Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Zander
Ishould not be this anxious to be in town, not when I’m here weekly visiting Gran, and more since Addie and I have started dating. But wow, do I feel like I’m going to shit my pants.
Beaver Creek has outdone itself. Which is actually a bit of a difficult task.
The town takes holidays seriously, and every time I think I’ve seen the most decked out version of it, the town council plans something even better.
The Canada Day Festival held in the park is impressive.
The first thing I see is Beverly the Beaver with a giant maple leaf hat on her head.
A pennant garland of Canadian flags is draped around the base of the statue.
She’s a welcoming face as I step onto the festival grounds.
I missed the parade that opens the festival after my publicist called to talk scheduling for more events later this summer.
It seems my launch event next week is not enough.
I kept trying to get off the phone, but eventually realized aside from rudely hanging up on her, I was going to be there for a while.
I texted Addie my apologies and we made new plans to meet in the park.
Zander
I’m here. By Beverly. Let me know where I should go
Addie’s reply comes back instantly, like she’d been waiting for me. It brings a smile to my lips.
Addie
Near the BeaverTails stand! I’m the one wearing red
Ah, yes, perfect identifier on a day when no one else is wearing red.
I huff out a laugh as I pass through the inflatable archway welcoming residents to Beaver Creek’s Canada Day Festival.
I do that awkward jog as I accidentally pass in front of a woman holding a camera.
She takes photos of her two children next to the stereotypical Canadian symbols printed on the bottom of the arch.
The mom laughs and waves me off as I apologize.
I walk further, wishing the town council had gone one level higher than this and handed out maps.
The park is full of midway games, fair rides, food stalls, and even a stage down by the pond.
Everyone rushes around me and the queasy feeling returns.
There’s too many people here and I’m sure some of them know me and it’s only a matter of time before someone tells me to get the fuck out.
I take a long sip from the sticker covered water bottle Addie shoved at me the last time I saw her, yet another spot of colour in my grey world.
I don’t know if the cold water sliding down my throat calms me, or the thought of Addie, but I’m able to walk further into the park. My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Addie
Look right
I do and realize I’m directly in front of the BeaverTails stall. There’s a long line of patrons hungry for the cinnamon sugar dessert, and just beyond them: Addie.
I find her hair first, then her radiant smile, then the plaid minidress that clings to her curves.
I shimmy through the line, mumbling strings of excuse mes and sorries until I’m in front of my girl.
There’s nothing else in the world but her and the heart-shaped pockets over top of her hips.
She leans up and kisses me. I taste cinnamon on her lips, somehow still painted a bold red.
Only when I pull back do I realize we’re not alone.
Two older men hover next to her, one with the same freckled skin and dark blue eyes as Addie and the other with deep brown skin and a combover.
A couple about the same age as me and Addie stand next to them.
Everyone’s holding their version of a BeaverTail, decked out with cookies, hazelnut spread, or drizzled caramel.
Addie hands me a half-eaten pastry in its crinkly brown packaging.
“Wasn’t sure how you like yours so I just got the classic cinnamon sugar,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ve never actually had one.”
“Did I just hear you say you’ve never had a BeaverTail?” the woman with coily brown hair asks. She disentangles herself from the man in a Montreal Canadiens ball cap next to her and opens her arms to hug me. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. Or, at least, not in a while. I’m Tabitha.”
I lean into the hug, one armed, and pull back as soon as she does. “You’re Addie’s best friend.”
“Oh, hell yeah, I have a title.”
“You do,” I say with a laugh and what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Oh, I’m Zander.”
Tabitha rolls her eyes and taps my shoulder like we’re old friends. “I know. You’re a new piece of my best friend’s heart. Trust me, I know all about you.”
I can’t tell if that’s reassuring or threatening.
It’s said in kind, her full lips stretched in a toothy grin.
There’s no sign of malice and her eyes twinkle like she’s genuinely happy for the redheaded woman who’s currently affixed herself to my side.
But I know all about you has never been directed my way without another shoe dropping.
“Oh, shoot,” Addie says with a giggle. Her cheeks are red, body hot. “I’m skirting my duties. Zander, these are some really cool people in my life. You just met Tabs, and this is her husband Simon.”
Simon looks up from his BeaverTail, one covered in poutine. He dangles a French fry drenched in gravy from a fork. I have never seen something more Canadian.
“Hey, man.” Simon waves his fork my way. A crease forms between his brows, before recognition lights up his eyes behind his thick glasses. “Zander! We went to school together!”
My body tenses, but I still lean in for the bro handshake he gives me. It’s awkward, with our hands full of food and an audience of virtual strangers to me, but I make it through.
“How’ve you been? You’re an author now, right? Or, uh, that’s what Tabby tells me.”
I swallow and nod. “Yeah, that’s how I met Addie. We were both at the local author fair here last month.”
“Oh, yes!” Addie joins in, directing my attention to the man on Tabitha’s other side. His bushy moustache twitches as he smiles. “You can actually thank Mr. Larkin—er, Gregory—for me being late that day.”
“As I recall, I saved your ass that day.”
Addie laughs and the sound makes me smile. “Alright, alright. Fine. You did drive Ben away.”
