Once Upon You & Me

One

ONE

ETHAN

O NCE UPON A TIME… the large, hand-painted, wooden sign that greets guests visiting Storybook Endings Resort—a jewel of the modern Catskills—should read.

After many chilly winters exposed to the persnickety elements of upstate New York, though, the sign has been dulled by rot and wind, mold and ice, so at most distances it reads O PO A T ME .

Oh, poo at me , if you read it aloud with a specific cadence and tone, the one Ethan Golding perfects now with his head of maintenance and longtime friend Gabriel Esteves. They snicker at the sign that they’re about to replace.

Snickering is simpler than attacking the hurt feelings whirring like an out-of-control chain saw within Ethan.

This billboard-sized hunk of wood has been welcoming people far and wide for nearly a decade. Every year, post ski season, the resort gets tended to in the way one might tend to a boat they hope to take out into open waters at the very first buds of spring. De-winterizing is what Amy Lu, Ethan’s erstwhile wife and current boss calls it. From their odds-and-ends budget this year, Amy has chosen to erect a backlit, plastic sign in place of the original, handcrafted wooden one.

Ethan needs more than two hands to count off the number of odds and ends he’d have prioritized over this one, but these days, getting an idea in edgewise with Amy Lu is like fly-fishing without a license, reckless and utterly pointless.

Ethan and Gabriel rove around to the other side of the sign, through the newly coming-to-life grass, taking pictures as they go to commemorate what will no longer be. The chain saw goes berserk in Ethan’s gut as he recalls putting this sign up for the first time—laying the timber wood frame, digging the holes for the posts, setting up the lighting.

With the look on his daughter Samara’s face when she saw the finished sign for the first time, one would’ve thought Ethan had achieved a feat of magic. Reviews of Storybook Endings Resort have called it enchanting and timeless and a little slice of magic in the heart of the Catskills. But Ethan is no magician, because for the first year after his divorce he tried every trick in the book to make Samara and Amy reappear, and nothing worked.

The south-facing side of the sign fared much better than the north. AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER… It’s the final message families see when leaving the resort. Those words mean nothing to Ethan as he reads them now. His eyes are drawn down and to the right, toward the insignia he couldn’t avoid if he tried.

Storybook ENDINGS Resort .

That yellow logo is branded onto everything within a twenty-three acre radius, from the pens at reception to the hand towels in the bathrooms, even the white fleece quarter-zip thrown over Ethan’s flannel. An emblem that says, “Anything that’s ours , stays.”

Well, not Amy.

Five years ago, she was wearing the same exact fleece on the day she served him the divorce papers. They were not a surprise in the slightest, but the upset and disappointment came as if they were. Flagrant and sharp. Then, she rolled her medium-sized suitcase, which also had the resort logo on it, out the front door of their lovingly crafted, English-style cottage. Ethan built the place with his bare hands for their family. It’s set back on the property and ensconced by balsam trees that are bright green in the summer and always coated with white, powdery snow in the winter.

Amy would’ve stamped the Storybook Endings logo on those tree trunks too if she could figure out a way to monetize their scent, sell them to the devotees who visit once, twice, sometimes five times a year.

Crunch, grr, cruunch. The horse-drawn Cinderella carriage rolls along the path on their right. It’s Sunday, which means the Bannisters’ wedding weekend has come to an end. Vows exchanged, drinks had, and a final brunch of eggs benedict eaten.

The white, pumpkin-shaped contraption invades Ethan’s peripheral vision and plunks down the gravel with Paulie, the teenager from the town horse stable in a costume top hat and tails, at the reigns. Seated cozily inside, Zanib Bannister née Schroff and Owen Bannister cuddle close on the plush white seat with a sparkly blanket draped across their legs. Their foreheads press together in a private moment of sheer bliss.

Alongside Gabriel, Ethan pastes on a smile and waves his cupped right hand in a rolling motion, as all employees are trained to do. The pomp is all second nature to him because Storybook Endings is a premier wedding destination. With cabins enough to sleep an entire extended family and a barn that can be transformed for a classy ceremony and immediately turned over for a rustic, farm-to-table reception, the resort has solidified itself as a mainstay for those who want sweeping Disney vibes without the Orlando tourist-trap price tag or the creepy dark rides.

Now it’s not just dark rides Ethan finds creepy; it’s the marriage act altogether.

