Chapter 12 Wrenley
Wrenley
I look at my phone and try to push down the ridiculous ache blooming in my chest.
Hey Wren.
I’m going to go camping tonight.
I’ve never had a burning desire to go camping. The idea of bugs, bears, freezing my ass off in a tent, and no access to hot water gives me a full-body itch. But Ruger out in the woods, all alone? Ruger away from me?
I hate it more than I want to admit.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. He hasn’t responded since I said, Be safe.
What I really wanted to say was, Don’t go.
But he doesn’t owe me anything. If getting away for a night is what he wants, I can’t hold him back from that.
I’m already asking so much of him with this fake engagement.
I can’t ask him for more. So instead, I press the side button and tuck my phone face down on the worktable.
You okay?
I blink and look up to see Audrey standing across from me, her brow creased, a shirt draped over her arm.
Yeah, of course, I lie. My voice sounds too bright, like someone trying to sell a used car they know has no brakes.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it either.
I clear my throat. Whatcha got there?
She just holds out the shirt. I’ve got another piece from the school. Some of the buttonholes need to be redone.
I take the garment from her, fingers already assessing the damage before it’s even fully in my hands.
I examine the loose threads and blown-out holes.
The fabric is thin, the grain warped from repeated washings and whatever school-play chaos it’s already endured.
The topstitching is crooked, like it was sewed in a rush with too much foot pressure and a dull needle.
I run my fingertips over the buttonholes.
Some are torn; others sag open like yawning mouths.
I give a half smile. This poor shirt’s seen some things.
Audrey laughs lightly. High school boys. It’s a miracle there isn’t more damage.
I reach for my tailor’s chalk and make a few light marks where I’ll reinforce and recut holes.
I then fold the shirt neatly and set it on top of my growing mountain of projects.
I don’t mind the work. It gives me the chance to get lost and not think about everything else that’s going on.
If anything, I wish the pile were high enough that I could just lose myself in work until my green card comes.
Audrey tilts her head, watching me. You sure you’re okay?
I feel something inside me pull taut, like thread caught in a tension disc, one tug away from snapping.
I want to talk about it. I want to say, No. I’m not. I’m a mess because my fake fiancé is living rent-free in my head. And he’s going to the woods. Alone. In the dark. With bears. But I can’t. I’m not supposed to feel this way.
I’m sure, I say, giving Audrey a smile that I hope reads as sincere. I point at my workstation. I got the rest from here. You can head out to the front if you want.
She gives me a long look but finally nods.
Okay, just let me know if you need anything.
I wait until her footsteps retreat down the hallway before I let my shoulders sag.
I look at the wool coat on my workstation.
It’s the same one Audrey was working on when I first came in here, only much further along now.
The lining of the wool coat is pinned and ready, the silk catching on the calluses at the tips of my fingers as I pull it into my lap.
I smooth it out and settle into my chair.
I start with the back panel, easing the lining into the opening where the sleeve will be attached with careful, even stitches.
My needle slides through the wool and silk with ease.
I let the rhythm of it settle me. In, pull.
Out, glide. In, pull. It’s easier to focus on the work than the ache that’s forming inside at the thought of going back to Ruger’s house and him being gone.
My stitch slips, and I mutter a soft curse. I tug the thread back, undoing the mistake and trying again. Here I am, wishing I could bury myself in work, and even the work isn’t enough to keep my mind off him.
I knot the end of the thread and start on the side seam, easing the line to meet the curve of the wool.
It puckers, just slightly, and I redo it again.
And again. I refuse to force it. It’ll never lie flat if it’s stretched into place.
That’s the thing with seams that are pulled too tight.
From a distance, they look passable, but up close you see the strain.
Maybe it’s the same with this fake engagement.
We’ve stretched the truth until it works, but all we’ve really done is add tension. At least on my side.
It’s becoming more apparent that I’m starting to feel differently toward Ruger.
Falling for him doesn’t just put my heart on the line.
It put my friendship with Remi there too.
If he doesn’t feel the same, every invitation to something he might attend will become an unspoken question of whether I should be there or not.
I never want her to feel like she has to choose between me and her brother because of what?