“Ben?” Tabitha nearly screeches. She latches onto Simon’s arm as they delight in some inside joke. “That beaver’s still bothering you??”
“Regrettably,” Gregory says with a grimace, then nods my way. “Zander.”
“And this is my dad,” Addie says, squeezing my arm as she turns to the man who looks so much like her, aside from the anger radiating off him in waves.
I shoot a hesitant grin his way and hold out my hand, ready to shake. He just stares. After a few awkward beats of a minute, I take my hand back and rub the back of my neck.
Okay.
Well, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
What do I do now?
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Ramsay,” I say, the words coming out in a rush.
“Dad,” Addie says. Her eyes are wide, yet somehow menacing. She huffs out a sigh and unloops her arm from mine. “At least say hi, please.”
“Hello,” comes Mr. Ramsay’s gruff voice. “I should talk to Wayne.”
He excuses himself and I’m left staring at the back of his faded red shirt.
My stomach knots itself and the urge to shit my pants returns.
Addie’s friends start up a conversation again, but I don’t hear it.
The roar of festival goers and lack of Adelaide on my arm leaves me unmoored.
I look at the half-eaten pastry in my hand.
It’s cold now. It’s what I deserve, I guess.
I bring it up to my lips. Addie’s lipstick stains the edge, where she’s taken little nibbles, like a chipmunk. This discovery is comforting, or it should be. It doesn’t quite light me up as it should.
“Do you want one as well?” Addie asks.
“Sorry, what was that?” I reply.
“Tabitha and I were going to go get a duck from the stand over there,” she says, pointing to a vendor selling nothing but rubber ducks in funky outfits.
I manage a smile. “Surprise me.”
She salutes me, then heads off with her friend.
It leaves me and Simon. I knew him, once upon a time.
I can picture him younger, less experienced.
We weren’t in the same grade, but we had similar, nerdy interests.
So many of my memories from that time are blocked out, but I still try to reach for one.
“Did you—We were on the school paper together for a bit, weren’t we?”
Simon shoves the last of his poutine in his mouth right as I ask the question. His cheeks puff out and he covers himself with a hand. After vigorously chewing, he nods.
“Yeah, though we first met on that school trip in grade seven, or grade eight, for you. The two upper grades went camping. I invited you to my birthday party that fall.”
I don’t remember going, but I play along like I do.
I take bites of the BeaverTail, while Simon reminisces on a shared past that I can’t touch.
It’s really unfortunate, it actually hurts quite a bit, because Simon’s a good guy.
I like him. But I can hardly tell you anything about our former friendship.
“Oh, hey!” Simon says, mid-conversation. I ball the brown paper wrapper in my hand as Simon calls someone over. “Wendy!”
With a name like Wendy, I’m expecting someone young and bouncy, or maybe someone with red braids and a plaid dress.
What I don’t expect is the broad-shouldered woman with pronounced smile lines and feathery bangs streaked with grey, yet another person from my past. Why that should be a surprise in this town, I don’t know.
“Simon!” Wendy DaRosa, my former English teacher, jogs over to Simon and gives him a hug. “How’s your mom doing? How’s Tabitha? Who’s your friend?”
I always loved her enthusiasm, her rapid-fire questions. She never asked performatively, she genuinely wanted to know.
When she turns my way, she freezes. And, fuck me, there’s only so many times someone can give me this look today before I call it quits. I close my fist around the balled up wrapper, squishing it further.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy says. She reaches out to me, cheeks pale like she’s seen a ghost. “Zander Olson?”
I wrinkle my nose at the name, but still manage a smile. She. Remembers. Me.
“It’s actually Browning now,” I say. “But, yes, it’s me.”
“Browning, of course. That makes complete sense.” Suddenly, I’m in her arms and flashback to a moment, at fifteen, when she caught me on the verge of a panic attack and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I inhale sharply and she pulls back. She takes my hands instead. “It is so nice to see you.”
“It’s great to see you, too,” I say and find myself grinning, fully lighting up for this woman who believed in me. “I was just saying to Addie that I’d need to find you and thank you.”
“Thank me? Oh, honey, why?”
“You, uh, I can probably thank you for my career. You were the first person who told me I was a good writer and you put me on the paper. That meant a lot to me back then.” I pause, then let out a breathy laugh. “It still means a lot to me.”
Wendy’s eyes shine. She runs her index finger along her waterline and removes any evidence of tears. The crow’s feet next to her eyes deepen as she grins at me.
“Thank you for that. I still wholeheartedly believe what I said. I’ve read every one of your books. You just keep getting better.”
I swallow back my own emotion and mutter out a lame, “Thank you.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Shit.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry. Don’t—
“Zander!” It’s Tabitha’s voice. There’s a frantic edge to it that shoots panic through my entire body. “You need to take Addie home.”
I shake my head and blink, trying to get a hold on the situation. “What’s going on?”
Addie is not with Tabitha. Tabitha stands in front of me, eyebrows arched in worry, a hand on my wrist. I search the crowd for my sunshine and find her slumped against the side of the duck stall.
“I think she has heat exhaustion. She has a bad sunburn and started talking about being dizzy.”
“Shit,” I say. She was sweating like we were in an oven when she was on my arm, but part of me just thought she was nervous about her dad’s reaction to me. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll text you when we’re at her place.”