Up at the top of the hill, the wedding party stands near “The Castle.” It’s an all-purpose lodge with a jewel-toned facade that makes it look like it has a drawbridge and stained glass windows and a turret. Cramped together in various types of garb—dressy casual has lost all meaning these days—the guests chatter and wave off the happy couple as the carriage disappears around the curve of the road, which is artfully concealed by the exacting brush.

Before he hired Paulie, Ethan often drove the coach himself.

At the end of the drive, the coach will stop, the couple will be escorted into their waiting hybrid crossover with their luggage already stowed in the trunk, and they will drive off into the metaphorical sunset. In reality, by nightfall, they’ll be making love in Turks and Caicos, and statistically speaking, by year three, they’ll be considering separation.

That same pervasive cynicism is illustrated when, as soon as that carriage clears sightlines, the waving, fawning mass of Bannister-lovers immediately drops the act. Postures falter, smiles fade. Lined coats get thrown on over dresses with small straps and low necklines. Ties get loosened or torn off altogether.

Everyone is noisily concerned about checking out or getting home in good time or who should take the rest of the seven-tiered cake with them. elderly woman says, “No more weekend destination weddings. I’m too old not to sleep in my own bed after dancing that much.”

“Out with the old, in with the new,” says Gabriel, clapping his gloved hands together, ready to get to work. Now that the party has cleared, they can replace the sign in peace.

“Soon enough you’ll be saying that about me,” Ethan gruffly jokes, pulling his own tan workman’s gloves from the worn back pocket of his trusty, boot-cut Levi’s.

Gabriel, four years Ethan’s junior with brown skin and broad shoulders, slaps him on the back and squints against the mid-March sun. “Cool it with that talk. Forty is the new twenty-five.”

“In a few weeks, I’m going to have a sixteen-year-old daughter,” says Ethan. “ Sixteen. I don’t feel twenty-five. I feel ancient. I can see the crypt opening and beckoning me inside for a long, overdue slumber.”

That feeling expands from his mental state into his joints and shoulder muscles as he and Gabriel lumber with the heavy wooden sign, releasing it from its frame and setting it down on a tarp they’ve unrolled on the grass.

“If you’re ancient, then I’m pre-ancient, and I refuse to believe that. It’s all about mindset,” Gabriel says after they’ve hauled down the back side.

“My mindset is—let’s get this done as quickly as possible so I can make sure checkout is going smoothly,” he says, all business.

They go to the shed near the lodge and haul out the high-density urethane sign that Amy had custom made and transported there. It’s a thick, rigid hunk of plastic but practically weightless.

“This crap is really going to withstand next winter?” Gabriel asks.

“Longevity has never been Amy’s top priority,” Ethan says, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Good thing he couldn’t see Gabriel’s face, which was hidden behind the sizable sign between them—otherwise he would’ve been shot with a firm, judgmental glare.

“Why couldn’t the original sign just be touched up and refinished?” Gabriel asks after a beat.

“Good question.” Ethan wrote the same sentiment in various replies to the original e-mail from Amy’s latest assistant, Taylor Frost. All are still unsent. Either because he doesn’t want to ruffle Amy’s feathers or because he finds Taylor’s e-mail contact headshot rather fetching. The photo showcases Taylor’s brown hair that falls in beachy waves, his wide, toothy smile, and skin so sun-kissed it makes his russet brown eyes look like the gemstones in a bracelet Ethan once bought Amy for an anniversary.

Ogling a picture of his ex-wife’s personal assistant feels too much like a personal low point, so he gives Taylor no further excuse to invade his inbox with Bruce Springsteen “Dancing in the Dark” era good looks.

“More cost-effective, I guess. It’s waterproof, and it won’t bow. From what I’ve gathered, the sign-making company will easily be able to replicate this a dozen times over for ‘brand consistency.’” Those two words carry the overwhelming stench of disdain on them.

“The Texas location got this, too?” Gabriel asks. They climb their respective ladders in perfect sync, tool belts donned, ready to affix.

“The Texas location has had it since they opened.” Ethan lets out a grunt as he weasels the new sign into place. “Blame them for our extra work.”

“How are things looking with the California location?” Gabriel asks. The light tone belies the weighty topic.

Ethan huffs through his nose, which causes his trimmed dirty blond mustache hairs to tickle his upper lip. He’s had a full beard since he was eighteen, yet he’s never gotten used to the way his facial hair behaves. It refuses to be tamed or grow at a reasonable pace. His clippers deserve a break for their frequent, reliable service. “Beats me. I don’t get cc’d on anything anymore, which is fine.”