A silly little crush? Some unrequited attraction? I can’t do that to her. To us.
A few hours later, the coat is coming together, the lining taking shape. I knot the thread again and look at the time. It’s almost four. With a sigh, I set the coat aside and start tidying up my station.
By the time I make it to the front, Audrey’s already shrugging into her coat.
You ready to head to Remi’s? she asks, pulling a knit hat over her curls.
Yep, I say, pasting on my most convincing everything’s fine smile.
We can take my car, Audrey says, like there’s any other option than walking.
The drive is quiet. The sun hangs low, casting everything in gold.
Trees blur past the windows, their leaves yellow, edges tinged with amber.
Audrey hums along to the radio, but I’m too tangled in my own thoughts to join her.
Not for the first time today, I wonder if I’m making a mess I won’t know how to clean up after.
Remi’s house smells like roasted garlic and butter the second we walk through the door.
You’re late! she calls from the kitchen. Which means I’ve had extra time to make my legendary burgers even more legendary. You’re welcome.
Audrey raises a brow at me and mouths, Legendary?
I shrug like, You know how she is.
Remi appears in the archway with a spatula in one hand and her apron slightly askew. Her pale cheeks are pink from the heat of the kitchen, and her bangs are pressed to her forehead.
I swear, these are the best veggie burgers in the Pacific Northwest, possibly the entire galaxy, she announces. If Gordon Ramsay tried them, he’d cry. But I’m humble, so I won’t say it out loud.
You literally just said it, I deadpan as Audrey and I hang up our coats.
Remi grins. I know. I’m delightful.
She turns back to the kitchen, and we follow her in. The scent of caramelized onion, mushrooms, and whatever Remi has deemed secret spices fills the entire space.
Are you using chickpeas? Lentils? Audrey asks as she looks at the patties.
Black beans, Remi replies. I’ve perfected this recipe. Once I started adding in a little smoked paprika and a balsamic reduction, it really levelled up.
What happens when you hit max level? I ask.
Global domination, Remi replies breezily. Or my own cooking show. Whichever comes first.
Dinner is loud and full of laughter. I forgot how nice it can be to laugh with friends.
Adult friendships have always been elusive to me.
University made it easy. We all lived in the same world and saw each other every day.
Friendship felt as accidental as it did purposeful in those days.
Then graduation scattered us in different directions.
We promised to stay in touch, and we did for a while.
But marriages, children, and just life in general happened, and one by one, the messages became less frequent until they stopped altogether.
Kay is the only person from that chapter of my life who’s still in it.
After that, my social circle became Captain Skinny-Dick’s social circle. They were kind enough, but were they really mine? When that relationship ended, so did those friendships.
This feels different. It feels like two women who are happy to get to spend time with me because it’s me.
Along with the burgers, Remi made a salad with spinach, strawberries, candied pecans, and a lemon vinaigrette she made in a rush, but it’s delicious.
I’d never say it out loud, because Remi’s ego doesn’t need it, but her burgers might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.
Remi insists we toast the meal with pinot grigio because, You only live once, and I bought a whole case on sale.
So… Audrey says, leaning her elbows on the table once we’ve eaten our weight in veggie burger glory. How’s the wedding planning going?
I know she’s not trying to interrogate me, but my pulse picks up. It’s not surprising the subject came up; after all, everyone has said how excited they are for Ruger.
It’s going. We’re not exactly doing the big, splashy thing, I say, fiddling with the corner of my napkin. We’re keeping it simple.
Right, Remi jumps in. We were thinking the Cultural Center as the venue.
Beautiful location, Audrey says. Those massive windows in the banquet rooms. A million-dollar view.
The ocean with the mountains, Remi says. The colours are going to look amazing in there with the fall vibes outside.
Despite not knowing where this place is, I find myself picturing tall mountains rising up beyond the bay, glowing gold in the evening sun. Me walking down an aisle lined with smiling faces as I walk toward Ruger in a suit—camo, of course.
It all feels so beautiful and real and—
Wait! What the hell am I doing?
I cannot start romanticizing a fake marriage just because the venue sounds stunning and my brain insists Ruger would look damn fine in a suit.