by D. R. Graham
“Goodbye, Mr. Waddell.” I pretended to read, but I was so angry. Okay, yeah, it was completely selfish to expect my granddad to work himself into bankruptcy just so I wouldn’t have to let go of my childhood memories, but if the Inn needed to be sold, I didn’t want it to be to a slime ball who was potentially trying to take advantage of my granddad. The bells on the door jingled as he left.
Once his car pulled out onto the highway, I Googled his name and found everything I could about the development company. Then I called Doug, “Hey, I emailed you some information about the developer who wants to tear down the Inn and build a resort. Can you find out if he’s related to the Waddell at the insurance agency who denied our claim? I’m worried they might be working together to force Granddad to sell.”
“Sure. I’ll take a look and get back to you.”
“Thanks.” My granddad’s car drove by the window, so I rushed out to the parking lot and helped him carry the grocery bags in. “Mr. Waddell came by while you were out and dropped off the architect’s drawings,” I said as we entered through the side door to the kitchen.
Granddad placed the canvas bags on the counter and turned to face me. “Are you ready to talk about the sale now?”
I had no choice. “Did you know that the guy from the insurance company who rejected our claim for the flood is also a Waddell?”
His white caterpillar eyebrows angled together. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“What if it’s not? What if they’re working together to force you to sell?”
He shook his head and loaded groceries into the fridge. “We need to sell eventually, Derian.” He turned to face me, and he looked so tired. “I can’t keep doing this forever.”
I glanced around the kitchen, remembering my dad making pancakes, my grandma rolling out the dough for cinnamon buns, and Trevor and me playing hide-and-seek. Holding onto the Inn wasn’t going to bring any of those things back from the past. I knew that, but it was hard to accept it. I crossed the kitchen and hugged him. “Okay.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Doug got back to me after doing some digging around. The Waddells were brothers, and several of their businesses had gone bankrupt in the past. They’d also been sued twelve times for not paying creditors. Although I had decided to accept the sale of the Inn because it was what was best for my granddad, I convinced him to do some more investigation before committing to a business deal with the Waddells.
Two weeks later, Granddad was seated by the fireplace in the library, the blueprints spread out on the table, where I had always played board games with my dad. “Hi, sweetheart. Do you want to take a look at these?”
I leaned over his shoulder and peeked. It was a gorgeous resort. But nothing could adequately replace the Inn, as far as I was concerned.
He reached up to his shoulder and patted my hand. “The insurance company has handed the investigation over to the police fraud department. They are going to reimburse us for everything.”
“Really? That’s great.” I kissed his cheek and then sat down in my dad’s leather chair.
Granddad smiled, and for the first time since the flood happened, he relaxed. “Don’t get too excited, though. The Inn is still on the market. If the right developer or buyer comes along, I’m going to consider it.”
“I know.” I leaned back and crossed my feet on the ottoman. I ran my hand over the worn leather of the armrest. My dad sat in the chair to read every night after dinner. The roughness was a physical reminder that he had once existed. It always comforted me. “Sorry I was being difficult. I know you can’t run the business forever. I’m just having a hard time letting go of my dad.”
Granddad nodded and reached over to pat my hand again.
Just before Christmas, Steve dropped me off at the Inn after one of our coffee talks. He turned the engine off, then looked at me as if he wanted to say something. He exhaled heavily to prepare. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you being here for me.”
“Any time,” I said.
Without a hesitation he blurted out, “Do you want to go on a real date?”
“Uh.” I shifted in the seat and sat up straighter. The sparks with Trevor, although they had all fizzled out, were more exciting to me than the feelings I had for Steve. As much of a long shot as it was for something to maybe happen with Trevor, I did still hope for it. And I wanted to be available in case the opportunity came up. “I’m not sure about dating. I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship.”
“I really like you, and I hope we can be more than friends.”
I stared out the side window in the direction of Trevor’s house, wondering how I would feel if nothing encouraging had ever happened between us. It was snowing and the flakes melted when they hit the glass. I traced my finger along the trail it left when the droplets slid down, not sure how to respond.
“I know you like Trevor, but —”
“What?” I gawked at him, mouth open.
He fidgeted with his keys. “It’s pretty obvious you like Trevor, but it seems like something would have already happened between you two if he wanted it to.”
I was so angry. Not because I thought it was mean for Steve to say that, but because he was right. He winced as if he regretted bringing it up, but I didn’t blame him. At least he had the guts to put it out there and tell me how he felt. With impeccable timing, the 4Runner pulled off the highway and parked. Trevor climbed out and looked at Steve’s Explorer. I needed to get some guts. I also needed time to figure everything out before I could give Steve an answer. I focused my attention back on him and said, “I’m leaving tomorrow to stay with my mom. I’ll call you when I get back. We can talk about it then, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” He looked disappointed, which I wasn’t sure how to respond to. Before I turned to get out of the truck, he pulled my elbow towards him. “One more thing before you go.” With one finger he tilted my chin up, stared into my eyes briefly, and then pressed his lips against mine. I felt something a little surprising rush through me. Since it was my first proper kiss, I kissed him back as he moved his hand to cradle my neck. It felt good, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to, so I pulled away. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine. I have to go.” I jumped out of his truck and ran through the snow to the front door.