Not that he needs to spell this out for Gabriel. He was there through the divorce when Ethan sold away his right to the title of co-owner. All he wanted out of those arbitration sessions in sweaty conference rooms with wilted salads was joint custody of Samara and to stay on as general manager of the original location of Storybook Endings Resort, the place he’s called home for nearly a decade.

Storybook Endings started as a small spark of an idea, a place for Samara to live out her full-scale princess fantasies. He never dreamed it would turn into a success or a legacy. Both of which he’s working hard with his therapist not to begrudge. Because his wife ran off with the success and his daughter who is now “too old for princesses” wants nothing to do with the legacy.

Gabriel struggles a bit, trying to get his side of the sign straight. “If we know anything about Amy, it’s that if she wants something enough, she’ll make it happen.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” If only she had ever wanted what Ethan wanted. A queen who held court for the visiting masses, a princess who thrived within the confines of his kingdom, and a finite happily-ever-after, like the sign says.

But signs lie.

So do fairy tales.

And life goes on.

Bang, ba-bang. With two final, vigorous hits of Ethan’s hammer, the new sign hangs firmly in place. Ethan and Gabriel meander back to inspect their work.

In the unobstructed sunlight, it appears much shoddier than the wooden sign still lying on the tarp, but on overcast days or at night in the landscaping lights, the difference will barely be noticeable. “Oh, you repainted the sign out front? How lovely,” the regulars will say on their return visits to the resort this summer. Ethan will stand behind the reception desk as he always does, smiling and nodding and not going into detail about how everything is being upgraded and standardized and automated.

If he doesn’t watch his words or his step, he fears he’ll end up just like the sign. Replaced with a newer, cheaper make and model.

Gabriel goes up to the sign, fiddles with the lower right-hand corner.

Ethan’s eyes zip, once again, to the logo inscribed there. It occurs to him, for the first time, that the word endings in the business’s logo is underlined and bolded, so it reads “Storybook Endings Resort.”

The swooping, magenta lettering—now untarnished and vibrant—mocks him. He tugs at the tall collar of his fleece so the cool wind hits his overheating neck.

How many logos had they considered from the marketing firm before they settled on this one? Their divorce was practically forecasted there this whole time. He lets loose one of those quiet, mirthless laughs he’s grown accustomed to.

How many endings had he endured recently?

Five years ago his marriage ended, and five months ago his thirties ended.

Now he’d just like this workday to end so he can go watch a Spielberg movie on the couch with his Newfoundland named Nana, eat a personal cauliflower crust pizza with extra cheese and nurse a beer or two before bed.

“You coming to the brewery tonight?” Gabriel asks as they begin to clean up. “I met this guy through the snowmobiling group I’m in. He just moved up here after the holidays. He said he broke up with his long-term partner and needed a new start. He’s going to join the usual bunch. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Why? Because he’s also dated a man?” Ethan asks. He always gets prickly when people try to set him up, like he’s some lonely sap who needs a significant other to make him interesting.

Gabriel tips his head and glares up at Ethan. “No, because it’s impossible to get you out of the house these days and he’s a fun, outdoorsy guy who seems nice.”

“This nice-seeming guy’s name is…?”

“Kurt.”

“Age?”

“Forty-six.”

“Job?”

“Jeez,” Gabriel cries. “You gonna want his shoe size, too? His social security number? I don’t know. I’ve only spoken to him twice. You’re not hiring the guy. You’re getting a drink among friends, and he’ll be there, tagging along. You can ask him all these questions when you meet him tonight at the brewery.”

Ethan usually avoids the brewery, which is housed in an old, converted firehouse in town. It’s not the mostly burned-out jukebox that seems to only play Willie Nelson, nor the life-size Betty Boop statue that holds the chalkboard menu right up next to her ample, sculpted cleavage that keep him away. It’s not even the slight waft of burned rubber that always seems to hang in the air there. It’s that he and Amy and Samara used to eat and drink there—on credit—when they were new in town and just starting Storybook Endings Inn (the resort part came later with surprise success and expansions).

Ethan’s skin slicks at the thought of sitting beside some forty-six-year-old snowmobiler named Kurt in a booth that’s haunted by the memory of his family unit, unbroken.

He’s lived Once Upon a Time…and learned his lesson about Happily-Ever-After. Trying again now, at his age, in this town, well, it seems childish.

But Gabriel’s looking at him, shaking his head, waiting for a response, and there’s no way Gabriel will believe he has other plans beside walking and feeding Nana, so he says, “ drink.”

“ drink is all it takes, my friend,” Gabriel says, clapping Ethan on the back. “ drink is all…it…takes.”