Chapter 5 Hudson
The winding Wyoming roads glimmer underneath a sky of shimmering stars, and the blue-hued horizon lines are the picture of peace, but I can’t appreciate any of it. Between flight delays, picking up my rental car, and my incessant need to check my phone, my anxiety is at an all-time high.
After watching Mira start a heated debate with other drunken patrons at Finn’s over Back to the Future Part III being the superior film in the franchise, I know she isn’t one to avoid conflict.
I’m certain that if she hated my guts, she’d tell me to fuck off before promptly blocking my number.
So, her going radio silent has me unsettled.
I try not to think about worst-case scenarios as I pull into the parking lot of the ranch, my headlights cutting across the dark abyss of the property announcing my arrival to everyone partying out on the lawn.
By the time I cut my engine, Katherine is already running down the path towards me. Her long brown hair is tied up in a loose knot at the base of her neck, and the pale pink dress she’s wearing clings to her body, billowing around her knees.
“Hudsy, you’re here!” she shouts, wrapping her arms around me; her breath pungent with the sweet scent of liquor.
“You don’t have to lay it on that thick,” I say, giving the group a wave and stepping out of her grasp.
“I’m just excited to see you,” she says, as if we didn’t see each other two days ago before she left. “Come on, let me show you to our room.”
I suppress my groan as she takes my hand and leads me down the path, past the main cabins, and towards the two-story barn at the far end of the property.
I knew that cohabitating goes hand in hand with the whole pretending-to-still-be-together thing, but now that the reality of it is dawning, my chest tightens.
We haven’t shared a bed in months, a fact my chiropractor keeps reminding me of—since my couch, as pricey as it is, is not suitable for long-term slumber.
And in my Mira-induced packing daze, I forgot to bring my sleeping bag.
We walk through the lobby of the barn, traveling down the hall until she stops in front of the last door on the left.
When she opens it, I’m elated to see that in addition to a queen-size bed there is also a set of wooden bunk beds.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I go to claim my space on the bottom bunk as Katherine pulls me backwards and onto the bed.
She’s in my lap before I can process the movement, her long tanned legs on either side of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hoping that she’ll come to her senses and get off my lap of her own accord.
“I missed you,” she pouts, attempting to run her hands through my hair. I catch her wrist delicately, moving off the bed and across the room, a feat made infinitely harder by how cramped the space is.
“Why don’t we go back to the party?”
“Really?” she asks, staring up at me in disbelief. More than anyone, she knows I’d rather build profit-margin spreadsheets than go to a party with her friends, but if doing shots with Meredith and Grant gets me out of this room, I’ll do it.
She plops down on the bed, pouting. “But we agreed to be together this weekend.”
“No, we agreed to sit in our assigned seats and walk down the aisle without causing a scene,” I say in the same tone a parent would use to explain to a toddler why they can’t bring the pony home with them.
She doesn’t say anything, her eyes staring down at the floor, crossing her arms across her chest. “I didn’t get the apartment.”
“What?” I ask, the words knocking the air from my chest.
“I couldn’t come up with first month, last month,” she says, picking at her perfectly manicured nails.
Being a real-estate agent, Katherine’s income fluctuates with the economy, and with the housing crisis in full effect, sales are slow.
My mother offered to refer a few of her friends to Katherine’s firm, but she quickly learned that millionaires are the most indecisive people when it comes to buying houses.
“What about your savings?” I ask, leaning against the wall, unsteady.
“Between the dresses and the flights, and the bachelorette party . . . It all adds up, okay?”
This can’t be happening, I reason, as my brain tries to come up with possible solutions.
“Which apartment was it? I know your credit isn’t great, so if they need a co-signer . . .”
“I don’t want you to do that,” she argues, but I’m willing to do anything.
“I’ll call them. I’ll—”
She cuts me off. “They already gave it to another applicant.”
Irritation bubbles along my skin. It took us weeks to find an available apartment in her price range and now it’s gone. Just like Mira is gone from my life because I can’t stand up for myself and kick my ex out like a normal person.
“What happened to that big commission payout? With the Franklin property?”
“I got a call from them yesterday,” she whimpers, wiping her nose. “They said that their decorator doesn’t have a vision for it.”
