5. Trent
Chapter 5
Trent
Why does my mother always insist on Sunday dinners?
The thought crosses my mind for the tenth time as I navigate the familiar winding road to my parents’ house. The gray sky above matches my mood—clouded, heavy, and threatening rain. I’m not looking forward to this dinner because I know the inevitable topic of conversation.
My relationship status. Or rather, my non-existent relationship status.
While running the marina has been easier with Jenny’s assistance at the lodge the past two and a half months, I still haven’t had time to make any headway on my relationship status.
I step into my parents’ house, greeted by the faint scent of roasted garlic and slow-cooked meat. The kitchen, warm and buzzing with activity, looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. My mom, as always, is deftly working over a roast with potatoes, onions, and carrots—our family favorite.
“Hi, Mom.”
She turns, wiping her hands on her well-worn apron before pulling me into a hug that smells like rosemary and dish soap. “Hi, Trenton. I’m so happy you could make it,” she says, her smile as wide as ever.
“I always make it to Sunday dinners, Mom.” My tone is dry, lacking the warmth she probably hoped for.
“Right, of course you do. It’s just that lately . . .” Her voice trails off, and I’m silently grateful it does because I know exactly where she was heading.
We work in companionable silence, setting the table and bringing out steaming platters of food. My dad greets me with a nod from his chair, newspaper folded neatly on the side. Dinner begins with an awkward silence I’ve come to expect over the past couple months. The only sounds are the soft clinks of forks on plates and the low hum of the ceiling fan.
I glance up from my plate and catch my parents exchanging one of those looks. My stomach tightens, knowing what’s coming next.
“Just say it.” I stab a piece of carrot with my fork. I chew mechanically, the roast suddenly losing its appeal.
“Well,” my mom starts cautiously, setting down her fork, “it’s just that your father and I have been talking . . .”
“And?” I say, trying not to snap.
My dad clears his throat, his deep voice filling the space. “Son, your grandfather called us earlier this week. It seems like there’s been some words exchanged with some of the extended family about the . . . stipulation in the contract for the marina.”
Ah, the clause. The one that’s been hanging over my head like an anvil. The words, etched in my memory, echo in my mind like a judge’s gavel.
The transfer of ownership of the marina to New Owner is contingent upon the New Owner being married at the time of the transfer. This condition is intended to preserve the family-oriented nature of the business. If the New Owner is not married at the time of the transfer, they shall forfeit their right to ownership of the marina, and the business shall instead be passed on to the next eligible married family member, as determined by the current owner or their estate.
My parents never owned the marina. They just ran it while my grandfather retained ownership rights. However, with my parents’ retirement and my grandfather not getting any younger, he is ready to pass over the ownership. Of course, since I grew up at the marina and have now managed it for a year and a half on my own, plus all the years of co-running it with my parents, my grandfather would like to transfer ownership to me.
With one catch: I have to be married first.
All of which seems ridiculous to me. What does being married have to do with running a marina? I’ve proven with my work over the years and with my degree how serious I am about owning and managing the marina and helping it grow and thrive. My relationship status shouldn’t have any impact in this. It’s frustrating to have this hanging over my head. How am I supposed to fall in love and get married when my life is all about the marina? It just doesn’t make sense.
“What do you mean, words were exchanged?” I ask.
My mom shifts uncomfortably. “Well, your Aunt Ida called to tell me her daughter is getting married in the fall and that she’d be happy to take over the marina if you . . . weren’t able to.”
“Aunt Ida didn’t . . .” The words die on my tongue, replaced by stunned disbelief.
“And she wasn’t the only one,” my dad adds. “We’ve had several calls this week. When your grandfather called to let us know the family has been expressing interest to him in taking over ownership also, we thought it best to let you know how serious this is getting.”
“The extended family,” my mom says, “is, well, you know . . .”
“Getting worried,” my dad continues. “My father isn’t going to be around for too many more years, and he and the rest of the family would like to get the ownership of the marina squared away before he does pass and it gets a lot messier.”
“We know how much the marina means to you, Trenton,” my mom says. “And we don’t want you to lose it.”
