“Anything for you, Lizbet,” the voice says.
“I’m sorry, I know I recognize your voice, but I can’t quite place it,” Lizbet says. “Who is this?”
There’s a beat of silence before the voice speaks again. “It’s Christina.”
Lizbet hangs up and somehow finds the ability to smile at Mrs. Amesbury. “You’re number fifty-seven on the wait list,” she says. “Shall we try the Tap Room?”
This is why nobody from the Deck has reached out, Lizbet thinks. They didn’t want to tell her, or they assumed she already knew: Christina is managing the front of the house. Christina is the new Lizbet.
When Lizbet gets off work, she heads straight into the Blue Bar like a woman possessed. Service for the evening has just begun, so the place has the feel of a Broadway show before the curtain lifts. The copper dome lights over the bar gleam; the stools are perfectly aligned and set at an inviting angle: Come sit on me! The stereo is playing Tony Bennett singing “The Best Is Yet to Come.” Lizbet has wanted to stop in for a cocktail since day one, but she was too tired and too embarrassed about being alone. But tonight, she needs a drink and a chance to quietly process JJ’s newest betrayal.
The bartender appears, her blue button-down pressed, cuffs turned back neatly at the wrists. She grins. “Hey, Lizbet.”
“Hey, Petey,” Lizbet says. Patricia “Petey” Casstevens is a Nantucket superstar; for ten years, she lit up the front bar at Cru. She’s in her fifties, weighs a hundred pounds with a pocketful of change, and she’s fiercely loyal to all Nantucket locals.
“I’ll have the Heartbroken, please,” Lizbet says.
Petey furrows her brow. “The…oh, you mean the Heartbreaker? The drink Chef named for you?”
That’s right—Lizbet is the breaker, not the broken. This is as good an affirmation as any; she’ll write it in her phone. “He told you that?”
“It’s the best drink on the menu.” Petey goes about mixing the various juices like an alchemist and she includes an eye-popping pour of Belvedere vodka. “Strong drink for a strong woman,” she says. “Word on the cobblestones is the Deck’s not half as good without you there.” This is nice to hear, though Lizbet suspects Petey is fluffing her.
Lizbet revisits the last time she saw JJ, when he’d gotten down on one knee in the crushed shells of the parking lot and, unless she’s misremembering, proposed. Now, only three and a half weeks later, Christina is back, swirling her oaky chardonnays in JJ’s emotional life. JJ is such a skunk. Such a disingenuous jerk. Why doesn’t knowing this make the hurt go away? Why does finding out that Christina is now working—and, who is she kidding, sleeping—with JJ make him seem more desirable? It’s a false construct, Lizbet tells herself. We all want what we can’t have.
But this doesn’t make her feel any better.
Anything for you, Lizbet, Christina said while she stuck Mrs. Amesbury in reservation Siberia.
Petey slides the Heartbreaker across the bar. Its deep red-orange color is even more mesmerizing than Lizbet remembers and she knows she should savor every sip—but she downs it in three long swallows. JJ and Christina are not only living rent-free in Lizbet’s head, they’ve moved in their new Crate and Barrel furniture. How does she evict them? With all the advances in medicine and technology, why has someone not created a pill that cures heartbreak? Emotional penicillin. Why has someone not invented software that will sweep all traces of your ex out of your brain or an app that eliminates unrequited love?
“I’m going to tell Chef you’re here,” Petey says.
“Please don’t,” Lizbet says.
Petey clears the glass and winks. “He made me promise to tell him immediately if you ever came in. I’ll be back in a few seconds to make you another cocktail. I assume you’d like another?”
“You betcha,” Lizbet says.
Petey vanishes into the back for just an instant, then returns to shake up the second Heartbreaker. （Breaker, not broken! Lizbet thinks.） Tony Bennett is replaced by Elvis Costello singing “Alison.” I know this world is killing you. Lizbet focuses on being present. She is, finally, out. It’s a hurdle cleared. And not only is she out, but she’s at the Blue Bar! She runs her hands over the blue granite and admires how the late-afternoon sun catches the bright penny-sheathed wall; she looks for the ceiling panel that conceals the disco ball. The curved banquette upholstered in sapphire velvet would be a wonderful place to curl up and cry.