18. She’s a Rainbow
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
she’s a rainbow
LOGAN
BANFF, ALBERTA
PRESENT DAY
“This place is gorgeous!”
I shake my head as we stroll down Bear street, taking in all the small-town sights.
Abi wasn’t lying when she said it was picturesque, but I’m still shocked by how close we are to the mountains, endless and snow-capped as they stand out against the bright blue sky. It feels like they’re everywhere at the same time, like they’re embracing us.
“Kind of reminds me of the bay,” Abi sighs.
“A little, yeah.”
The town itself has dozens of little tourist shops, filled wall-to-wall with maple leaf… well everything . Everything is made of— or smells like— maple. Maple trees, maple syrup, maple gelato… It’s like this town fucked a maple leaf ten years ago and can’t let it go.
Abi says I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure even the money smells like maple syrup. Speaking of the money, we realized pretty quickly that she absolutely needed to give me a crash-course on their coins. Most of them are the same as they are in the States, quarter, nickel, dime. Sure, they don’t have any pennies anymore, which is pretty wild, but it’s nothing compared to the loonie. And then there’s the abomination of metal known only as… the toonie. If there’s anything about Canadians that I will never understand, it’s their willingness to accept the pure and concentrated evil that is the coin-within-a-coin that replaced the completely reasonable two dollar bill.
I’m still fearfully awaiting the reveal of the Five-y, 5 unholy rings of unique metal bound together and ushering in the end of all things.
Anyway.
We arrived this afternoon after a long, beautiful drive. Really, Abi did most of the driving while I bounced between napping, and trying but failing to get some work done on my laptop. The second I saw a deer on the side of the road it was all over; I was too busy snapping pictures to get anything done. I think my camera roll is probably just 500 pictures of a single deer at this point.
Somewhere buried between the many tourist traps, we found some designer boutiques I recognized. My sister’s been a passionate thrifter for years now, always fixated on finding stuff from Prada, Chanel, and vintage Valentino at a really good price. She’d go hunting for hours when she lived in New York, for the perfect designer bag or shoes. My sister and I may have a lot in common, but when it comes to fashion my policy is the weirder the better.
When that’s your goal, you can find some great stuff anywhere, even in a costume shop.
Maybe especially in a costume shop.
“Come on.” Abi tugs on my sleeve, giving me that look I’m more used to seeing from Imogen. “I need shoes.”
We amble down the sidewalk, passing store after store until she stops dead in her tracks in front of a large window filled with costume jewelry, fringed leather jackets, and a bunch of kitschy stuff that I’m pretty sure my mom would love.
Abi places her hand on the window, leaning forward until her nose is practically smooshed against the glass.
“What are you looking at?” I chuckle.
“That ring.” I follow her finger to a small round amethyst surrounded by tiny white diamonds on a gold band. “It looks just like one my grandma used to own.”
“Oh yeah?”
I can feel the gears start turning. She needs a real engagement ring to pull off this whole fake engagement. I don’t think a ring pop is going to cut it when we meet mom.
“I always loved that ring. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when I was a kid.”
Abi nibbles on a painted black fingernail, her eyes misting with tears.
“My grandfather gave it to her. Saved up every dime he had for it, too. Mom insisted that it stay on her finger when she passed.” She shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “It’s weird, you know? We land in Canada and I find Baba’s ring. I know it sounds silly, I know it can’t be hers, but it kinda feels like she’s looking out for me.”
I didn’t know any of this. Abi keeps so much of her past locked up tight that I usually only get little snippets of it in brief moments of vulnerability. Moments like this.
“When did she pass away?”
“A bit before I got my doctorate,” she replies, her voice pinched as she tries to keep her composure. “She was so proud. I even gave her a draft of my dissertation; she read one page and told me it was brilliant.”
“Well, you are brilliant. Baba’s got good taste.” I wrap an arm around her and pull her close.
She’s getting that ring.
No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
“Sorry for all this,” she laughs, gesturing vaguely at her eyes full of tears.
“Hey, I cried at the deep emotional message of a Panera Bread commercial the other day, remember?”
She snorts.
“I thought you said it was just because you were hungry.”
We continue our walk down the sidewalk, and I make a mental note of the cross street. Now all I need to do is finesse up a clever little distraction, make sure she has absolutely no idea what I’m doing, and?—
“Oh! Shoes!” Abi squeaks. “Right here!”
We’re only a few stores down from where she first spotted the ring. There’s no way I’m this lucky. Maybe Abi’s Baba wants me to buy it. Who am I to deny a ghost? If I did, she might follow us back to Emerald Bay and haunt my basement. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life.
I love that goddamn basement.
I take a quick look around and spot a little western shop filled with cowboy boots, big metal belt buckles, and big ass hats, right next to the shoe store Abi’s practically jumping to get into.
