Chapter 1 Bryan
ONE
brYAN
“It’s the beach!” I shouted. “It’s not supposed to snow at the beach, is it?”
“It wasn’t supposed to snow at all until tomorrow, darling!”
“Tell that to the view out my windshield.” I knew I shouldn’t raise my voice with my mother; she had a lot on her plate as mother of the bride, but my frustration was rising with every snowy mile that passed.
It’s why I’d been ignoring the numerous calls that had kept my phone buzzing for the hours I’d been traveling.
Eventually, I decided I had to check in with Mother and lay the groundwork for how bad the storm really was.
“I know.” Mother sighed as if she were the one braving the elements instead of sitting at a hotel bar. “It’s really coming down out there. You’re close, though, right?”
“Yes, but I’m going to go straight to the B it was the tenth since I’d graduated from college.
Two brothers, two cousins, a high school best friend, and aw, fuck it, I’d lost count, a shit ton of college besties that had to have me as best man, or man of honor, or once, as the ring bearer because, as my college friend Dejana had put it, “You just have to be in my wedding party, Bryan, but all the rest of our group have paired up, so there would be nobody to walk down the aisle with you.”
Dejana had fibbed. I did in fact have someone to share that procession with: Dejana and her soon-to-be husband’s ridiculously floofy puppy. In case you’re keeping score, it was the Cavapoo who carried the rings around his collar. My job? To carry the leash.
I said goodbye to Mother, gently mentioning the snow I could see piling up around my slow-moving SUV, then I shut off the ringer on my phone, and tried to focus on what I could see of the road.
“Turn left,” my GPS ordered in its neutral female voice.
I called her Gloria. I couldn’t really remember why, but it had seemed hilariously funny when my friends and I were headed somewhere, back when we were in college.
There’d been two dudes in the car that day.
And before you ask, yup, I’d been a groomsman for both of them.
“Left?” I asked. “Really, Gloria? I can barely see in front of me, and you’re telling me there’s a place to turn left?”
I flicked the brights, but that only made it worse, as they reflected off each unique and highly frustrating snowflake.
I’d ignored phone alerts from my weather app and a work friend telling me I should wait until the morning in favor of my mother’s insistent texts and my sister’s puppy-dog eyes.
Literal puppy-dog eyes, mind you, in the form of a series of GIFs sent to my phone.
I hoped more than believed that the storm would be less severe the closer I got to the ocean.
“I could have skipped pre-rehearsal family dinner, Gloria. Waited out the storm in the comfort of my own apartment; finished the stupid redesign that’s due next Monday. No one is going to miss groomsman number seven. I …”
The car skidded. I didn’t apologize to Gloria for not finishing my thought, instead mumbling, “Steer into the skid.” When the car stabilized, I tapped the breaks until it came to a full stop. The scene outside my window was a complete whiteout, unnerving and eerily peaceful at the same time.
My chest heaving, I attempted to identify my surroundings but came up with nothing but the black of a winter’s night and the bright white of the snow.
Gloria was more helpful, showing me that I had stopped at the intersection I was indeed meant to turn down.
Her map showed Jannah Beach Town Hall at the corner of the intersection.
I knew from our family vacations that it was one of the few places close to the beach with its own parking lot.
My destination was another, but one more look out the window told me I had no chance of driving there.
Gloria happily informed me I was about a quarter mile from my final destination.
“Can’t very well drive blind,” I commented, but Gloria didn’t respond until I slowly crept into the parking lot, and she politely informed me I was headed in the wrong direction. I pulled off the road and put the car in park.
“Hang tight, Gloria. We’re gonna hoof it from here.”
I clambered to the back of my SUV and shoved a few things from my suitcase into my computer bag.
I kept a bunch of stuff in my vehicle for work, so I wiggled my way into a lined flannel shirt, ignoring the earthy scent it gave off, my heavy-duty work jacket, my boots, and for lack of another option, a pair of gardening gloves.
“Better make it two,” I said as I fought to pull a second pair over the first. I assumed that Gloria was in agreement. She was giving me the silent treatment.
I shoved my sneakers into the bag, pulled the hood over my head, and climbed to the back seat to make my exit and begin the walk to the quaint home nestled right behind the dunes on the boardwalk.
I remembered the Lavender Sea Bed and Breakfast from my youth, standing stout, wide, and proud, ensconced between two more modern and much larger chain hotels.
The little house sat there like a big old “eff you” to the corporate giants that towered beside it.
It was one of the things I loved about it.
The quaint garden out back was another. This little English garden, thriving despite the shade of the neighboring buildings, lovingly tended to by an older woman who looked part granny, part hippie, and part no-nonsense business owner.
That courtyard and its proprietor were among my fondest memories of my youthful beach vacations.
We’d never stayed at the B they had all paired up like bees to pollen, keeping the wedding industrial complex in business over the past few years.
Mother had asked if I planned to bring a nice young man. Each time I said no, she used her peppiest voice. “Just as well, dear. Maybe you’ll meet someone at the wedding. Wouldn't that be romantic?”
And right there was the reason for my bitterness.
I was a God damn romantic.
Sure, I’d dated a couple of guys over the years. Perfectly … perfect men. But in both cases, there had been no swelling music, no third-act break up that resolved in the rain with a boom box. No poetic declarations sealed with a kiss and made in front of all the popular kids.
I’d had two very normal relationships with two very nice guys, each lasting less than a year. In the years after, I attended both their weddings.
I adjusted Gloria to the pedestrian function, and she made sure I didn’t veer off into a ditch since I still had zero visibility.
The wind picked up as I made it to the boardwalk, fighting my way through at least a foot of snow.
I’d zipped my jacket up over my face, but my eyes stung, and my nose was running, or more accurately, freezing on my face. I could feel snow catching in my beard.
I toppled forward at one point, landing gently, face-first. I had to roll around in the snow to find purchase.
I imagined I looked like the abominable snowman, a snot-nosed, bloodshot snow monster rising from the boards to menace the sleepy resort town.
As I lay on my back, I could see one of the well-lit, corporate hotels looming above me.
“The Lavender Sea is just up ahead, Gloria. How are you holding up?”