“You know what,” I say, pulling out my phone, “let me buy you a place. I’m sure you can find a condo or townhouse. I’ll even let you broker it. Give you the commission.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I’m about to be CEO. It comes with a significant salary increase. I can swing it,” I say, as there’s a knock on the door.
I recognize Adrian immediately. Of all the people in Meredith and Grant’s friend group, he’s the one whose company I enjoy the most. Our paths sometimes crossed at Elite during his time as a customer service rep, and he always knew how to read a room.
It also doesn’t hurt that he’s dating Finn’s sister Vanessa, who is just as kind and loyal as her brother.
“Meredith sent me to tell you two to stop making out and come back to the party,” he says in his thick Irish accent.
“Give us a minute,” I say, turning back to Katherine, who’s wiping at the corner of her eyes.
“Let’s talk about this later, okay?” she says as I make a mental note to call my accountant first thing in the morning.
Eager for a drink, I follow her and Adrian back to the main cabins.
The cabins are lit with string lights as music blasts in the air, a rhythmic dance track that makes me ache for the wildlife that calls this place their home.
A plastic table is set up on the patio, red Solo cups lining the edges.
One would think that a twenty-six-year-old might want to celebrate such a momentous occasion in a more dignified fashion, but as Grant and his cousins slam back beers during a particularly rowdy game of flip cup, it’s safe to assume that nothing about this week will be classy.
When my stepbrother announced that he was getting married in Wyoming, I was shocked.
Not only by the fact that Grant had found someone to commit to, a feat I believed to be impossible due to his lifelong string of casual, noncommittal flings, but to see the words “hiking boots required” on the wedding invitation was so out of character I believed it was a prank.
“Hudson,” Grant slurs, throwing a rough arm over my shoulder. At six foot two he towers over me, an attribute he likes to accentuate any chance he can get. “Taking time away from pitching a tent with the hobbits to have some actual fun?”
“Came to give Meredith my best wishes,” I say, moving out of his grasp. Digs like this don’t hurt me anymore, especially since I discovered that Grant’s reading level isn’t high enough to comprehend Tolkien.
“Maybe she can give you some fashion advice in exchange,” he says, thumbing my shirt.
“Why? Because I can’t have my ensemble clash with your Vineyard Vines. What is that, the ultimate douchebag collection?”
The insult slips out of me, my threshold for bullshit at an all-time low tonight.
“Ouch,” Adrian shouts, as Grant shoots me a death glare.
“Better than shopping at the lost and found,” he shoots back.
“Can you stop ragging on your stepbrother?” Meredith says, coming out of the cabin and taking her place beside Grant, who immediately softens at her presence. “I like Hudson’s style. It’s hipster librarian chic.”
Unlike his usual type of shallow, materialistic, and vapidly dumb hookups, Meredith is down to earth, insanely kind, and enchantingly endearing. And I swear he becomes twenty-five percent less of a dick whenever Meredith is around.
She waits for Grant to apologize, and he mumbles a quiet “Sorry” and refills his beer.
The apology is flat, but it’s more than I’ve ever received from him before, so I take it.
“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Grant asks Meredith, as I take note of her downturned expression.
“Yeah, I’m just stressed. Do you remember how I told you about my great-aunt and uncle?”
“The doomsday preppers from Iowa?” he asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.
“Yeah. They just showed up without warning,” she says, reaching for his drink. “I guess they didn’t understand how the online RSVP system worked, or they chose to ignore it. Either way they’ve completely fucked up the room assignments.”
“Can’t they crash with your grandparents?” Katherine asks, coming up the stairs. Her eyes don’t meet mine as she grabs a Solo cup from the table.
“Other side of the family,” Meredith explains, nervously playing with the ends of her braids. “I do have an open room for them, but I had it reserved for the photographer.”
“We can get the photographer off-site accommodation. You know I have the points, babe,” Grant says.
“I know, but she’s my friend. And I promised her a good time. Exiling her to another hotel feels like I lied to her and—”
“She can stay in our room,” I interject eagerly.
“Really?” Meredith asks, clearly wondering if my suggestion is genuine or merely drunken.
“Why not? We have the bunk beds.”
Not to mention that having a buffer between Katherine and me would make this week bearable.
“And you’re okay with this?” Meredith asks, turning towards Katherine.
“How can I say no to the bride?” she says sweetly.