Dad cuts into his roast. “I don’t know how long my siblings are going to be okay with the marina sitting in limbo. You’ve done a wonderful job managing it, but someone needs to own it—and soon. Your mother and I have put our hearts and souls into this place, but we’re tired and ready to see it passed on to the next generation. However, my siblings wouldn’t be opposed to taking it over either. As you know, Aunt Ida and Uncle Bert grew up here. And they raised their kids here most summers too. They’re all familiar with the marina and would love to own it and perhaps manage it too.”
“But Grandfather,” my mom says, “agrees the marina is running smoother than it has in years with you managing it, and he wants to pass it on to you.”
“But you’re not married,” Dad says.
My appetite vanishes entirely as I slump back in my chair. “Why can’t Grandfather just remove the clause? Why do I have to choose between owning the marina and being married or letting some other family member own it and staying single? I’m not even sure I’m ready for a relationship yet.”
“You know,” my mom says gently, “he is determined to honor your grandmother’s memory. The marina was her pride and joy, and he wants to ensure it stays family-run.”
“I know,” I murmur, the weight of their words settling heavily on my shoulders. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like the clause. This marina is my home, my life. I don’t want to lose it.”
The next morning, I drag myself into the lodge, my head pounding from the restless night I’d spent replaying the conversation from Sunday dinner. The smell of coffee and pine greets me as I step into the back office, a small comfort amidst the chaos in my mind.
Jenny is at the front desk, her cheerful “Good morning!” bouncing through the space. I wave halfheartedly, too preoccupied to muster a reply.
Jenny has been nothing but a surprise. She picked up everything better than I could have ever imagined, and the last two and a half months have been a blur. Jenny has stepped into my life and put her stamp on everything. The regulars love her like she’s everyone’s granddaughter, not just Henry’s. I never would have thought that my favorite regular would have been Jenny’s family.
Henry has gone through so much with the loss of his wife and now losing his home. Not too long ago, I told Jenny, “It was so kind of you to put your dreams on hold to help your grandfather.”
“Well,” she said, wiping down the glass of a display case, “it was the least I could do, to be there for him. He gave up his retirement to help raise me after my parents left me on my grandparents’ doorstep and never looked back.”
“I had no idea he raised you,” I said. “I’m so sorry your parents did that to you.”
Jenny had nodded. “I wouldn’t be who I am today without my grandpa Henry’s and grandma Cora’s love and support. They are everything to me.”
Her voice had been so resolute, so full of love and gratitude. The memory stirs something in me, momentarily cutting through the fog in my brain. Now, I look around at how this place has changed over the past few months. Where previously there were bills and mail piled up, there are now neat stacks of organized papers with little pink post-it notes, reminding me when something is due or what I need to focus on.
A faint, citrusy scent of a cleaner lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the usual musty smell of the office. The boxes of extra supplies that once threatened to topple over are gone, neatly stored in the reorganized supply closet. Though it’s still not showroom tidy, Jenny has created her own system. If you asked her for a Tanago hook or seven J-hooks, she’d flash you a confident grin and have them in your hands before you could finish asking.
Not only has my office received an overhaul, but the entire store practically sparkles. The items in the store have been moved into new locations and the customers are commenting on how much easier it is to find things.
I sit down at my desk and lean back. It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve felt like I wasn’t drowning in paperwork. I can finally enjoy my work without the administrative chaos hanging over me.
Well, except for the bigger anchor pulling me down. That clause may just be the death of me.
A soft knock on the door snaps me back to the present. Jenny stands in the doorway, her blonde ponytail slightly askew, concern flickering in her sapphire eyes. “Hey, boss. You okay? You didn’t seem yourself this morning.”
I want to brush her off, but the genuine worry in her voice gives me pause. “I’m fine,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I hesitate, then sigh. “No. Not really.”
Jenny steps inside my office, sinking into the chair opposite me. “Alright, spill. What’s got you so grumpy?”
“It’s complicated,” I admit. “You ever have a problem that you couldn’t solve but you keep trying to think of a way to make it work? But then you remember that, oh yeah, you’re super busy and don’t have time to worry about things like that so you put it off. Only to be reminded that you still have a problem you need to solve?” Taking off my baseball cap, I run a hand through my hair before putting it back on.
