding value of Russian short stories. You?
Me: Same.

I slumped back into my chair and opened my book. (“Stryker lowered the binoculars in disbelief. He thought the Director was his friend. He’d thought wrong.”)

I totally saw that coming.