20
Watersport
Even with the tiny kitchen, Ryan knows his way around the food. He uncorks wine and gives me a knife to slice garlic for the melting butter. Our crabs are boiling—I swear I hear them scream when they go into the pot, but Ryan says I’m delusional. He’s got a little barbecue on the deck with charcoals smoldering for our foil-wrapped French bread. I set the outer table with a very fancy plastic tablecloth, a roll of paper towels each, and of course, the vino.
It is a feast unseen by mine eyes before this hallowed date.
Ryan plates a crab for me and shows me where to extract the best meat. It’s been a while since I’ve done this—and last time, my dad shelled the crab for me—so it’s a fun lesson. Especially because it means he sits close enough that I can see the tiny mole just