“Every day,” Jenny says. “But I like solving problems. Why don’t you tell me, and maybe I can help?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I doubt that.”
Her posture stiffens slightly, and I curse my thoughtlessness. “Not because you couldn’t help,” I clarify quickly. “It’s just . . . delicate.”
Jenny’s gaze softens. “Well, Grandma Cora always said that keeping things in would darken your perspective on life and letting things out could open up a rainbow of opportunities. So just try me. For now, I’m not your employee—I’m your friend.”
I nod, a subtle wave of weariness washing over me. She sounds just like Henry sometimes—calm, steady, and always knowing how to coax a confession out of me. There’s an odd comfort in that, a familiarity that loosens the knot in my chest just enough to make talking feel possible.
Jenny sits across from me, her hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair, fingers tapping softly in a rhythmic, absent-minded way. She tilts her head slightly, her ponytail swaying as she waits patiently. There’s no pressure in her gaze, just quiet encouragement, like she’s saying: It’s okay. Take your time, because I’m here for you.
“Well,” I begin hesitantly, my voice carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights. “I love this marina. You know that.”
She nods, her expression open, her eyes steady on mine.
“And I had hoped that one day the marina ownership could pass on to me from my grandfather,” I continue, my words tinged with both pride and resignation.
Jenny’s brows knit together slightly. “I thought your parents owned the marina?”
“No.” I shake my head, the familiar frustration bubbling to the surface. “My grandfather owns it. But now he’s ready to pass the ownership on to me.”
Her confusion deepens as she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “I see. And this is . . . a bad thing?” Her genuine curiosity is almost enough to make me smile.
“No,” I say quickly, exhaling a sharp breath. “It’s what’s in the ownership contract that’s the problem.” I pause, rubbing the back of my neck as the words form, heavy on my tongue. “There is a marriage clause. It says the new owner has to be married when the ownership is transferred. If they’re not, they forfeit the right to own the marina, and it opens up to married family members that are interested in owning it.”
Jenny’s lips part in surprise, her eyes widening as she processes the information. “And marriage isn’t a possibility for you?” she asks. “I mean in the near future?”
“Not really,” I say.
“So, no girlfriend?” she asks.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, sharp and bitter. “Nope. Not unless you count the marina. I’ve given my whole life to this place. I don’t want to lose it, but this clause is . . .” I trail off, shaking my head as words fail me. “It’s causing me so many issues.”
“I see how that could be a problem,” she says softly. There’s no judgment in her tone, only understanding, and the compassion in her gaze feels like a lifeline I hadn’t known I needed.
“Yeah,” I mutter, running a hand down my face. “And apparently my relatives are now vying for the ownership rights. My grandfather wants to hold out as long as he can, but his health hasn’t been great lately. He needs to pass on the marina sooner rather than later. And between him and my parents constantly asking about my relationship status and my extended family wanting to take over the marina, it’s been a lot.” I sigh heavily, the weight in my chest pressing down harder. “Anyway,” I say, my voice quieter now, “thank you for listening. Your grandma was right. I feel a little better now that I’ve let some of this frustration out.”
Jenny’s smile is warm, softening the edges of her features. “Well, I’m happy I could help, even just a little. I know this is a lot to carry, but don’t let it weigh you down completely. Things always have a way of working out in the end.”
Her words linger in the air like a soothing balm, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. “Thank you, Jenny,” I say sincerely, watching as she stands and heads toward the door.
She glances back, her ponytail swinging with the motion. “Anytime,” she says, her voice light but steady, as if to remind me that she means it.
As the door closes behind her, the room feels quieter, heavier somehow. I lean back in my chair, my fingers brushing absentmindedly over the edge of the desk. If only she could solve the one problem I can’t seem to fix.
The following week, I sit in my office, not feeling much better about my predicament. Jenny’s voice carries from the front desk. “I’ll be right with you,” she says. Her voice is warm and melodic, tinged with a professional politeness that somehow still feels genuine.
I get up from my desk chair and head out to see if I can help. She’s at the counter, the cabin reservation book open in front of her. The pencil in her mouth bobs slightly as she jots something down with another pen she’s retrieved from her ponytail. A small streak of graphite marks her cheek. She glances up as I approach, mouthing a quick “thank you,” her sapphire-blue eyes sparkling.