The next morning, I was packing and getting ready to take the bus to Vancouver when my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Trevor: Can we talk before you leave?
Excited and nervous at the same time, I wrote back: Sure. Come over. There was a knock at my bedroom door as soon as the message sent. I knew it was him because he used to always text me while he was already standing in the hall. “What took you so long,” I joked, and let him in.
He shrugged and smiled. His gaze moved around the room. It received a minor makeover along with the rest of the rooms on the first floor, so I decided to redecorate. It was the first time Trevor had been in it since I moved back in after they finished the renovations. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks more grown up.” He stood in front of my dresser and slid the picture of us at his graduation out of the mirror frame. He studied it for a second, then tucked it back in.
I watched as he crossed the room, flopped down on my bed, and hugged my favourite doll from when I was little. He crossed his feet at his ankles, bent one arm behind his head, and stared at me in a weird way.
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve missed you.”
My heart did something unnatural, even though I refused to let myself believe he meant he missed me in a romantic way. I glanced at him and took a mental picture of him lying on my bed. I needed a bigger bed. He pretty much took up all the space. There wouldn’t be much room for me to join him if he ever asked.
“So, you and Rawlings are getting hot and heavy, eh?”
“No.”
“It looked like it was pretty steamy in his truck yesterday.”
Oh God. I did
n’t even want to imagine what he thought was going on. “You shouldn’t be spying.”
“I wasn’t spying. You were going at it in a parking lot. Everyone could see.”
“We weren’t going at it. There was nothing to see.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flat wrapped gift with a bow on it. “Merry Christmas.”
Confused that he was giving it to me early, I didn’t reach to take it from him. “Why don’t you just bring it to my mom’s place on Christmas?”
“I can’t come this year.”
“What?” I didn’t mean to sound as desperately devastated as I was. “But our families always have Christmas together. It’s tradition.”
“I have to work until eight. If your mom came up to Britannia it would work, but since everyone is going down to Vancouver, it’ll be too late by the time I get there.”
“But it’s Christmas. Can’t you change your shift?”
“I’m the low guy on the totem pole. I don’t have a choice.”
Bummed, I sat down on the edge of my mattress beside his hip. I had to take really deep breaths to hold the tears back. He reached his arm around in front of me and placed the gift on my lap.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.
“A surprise. You have to wait until Christmas to open it.”
His gift was in my desk, so I stood and walked over to open the drawer. I wrapped it nicely because it wasn’t a very fancy gift. “Please remember when you open this that I don’t have an income, and I spent the hundred dollars that Murphy gave me to get their house cleaned. It’s the thought that counts.”
“Getting their house cleaned was a gift for me too since I hang out there.” He reached over to take the present from me.
I sat on the floor and rested my back against my bed so he wouldn’t see my expression.
He swept his finger to tuck my hair behind my ear and away from my face “I’m sorry I can’t make it this year.”
“Me too.” I exhaled to steady my voice. “Will your dad and Kailyn still come?”
“For sure.”
I turned to face him. “But then you’ll be here all alone.”
“It’s just for dinner. I’ll be at work anyway. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, no big deal.” I looked away again and pulled my knees into my chest.
The mattress shifted as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge beside me. “I’ve got to go to work.” He leaned and kissed the top of my head. “Did you notice what I did with the tiles under your sink?”
I shook my head, too sad to care about stupid tiles.
“Have a good time at your mom’s. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Bye,” I mumbled.
He left, and the cry I’d been holding in flooded out. They weren’t just tears about Trevor not coming for Christmas. They were also angry tears that the reason he couldn’t come was because my mom was breaking the tradition and forcing us all to go to Vancouver instead of her coming up to Britannia. Neither she nor I felt like celebrating the first Christmas after my dad had died, but at least she came up on the train and we all spent time together remembering him. Celebrating at the apartment without my dad or Trevor felt all wrong.
Then, as if she knew I was livid with her, she called. “Hi sweetheart. Are you on the way out? You don’t want to miss the bus. It’s the only one coming down today. Everything is ready for you. I’m so excited. You don’t need to bring any toiletries. I stocked your bathroom with all your favourite products. It’s going to be so much fun. Wear your boots and a scarf. And gloves. It’s cold.”
It took all my effort to sound cordial, but I knew I had to since starting off the next two weeks with her on the wrong foot would only make me more miserable. “Okay, Mom. I’ll see you soon. I should go. I don’t want to miss the bus.”
After saying goodbye, I dragged my butt off the floor. Although I was dreading the visit, I couldn’t leave my mom all alone on Christmas. Splashing cold water on my face stopped the tears but not the horrible beat-up feeling in my chest. The towel slid off the rack and puddled on the floor. When I crouched to pick it up, I noticed the tiles under the sink. Trevor had replaced some of the white mosaic tiles with cream-coloured ones and it spelled out LAFLEUR. It was so beautiful.