I grab my phone and take a picture for Roman.
ME
Is this cowboy heaven?
All I get in response is an eye roll emoji.
And then a cowboy emoji.
I snicker, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“I wanna check this place out.” I gesture toward it. “I need a tie, and maybe I can pick up a souvenir for the ol’ Horse Doctor back home.”
Abi clicks her tongue, frowning at the storefront.
“I don’t think cowboys wear ties. They’re rugged, and chew tobacco.”
“Well, maybe there’s a nice cowboy shirt in there. Cowboys like shirts, right?”
Abi chuckles, opening the door to the shoe store.
“Not our cowboy, the way I’ve heard your sister tell it, but you do you. Meet back here when you’re done?”
“Sure!” I chirp.
I watch as Abi disappears into the shoe store, taking a few perfectly-acted steps towards the cowboy shop before spinning on the ball of my foot and high-tailing it back to the jeweler. When I get inside, I realize it’s less of a jeweler and more of a second hand store, narrow alleys between shelves filled with delicate vases and expensive china in every direction.
I keep my arms glued to my body as I make my way to the front where an older woman with a big cherry-red bouffant hairdo sits perched on a stool, filing her long red nails as she watches me approach. She looks like Imogen might in 30 years.
“You look a little terrified,” she laughs, setting her nail file down on the counter. “You need a hand?”
“Yeah, I don’t want to knock anything over,” I reply, glancing around me to make sure I haven’t inadvertently elbowed something off the shelf.
“Careful,” she warns, pointing at a sign that says You Break It, You Buy It!
I wince, but relax as a warm smile spreads across her face.
“What can I help you with?”
“That ring… the amethyst in the window?—”
“Oh, I love that ring!” She gushes, her eyes widening as she rounds the counter.
She’s much shorter than me, something closer to 5’1”, and her jeans make a soft whooshing noise as she struts right past me with all the confidence in the world.
“It is for sale, right?” I ask, suddenly realizing with horror that there’s a chance it’s just some sort of lure to get suckers like me in the door.
“Honey, everything in this store’s up for grabs,” she calls, reaching over the window display to pluck out the ring. “Take a look up close, what do you think?”
She holds it up to me, shifting it around a bit to catch the light. She’s right to do it; the ring is so much prettier when there’s not a thick pane of glass in the way. The purple is richer, glittering as it’s set against the large beam of golden light that’s streaming in through the window.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper. “My, uh… my girlfriend was actually looking at it. She said it reminded her of her grandma’s ring. She's really sentimental like that.”
“Grandma had good taste,” the woman replies with a wink. “Or maybe the man who put it on her?”
“Yeah.” I reach for my wallet before stopping myself. “How, uh… much is it?”
“Five hundred as is. If you want it resized, I can do it here, but it’ll be an extra hundred.”
I whistle. That’s cheaper than I thought it would be. Thanks, Baba.
“I’ll take it at five hundred.”
“Sure thing, sugar.”
I follow her to the register where she packs the ring into a small box and tucks it into a nondescript black bag with a quick little wink.
Abi’s going to love it. I just know she will. Yeah, she’ll love… that I just spent 500 dollars on a fake engagement ring. That reminds her of her dead Grandma. I immediately think about canceling the transaction, but before I know it I’ve forked over my credit card and I’m watching bright red nails tap against the machine.
“So, engagement ring?” She asks, waiting for it to go through.
“Yeah, I wanted to get her something special. The second I saw her staring at it, I knew this was it.”
The machine makes that oh-so pleasant beep that means I’m $500 poorer, and she hands me back my card and the bag with a warm smile.
Is this too much? It really is just a cute little joke after all.
So why does this feel so real?
“She’s a lucky girl to have a man who notices these kinds of things.”
“I’m the lucky one, ma’am. Thank you for your help.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Have a wonderful day, sweetheart.”
I can feel the back of my neck begin to heat up as I take the bag from her. I guess I’m locked in, so now I just have to figure out when I’m going to give this to Abi. That, and how I’m going to explain my way out of a potential ass kicking. It’s not the ring that’s going to upset her, it’s what I paid for it.
We exchange one final smile before I rush out the door and straight toward the shoe store, hoping I beat Abi there so I don’t have to explain myself. But by the time I make it to the window I’m relieved to see her standing in front of a mirror, admiring a pair of bright red leather heels.
I let my gaze wander up and down her body. She’s always been the most gorgeous thing in the world to me, with exquisite curves, thick thighs, and an ass I’d like to sink my teeth into, but I’m always doing my best to put all of that aside. We’re friends after all, and I’m pretty certain it’s seen as a bit weird to think about how much you want to take a bite out of your bestie.