Jenny truly fits in here.
My feet falter as I spot my mother standing in front of the newly displayed painting on the wall. Jenny finished it last week, a tranquil depiction of the lake at dawn with ducks gliding through a thin veil of mist. I insisted she hang it up, and the customers have already been complimenting it endlessly.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, stepping toward her. “Anything I can help you with this morning?”
“What? A mother can’t come and see her son for no reason at all?” She raises an eyebrow, her tone light but her expression lined with concern.
“She can, as long as she doesn’t ask about my relationship status again. It hasn’t been that long since we talked about it at Sunday dinner.”
“Well, yes,” she says, “but your father is worried, and so is your grandfather . . .” She trails off, the familiar worry creeping into her voice.
“Mom, I told you I’d get back to you as soon as I have something figured out.”
“But, Trenton, you know we need to have something to tell the extended family. Soon.”
“I’m aware, Mom,” I say, my gaze wandering to where Jenny is now organizing fishing lures with practiced efficiency. Her blonde hair bounces lightly as she moves, catching the morning light streaming through the windows.
“Trenton, are you even listening to me?” Mom asks, a harried look on her face.
“Sorry, Mom. I got distracted by—”
“Mrs. Hughes!” Jenny’s cheerful voice cuts in as she seamlessly materializes beside me. “It’s so wonderful of you to stop in today! How are your spinach plants coming along?”
“They . . . they . . .” My mom’s voice falters at the abrupt change in conversation. “They are doing better than I expected actually, I’ve got more than I know what to do with.”
“If you have some to spare,” Jenny continues, “I’d love to take some off your hands. I have the perfect spinach dip recipe, and as you know, I’ve been learning how to bake bread with Holly. Pairing the two would be so delicious.”
“Well then,” my mom says, a smile spreading across her face, “I will pick some and bring them by for you the next time I’m heading over.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, I’ll be sure to make you a batch,” Jenny says. Then she leans into me and loops her arm through mine as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Shock flickers across my mother’s face, and I’m so stunned myself that I can’t even muster a laugh at her expression.
“Trent,” Jenny says, turning her bright eyes on me and stopping my thoughts mid-track. “I know we were going to wait until Sunday dinner next week, but I got so excited when your mom popped in that I figured, what the heck, why don’t we tell her now?”
“W-why don’t we tell her . . .” I echo dumbly, trying to piece together what’s happening. What is Jenny getting at?
“Yes, Trenton?” My mom says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You have something to tell me?”
“Oh, er . . .yeah . . .” I look down at Jenny, and she shifts her hands around my arm. “We . . . wanted to wait . . .”
“Wait for what, dear?” My mom asks, her lips curving into an eager smile as she looks at Jenny nestled into my side.
“To tell you . . .”
“We’re engaged!” Jenny announces brightly. She rests her head on my arm, sending an electric jolt through me.
My mother’s eyes widen before she breaks into a grin that could rival the sun. “Trenton! How dare you not even tell me you were dating someone! And now you’re engaged to boot! Oh, I can’t wait to tell your father. He’ll be over the moon! Your grandfather too. And here you had me thinking that there was no hope for you taking over the marina.”
“Surprise,” I say weakly, forcing a grin. I’m trying to piece together everything that is happening, but my brain is currently working slower than molasses.
Well, if you can’t beat them, better join them. I plaster a grin on my face and press a kiss to the top of Jenny’s head for good measure. Her hair is warm under my lips, smelling faintly of lavender and sunshine. My mom nearly swoons, her hand fluttering to her chest like she’s just watched the most romantic scene in a movie.
“Oh, Trenton,” my mom exclaims. “I always knew you’d find someone! I can’t believe you kept this from me, you little rascal! Even with my pestering—it was all for naught!” She embraces Jenny and me. “You’re engaged,” she says excitedly, then glances at Jenny’s hand. “Well, let me see it.”
“See what?” I ask, still trying to fully catch up.
“The ring, obviously,” my mom says, placing her hands on her hips.
