Chapter 29 Wrenley #2
I look down and shake my head. God, saying it out loud makes me sound like a horrible person.
Why? Remi asks.
Because I’m talking like my career matters more than a person.
No, Remi says immediately. You’re talking like you have one life and you’re trying to figure out how to live it. Those aren’t the same thing.
Tears prick my eyes. You say that, but I have to factor other people into this.
You’ve sacrificed time and money to get me here.
Ruger’s fed me a concerning amount of weird meat.
This entire town is throwing me a wedding.
I gesture helplessly toward the tray between us.
Look at these samples. They’re beautiful, and they’re not even the whole cake.
I take a sample and shove it in my mouth, and the taste of passion fruit and coconut explodes across my tongue.
Oh my God, this is so good, I say around the cake and then bury my face in my hands as tears start to fall.
Remi’s warm hand grabs mine, pulling it away from my face, and she looks at me. Fuck all of us.
I swallow. What?
Seriously, Remi says. Fuck all of us.
I stare at her.
Do you think I spend my days worrying about whether every decision I make is best for everyone around me?
No. Because if I did, I’d never get anything done.
I’d never write a book. I’d never sell a TV show.
I’d never leave Alpine Harbor. I’d just sit around, trying to make everyone else happy, which sounds exhausting.
My throat tightens.
Wrenley, there is nothing noble about setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm, she says.
You don’t owe me a future because I bought you a plane ticket.
You don’t owe Ruger a future because he fed you moose.
And you definitely don’t owe this town your indefinite residency because they’re throwing you a wedding.
She squeezes my hand. Your future isn’t a debt that needs to be repaid.
It’s yours. The only question you need to answer is which life feels right when you strip away all the guilt and all the obligations and all the people you’re terrified of disappointing.
Everything Remi is saying is exactly what I’d tell her if our positions were reversed.
I’d tell her to make the choice that makes her feel the most fulfilled and remind her that anyone who truly cared about her would want her to chase the things that mattered most. I just can’t seem to apply any of that wisdom to myself.
It all sounds so simple when it’s happening to someone else, but when I picture my own future, every path seems impossible.
You should tell Ruger, though, she says.
My heart speeds up.
Of all the advice she’s given me, that wasn’t the one I wanted, even though I know she’s right.
I know he can’t help you make the decision, she continues, but he should know that circumstances have changed. You have to be honest with the people you love.
I shake my head, completely thrown. I never said I love him.
Remi scoffs. Please. If you didn’t, this would be a hell of a lot easier of a choice.
Oh my God. She’s right.
If Ruger were just a guy I was sleeping with, I’d already be on a plane. If he were a fling or a pleasant distraction from the disaster my life used to be, I wouldn’t be sitting in a bakery, crying into passion fruit cake.
I’m in love with Ruger Seale.
Are you okay about…
You and my brother? Remi asks.
I nod.
She leans back in her chair and lets out a slow breath. I mean, I still have a little PTSD from the last time he dated one of my friends, she admits. But you aren’t Aurora.
I feel a smile tug at my lips.
You’re Wrenley, and you’ve proven that you fight for the things that matter to you, she continues. At the end of the day, what I think is meaningless. You two have to figure out what makes you happy.
What you think is not meaningless, I say. I take everything you say into consideration.
The smile she gives me is soft and familiar.
Then, without another word, we both lean across the table.
Neither of us seems particularly concerned about the tiny cakes scattered between us or the fact that icing is almost certainly ending up on our shirts as we pull each other into a hug.
I’m too busy being grateful for this woman, who makes sure I never feel alone.
When we pull apart, Remi looks at her watch. Oh shit. I’ve got a meeting. We barely tried any cake.
The passion fruit one made me cry.
She laughs. We can go with that.
But what if we don’t need a cake?
Remi doesn’t even hesitate. Oh, whether there’s a wedding or you move, I’m going to need cake.
I laugh as we stand.
Soup! Remi calls.
The baker appears from the back and looks at us. Yep.
We need a box. Remi gestures to the collection of half-eaten cake samples. And we’re going to go with the passion fruit cake.
There’s a brief pause, then, Yep.
He grabs a flat pink box and assembles it with practiced efficiency, then carefully transfers the remaining cake samples inside.
Then he pulls out a small notepad and listens while Remi rattles off cake sizes, pickup dates, and any other detail that seems important to the cake.
Soup writes everything down, occasionally nodding and offering his signature yep to the conversation.
Outside, Remi and I hug one more time before heading in opposite directions.
I still have no idea what my future looks like.
I don’t know if I’m staying in Alaska or moving to Los Angeles.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to Ruger or whether I’ll feel any more certain tomorrow than I do today.
But as I look over my shoulder and see Remi climbing into her truck, I realize there is one thing I know for sure.
No matter what happens next, I’ll still have her.