I texted to thank him, then wandered out to the highway and waited for the bus. It was packed with cheery people, all their bulky winter coats, luggage, and parcels. They were all in a festive and chatty mood, which only irritated me more.
By the time I walked from the Vancouver station to my mom’s apartment, I was officially depressed. She did an amazing job decorating the apartment for the holidays, but it didn’t look like all my other Christmases growing up. Her colour theme was blue, white, and silver—a sparkling winter wonderland everywhere, including the bathrooms. The tree was made of silver tinsel and covered in baby white lights. Every one of the decorations was encrusted in glitter. She went all out because she felt guilty for not coming up to Britannia to see me. I wasn’t convinced the effort made up for everything.
I sat in the living room for two days wrapped in a blanket, staring at the twinkling tree, eating chocolates, and drinking hot apple cider until I nearly made myself sick. Fortunately, she went to work during the day, so I had the place to myself. When she was home, I avoided meaningful conversations and her inadvertent nit-picking by watching movies, taking long baths, or hanging out in my room listening to music.
Trevor was right. There were worse moms in the world than mine but mine was a lawyer and liked to argue her case for everything. It didn’t matter if she was wrong, she still argued until you started to believe maybe she was right. Which was a brilliant talent in the court room but annoying as hell if you were her daughter. My dad never minded. He would go at it with her, debating his point for as long as he found it amusing. Then he would say something cleverly charming, they would kiss and then disappear into their bedroom. When she and I disagreed, it always ended with me saying, “Okay, you’re right.”
When she wasn’t arguing, she was worrying. To me, it was ironic that she let me live alone with Granddad in Britannia Beach but got antsy if I went down to the pool in her building by myself. She was also convinced I was going to be lured by a pedophile from the internet but wasn’t concerned about all the strangers who stayed at the Inn. And, although she knew I made breakfasts for all the guests, she was convinced I was going to blow up the kitchen in the condo every time I made myself lunch. She was irrational sometimes. Everyone else seemed to accept her quirks and deal with them. They drove me crazy.
“Let’s go,” she called from the foyer on the morning of the third day. She had taken the day off and held up our ice skates. “You need to get out of the house and get some fresh air.”
“I’m not in the mood,” I moaned.
“The winter air will put you in the mood. Let’s go.”
Since being cooped up in the condo with her all day didn’t appeal to me, I reluctantly got dressed and followed her to the elevator. We walked to the outdoor ice rink at Robson Square. The streets bustled with holiday shoppers and there was a merry vibe. All the shop windows were decked out, and street vendors sold warm chestnuts and mini-doughnuts on every corner.
“So, what has you so depressed?” Mom asked as we laced up our skates.
“I don’t know.” I inhaled deeply because I didn’t want to talk about it with her. It wasn’t like we were close like that.
“Boy trouble?”
I didn’t answer. I stood up and walked gingerly towards the rink. I nearly fell when I stepped out onto the ice, but she was able to reach her hand out in time to steady me. We skated side by side, counter-clockwise in a big circle. It felt weird because we so rarely did things together.
“I know having Christmas in the city is an adjustment for you, and I appreciate that you’re making an effort.”
I nodded at the validation, glad that she at least understood w
hy it sucked.
We skated in silence for a while before I finally said, “So, I wouldn’t exactly call it boy trouble, but there is a boy who likes me and wants to date.” I glanced sideways to see how she would react to my uncharacteristic disclosure of personal information.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I like someone else.”
“Oooh, drama.” Her eyebrows rose in a suggestive way.
“Uh, no. There is no drama. He’s not interested in me in a boyfriend-girlfriend way.”
A crease formed along her forehead as she thought seriously about my predicament. After we had skated one full rotation around the rink she asked, “What makes you think he doesn’t like you in a girlfriend way?”
“We spend a lot of time together, he’s single, and he’s had lots of opportunity to ask me out if he wanted to. He sort of asked me out once, but I couldn’t make it. He hasn’t asked again. It’s seems like he would have done it by now if he was going to.”
“How long have you known him?”
I couldn’t tell her I had known him for eleven years because she’d know it was Trevor, so I said, “Years.”
“Maybe he’s shy?”
“No. He’s confident and popular.”
“Does he know for sure you’re interested?”
“Um, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve flat out told him.” I caught an edge. She had to grab my arm to prevent me from falling.
Once I was stable again, she said, “Maybe you should flat out tell him and see what happens.”
I glanced at her again and then stared at the ice in front of me as we continued to skate. I wondered if Trevor knew for sure I liked him. It was possible he didn’t since I hadn’t even realized it myself at first. It was likely that he did, though, since even Steve had picked up on it. Maybe he was unsure since I hung out with Steve too.
“If you’re honest with him, the worst that can happen is he’ll say he’s not interested, and you’ll be right back where you are now. You have nothing to lose,” she said encouragingly.