“Um . . .” I start, but Jenny effortlessly cuts in.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hughes, we had to get it resized. Trent didn’t want to spoil the proposal by asking for my ring size, so he guessed. He ended up getting a size too big.”
My mom pulls Jenny out of my arms and into a hug that’s as tight as a fisherman’s line when he’s reeling in his biggest catch. The moment Jenny is pulled away, I feel an odd pang of loss, as though some invisible tether has been momentarily severed.
Strange. Wonder what that’s about?
“Oh, don’t worry about it at all!” Mom says. “Getting the wrong size happens all the time. Oh! Jenny, dear, you must come for Sunday dinner. I’ll invite our friends, and we’ll make an engagement party out of the whole thing!”
Jenny pulls back slightly, her cheeks faintly pink, though my mom still has her hands clasped tightly. “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Hughes,” Jenny says, her voice warm and genuine.
“This is the best news!” Mom exclaims, her smile widening. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. Not that Trenton isn’t the perfect son, but there’s something special between a mom and her daughter, don’t you think?”
Jenny hesitates, her gaze dropping to where my mom’s hands hold hers. “Oh, um, my parents weren’t around much when I was little, so I wouldn’t know much about the mother-daughter relationship.”
“Well,” my mom says, “don’t worry about that. We’ll start here with the two of us.” My mom wraps her in another hug, swaying slightly. Jenny stiffens for a fraction of a second before melting into it, her arms circling Mom’s back.
“No worries, Jenny,” Mom says, her voice tinged with emotion. “We’ll be two peas in a pod, the two of us!”
From where I stand, I catch the glimmer of unshed tears in Jenny’s eyes before she quickly brushes them away with a blink and a bright smile. Jenny shifts her gaze to the register. “Oh! Mr. Newman is here for his bait. I’d better go help him.” She releases my mom and heads back toward the shop. “I’m looking forward to Sunday!” she calls out.
Jenny waves to both of us before hurrying behind the counter, her ponytail bouncing as she scoops up a big bucket of worms for Mr. Newman. The older man tips his hat to her, a pleased grin spreading across his weathered face as she chats easily with him. The sight of her smile is like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky, and for a moment, I forget the chaos swirling around me.
“Trenton, dear,” Mom says, pulling my focus back. “I can’t believe you’re engaged. I need to know all the details.” Her face is alight with maternal curiosity and uncontainable joy.
I glance at my watch, thankful for the steady flow of regulars keeping me busy. “Sorry, Mom, it’ll have to wait for Sunday dinner. I have to go help out the guys. We don’t want a bunch of cranky fishermen who can’t get out on the water.”
Mom, having worked at the marina for decades, understands and waves me off. “Of course not! But we have a lot of talking to do—and a wedding to plan!”
“Sure thing, Mom.” I lean in to kiss her cheek, her familiar floral perfume tickling my nose. “See you Sunday!”
With a wave, I grab my key ring off the board and head out to the docks. The air is crisp and smells faintly of lake water and freshly cut wood. The gentle lap of waves against the boats fills the silence as I take a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts.
I don’t know what just happened. What was Jenny thinking telling my mom we’re engaged? She has no idea what she’s just gotten herself into. Because now that Mom has the thought of marriage in her head, there’s little that can be done to get it out. And now I’ll have to come up with some way to explain that it was all a joke. And if Jenny wasn’t trying to be comical, then why did she say we were engaged?
My brain whirls as I move from one boat to another, helping each person with their rentals. The usual banter with the regulars goes right over my head. My words are automatic, my thoughts elsewhere.
The weight of the morning presses down on me, and just as I’m about to attempt sorting through it, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a message flash across the screen.
Greg: Man, have I got a story for you. You’ll never guess what I heard.
Another ping.
Gwen: You’re engaged? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?
And another.
Niall: Hey mate, seems like someone’s been holding out at game nights. Let’s all get together tonight and you can fill us in on your fiancée.
And another.
Holly: Do you already have a baker for the wedding? If not, I’m doing your cake on the house. Just say the word.
Ping after ping lights up my phone, a relentless flurry of messages from friends and family. I swipe to silence it, but then turn it off entirely. Yep, Mom’s already telling everyone about my supposed engagement.
I really need to talk to Jenny.