But the thing I love the most about her? It’s that little frown she gets when she’s trying to make a decision about what she’s going to wear. It’s adorable to watch her hum and haw over any new addition to her massive shoe collection, often testing out three or four pairs before she’s satisfied.
I force myself to tear my eyes away from her before she catches me staring, and make my way back toward the western store. I really do need a nice dress shirt to wear to the reunion, and somewhere better to hide this box. Who knows, maybe something will speak to me.
The little bell dings when I push the door open, but what really gets my attention is the smell of old leather mixed with a musk that I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, it hits me the moment I enter the store, and I fear I may never be able to forget it.
I wander around, plucking dress shirt after dress shirt from the racks, holding each one up to my chest, then putting them back with a disappointed sigh. They’re all plaid. I love plaid, but plaid is not what I need right now. I need something dressier, and preferably black.
Shockingly, Plaid is neither of those things.
I can tell pretty quickly that everything in this store is very… not me. I wish it was. I wish I looked great in a pair of jeans and a relaxed button-up, but I kind of feel like a muppet at the best of times.
Tall, lanky, and awkward is pretty much my M.O.
I continue my hunt, passing by a surprising number of tourists in golf shorts and polo shirts, until I come across exactly what I’m looking for. The shirt is black, with gold trim around the collar, shoulders, and pockets. The trim itself looks like it had to have been done by hand, even prettier and more detailed up close.
I walk over to the mirror and hold it up in front of me.
I like it, but there’s something missing and I can’t tell what it is.
“Here,” one of the staff members says as he approaches, holding what looks like a piece of leather cord with gold caps on the ends. “Try this.”
I only identify it as a bolo tie after I take it in my hand.
It’s beautiful, in a sort of strange way, the main feature being the large black oval stone with gold ‘cracks’ and flecks running through it. It’s surrounded by a thin rim of gold with what looks like sun rays etched into it.
“This is… actually kind of incredible.”
“Special occasion?” He asks.
“Yeah, my fiancée and I have a high school reunion in Ontario. We made a whole trip of it; we’re on the way there now.”
“My condolences,” the man chuckles. “If it helps, I think you’ll probably be the best dressed there if this is what you’re going for.”
I’m not really sure if I’m being upsold or if he’s just really passionate about gold trim and bolo-ties, but I laugh and nod along anyway, holding up the ensemble together just to make sure they really do match up.
Damn. Guess so.
“I think I’ll take these.”
The man nods, and I follow behind him to the register where he folds my shirt into a small square, sliding it into the bag I offer up from the jewelry store. He puts the bolo tie in its own little box and slips it in as well, setting it on top of my other, much more secret purchase. I already feel a hell of a lot better now that this bag has something else tucked inside.
We call that plausible deniability.
Or something.
When I emerge from the shop, Abi’s already waiting outside with two bags in her hands, and a pained expression completely eclipsing her face.
“What’s the damage?”
“Like three hundred bucks,” she groans. “But they were both so nice! I got a pair of red heels and a pair of black ones. I can wear them for conferences, and probably even job interviews. Really it’s an investment when you think about it, right?”
“You don’t have to justify your spending, Shortcake.” I hold up the bag. “Look at me, I got a cool shirt and a bolo tie for the reunion. When else am I gonna use that?”
“Oooh, no that’s amazing!”
She reaches for the bag but I panic, jerking away without thinking, in fear that she’d find the little box. I quickly grab the bolo tie box, opening it up and showing it off over-dramatically, in the hope that weirdness will be enough to distract her from my other weirdness.
“Holy shit! This is beautiful, Logan!”
Mission Accomplished.
“The guy in the shop said it would go with my shirt. It’s got all this gold trim— I think it’s actually hand-stitched!”
I give her a small peak of the fabric, thankful for how much of the bag it’s taking up.
“Oh, wow! Very Roman Burke of you, color me surprised!”
“Hey, listen, if I can be half as confident as that guy at your reunion, I’ll consider this entire trip a success.”
I’ve always looked up to Roman. He’s just… cool. I don’t even really know why, considering the man is practically allergic to his phone, and groans every time he gets an email or a text message. I guess I just admire him for taking charge of his life. He fought for what he wanted, in spite of all the odds.
“You wanna grab some food?” Abi asks. “The girl at the shoe store told me there’s a great burger place down a few blocks. She said you can sit on the patio and get a beautiful view of the mountains.”
“Sounds perfect,” I chuckle. “And a view of the mountains? Around here? That’s gotta be a really special sorta spot.”
The two of us walk side by side, and I reflexively reach for her hand, her fingers gently linking with mine for only a second or two before we both pull away just a little. I do my best to make it look like it was an accident, and she seems to do the same. I wonder if she’s thinking something similar to me, that it’s impossible to ignore the way my nerves light up when we touch.
Either way, I can’t deny just how heavy that ring is starting to feel.