Chapter 12 Wrenley #2
I wish it was an option when I got married, Audrey says, breaking me from my thoughts.
Where did you get married? I ask.
Anchorage, she says. That’s where my husband’s parents live, so it made sense for us.
I remember your wedding, Remi says. I hated the dress my mom made me wear, but I loved your chocolate station. I loved it so much I overindulged in it and threw up all down the front of my ugly dress when we got back to the hotel. I never had to wear it again.:
I make a face while Audrey laughs, then looks at me. Note for your wedding, no chocolate.
Noted.
Audrey looks at her watch. I better get going. She drains her wine. Thanks for dinner, Remi. See you tomorrow, Wren.
With a wave, Audrey is gone, leaving Remi and me alone. Remi reaches for the bottle of wine and tops up both of our glasses before settling back into her seat with a sigh.
I love having you here, she says warmly. This is so much better than video calls.
I agree.
We clink glasses, then sip.
I suppose we better get on reserving things, Remi says, pulling her phone out and typing into it. I think you can reserve the Cultural Center online now.
You say that like it’s a revolutionary feature.
Wren, half this town still pays bills with cheques, she says. We’re not exactly leading the technological revolution.
I laugh. Right. I forgot I moved to the edge of civilization.
Remi grins. Pretty much. She types into her phone again. There. I’ve booked it. And a tour closer to so that we can finalize things like the menu. I’m glad the date we needed was still open.
What else could possibly be happening that you can’t just book a room?
First Nations gatherings. Meetings. Yoga classes are done there. School events, she says. The Cultural Center gets used a lot more than you’d think.
I have to say, there is a part of me that feels a little surprised by how alive this small town is. It’s not busy and frantic the way a city is, but it’s got a steady heartbeat.
I’m absolutely putting the Cultural Center on my Pinterest board for your wedding.
I raise my brows. You have a Pinterest board for my wedding?
Obviously. You’re my best friend, she says. And this is becoming my Super Bowl. I don’t care if this is fake and we’re only doing this because Bonnie outed you two. I’m giving you a wedding my Pinterest board dreams of becoming.
My smile slips.
Whoa. I didn’t think me wanting you to have a beautiful wedding was a bad thing.
It’s not. I shake my head, trying to find the words. It’s just—
Nothing. I’ve got nothing to finish that sentence.
Wren… are you okay? Her brows crease with concern.
A million things crash through my mind. All the lies. How much I miss Ruger. How much I can’t tell her I miss Ruger.
Do you ever feel bad about lying to everyone? I ask quietly.
Remi thinks about it. Not really. I mean, who is it going to hurt to watch a wedding? We’ve all been to weddings that ended in divorce.
I lean closer and whisper despite no one else being around us. Beryl is making me flowers.
What?
She’s making me a bouquet of hand-sewn flowers.
Remi’s face softens. Oh my God, that’s so sweet.
Remi! She has arthritis. It’s probably incredibly painful for her!
Oh. Remi’s brows knit together. I hadn’t thought of that.
Well, we should. Who else is going to do something incredibly generous, thinking this is a real relationship?
Walter is officiating, she reminds me.
I drop my head to the table. Oh God!
It’s not that bad. It’s just some flowers and an officiant who has officiated plenty of weddings for couples who’ve since split, Remi tries to reassure me.
It doesn’t reassure me. It only makes me feel more guilty.
I turn my head so I’m looking at her. We are terrible people. We should just go to Anchorage, get married, come back, and be like… surprise! Sorry, we just couldn’t wait.
Technically, we could do that here, she says.
Could we? I ask. We couldn’t even get a marriage license quietly.
True.
I heave a sigh.
It’s going to be okay, she says gently. Remember why we’re doing this.
At one point, thinking of that might have helped a little.
Back when this was all theoretical and I hadn’t met and liked the people of Alpine Harbor.
I still want a chance to kick-start my career again, but now I’m finding myself questioning if the cost is getting too high.
I’m no longer just asking Ruger to fake marry me but unknowingly bringing a whole town into it.
I look at her across the table and see absolute belief in me shining in her eyes. It’s the same belief that was in her voice every time we talked about me coming here and gave me the push to make my life what I want it to be. Right now, it doesn’t quite feel like enough.
I just wish things were less complicated, I whisper.
Please cheer up, she says. I’d hate to think a Pinterest board would make you second-guess all we’re fighting for.
In an alternate universe where this wedding was real, all of this would feel sweet, exciting. Romantic even. Instead, everything feels tangled and messy in a way I didn’t plan for.
I’d been so focused on what I would get at the end of this, I failed to take the time to think about what would actually happen if real people started getting emotionally invested.
I feel trapped between wanting to tell everyone the truth before they get swept up in this fairy tale and protecting the three of us from the very real legal consequences attached to that truth.
My stomach twists, and I know nothing is getting solved tonight. The wedding isn’t even the only reason my brain feels scrambled.
I shake my head. You didn’t. It’s not just the wedding I’m—
I stop myself, trying to figure out how to explain something I don’t fully understand yet. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening inside my own head, and I certainly don’t know how to explain it to Remi.
Ruger went camping tonight, and the idea of being alone in his house feels… weird.
Well, why didn’t you say something sooner? Stay here! Remi says.
Really?
Yeah! It’ll be fun! Oh! I have these weird mint face masks I’ve been dying to try. Wait here.
Remi darts off, and I take another long drink of wine, wondering when my life became so damn complicated.
Got ’em! Remi announces, waving a couple of plastic-wrapped face masks in the air. Come on! Let’s throw on a bad rom-com and slap these on!
I smile and follow her into the living room. She piles blankets on the couch like we’re preparing for a blizzard instead of just watching a movie, then falls onto the couch with a dreamy sigh.
I love post-dinner couch lazing, she says.
I drop to the couch next to her. You have a really good couch for that.
She tosses me a fuzzy headband. For you.
I put it on, pushing my curls away from my face. Ready.
She hands me a plastic package, and then we apply the cold face masks and turn on a movie.
From the beginning, Remi points out all the inconsistencies that her editor would never let slide in her book.
It’s nice spending the evening with her.
At home, I’d be sitting on the couch, trying to untangle feelings that seem to knot themselves tighter every time I pull on them.
So, just for tonight, I’m going to let go of the lies, guilt, and whatever stupid fluttering my heart does every time I think of Ruger.