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.
