Clam Shack – Lauren Lee

October 3, 2025

Once, Mom went on a business trip to Massachusetts. She was gone for a week. Dad and I ate takeout every night, until Friday, when we both had free time, so we walked to the Clam Shack. Down Vincent Avenue I spotted the man’s blue car. Jumpy, I went to get a table while Dad ordered, making sure to sit facing the window so that Dad had to sit on the other side looking at at the inside of the restaurant.
        As we squirted tartar sauce onto the boat of calamari, I saw the man exit a real estate office, an armful of file folders under his elbow. As he tried to unlock the car door with one hand, the folders fell from his arms, crumpling onto the street. He was wearing beige pants, a t-shirt, and sandals. My dad would never be caught in public with his toes out.
        Dad turned to see what I was staring at.
        I pointed swiftly to a dog that was approaching from the left. He had to crane his neck the other direction to see what I was talking about. “Layla has the same kind of poodle,” I said.
        “Is Layla your friend?” he asked.
        I realized I had said a name entirely at random. I had to make up a story. “She just transferred. She’s in my year.” 
        “Is she nice?”
        I considered the impression that had been left on me. “Yeah, sort of. I think so.”
        “Mona, remember what we talked about: don’t say ‘sort of’ or ‘I think’ when you can just make a statement.” Dad reached for a squid, waiting for me to speak my concurrence.
        At this point, the man had gathered his things and pulled out of his parking spot. He made a u-turn and shot down the road past the poodle. Maybe if he had been slower to leave, I would have said to Dad: “I take it back. Do you see that man? It’s him who Mom is in love with, not you. And Mom is probably just here in Pawtucket, waiting for him to get home.”