Chapter 3 Wrenley #5
A woman in her seventies approaches from the trail, her long grey braid draped over one shoulder.
Her face is deeply lined, not just with age, but with the kind of life that lived close to the land.
She is dressed in layers—quilted vest over a worn flannel shirt, beaded earrings catching the morning sun.
Beryl!
She grins widely, revealing deep laugh lines and a few missing teeth, and Ruger engulfs her in a hug.
I didn’t know you were coming out of the bush, she says into his shirt.
I had good reason, he says as Beryl’s attention turns to Remi.
Hi, sweetie, Beryl says, taking Remi’s hands into hers and squeezing. Then her eyes land on me.
You must be the ‘good reason.’ I heard some things on my walk this morning.
Bonnie strikes again.
I awkwardly extend my left hand, mostly because Ruger’s already claimed my right. I’m Wrenley.
Beryl takes my hand warmly, but her gaze immediately drops to my bare ring finger.
Uh-oh.
A fiancée with no ring?
Ruger answers before I can panic. Custom order, he says easily. Wrenley’s picky about jewelry.
I work in fashion, I blurt out. I have opinions about craftsmanship.
Beryl’s face brightens. Good for you. Don’t settle for ugly jewelry just because a man picked it.
I would never, I say, and that’s mostly true.
My dream engagement scenario was picking out my own ring in a jewelry store while sipping champagne.
Though, in hindsight, that probably had something to do with the fact that I didn’t trust Captain Skinny-Dick to pick one for me.
That should’ve been warning sign number three hundred and seventy-two that I was in the wrong relationship, but apparently, my favourite colour is red.
Now, though, there’s a small part of me that hopes someday, someone just knows me well enough to choose something so perfectly me that I wouldn’t have picked anything else.
But there’s no point in thinking about something that is so far in the future. It might never happen.
Where are you from, dear? Beryl asks, breaking me of my thoughts.
Vancouver.
Beautiful city. Beryl nods. I went there on a cruise.
I blink hard, trying not to cry. Home aches a little right now.
This all sounded exciting when my life imploded in on itself, but living it feels a little different than I expected.
I figured I’d come in, get married, and move on.
I definitely didn’t think that on day one, I’d not only become the talk of the town, but I’d also have to deal with Ruger’s hands on me and that they’d make me feel some kind of way.
Of course, staying in Vancouver would’ve meant slowly suffocating in a city that no longer has room for me.
Terrifying as this all is, at least Alaska feels like the beginning of a future, with the added bonus of my best friend.
It’s a special place, I say.
Well, Beryl says, looking between the three of us. I best be off. I’m very excited about your wedding.
Remi gives me an I told you so look.
Do you have a date set?
Oh, uh— Remi starts.
No matter. I can get that information from Bonnie, Beryl says. I like to be involved in some way in all the town weddings. I never got my own, you know. She sighs wistfully, then smiles at me and Ruger. I was wondering what colours are being used for the wedding.
There’s a weird half beat of silence, and I feel the urge to fill it.
Dusty rose! I blurt.
Ruger must have had the same idea because at the same time, he says, Yellow.
Dusty rose and yellow, Remi slides in smoothly.
Together? Beryl’s face wrinkles with polite confusion.
I look at an unconvinced Beryl, then at Remi, who is keeping her face even, but I see a note of worry in her eyes. She doesn’t know what to say, and this is my place to shine.
More of a gold, really, I say quickly. With sage accents.
Beryl smiles. Well, that sounds lovely. I hope to see you around town, Wrenley.
As soon as she’s out of sight, Remi turns on her brother. Yellow?
Ruger looks defensive immediately. I like the colour.
Okay, but a yellow wedding? Remi asks. I’d look terrible in yellow.
I didn’t realize my wedding was all about you.
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh into my coffee.
Remi points at me. Don’t encourage him.
I’m sorry, I say, absolutely not sorry. I’ve just never experienced anything like this. That’s two people heavily invested in a wedding we weren’t even planning to have.
And now, apparently, have to, Ruger says, then drags a hand down his face. I shouldn’t be surprised we can’t quietly get married and move on with our lives, but now we have wedding colours?
Nice save, by the way, Remi tells me.
I shrug. Taking a million courses on colour theory really helps in moments like these.
Silence settles over us as we watch the waves on the ocean. Then Remi starts laughing, and for some reason, I join her.
Ruger looks between us. What are you two laughing about?
This whole thing, Remi says. It’s so absurd it’s… funny.
Ruger shakes his head, but I catch the edge of a smile pulling at his mouth.
And as I sit between the Seale twins, watching them bicker about whether this is funny or deeply inconvenient, I realize it doesn’t feel like me dragging people into my disaster anymore.
It feels like we’re all in this together.