I missed the parade that opens the festival after my publicist called to talk scheduling for more events later this summer. It seems my launch event next week is not enough. I kept trying to get off the phone, but eventually realized aside from rudely hanging up on her, I was going to be there for a while. I texted Addie my apologies and we made new plans to meet in the park.
Zander
I’m here. By Beverly. Let me know where I should go
Addie’s reply comes back instantly, like she’d been waiting for me. It brings a smile to my lips.
Addie
Near the BeaverTails stand! I’m the one wearing red
Ah, yes, perfect identifier on a day when no one else is wearing red. I huff out a laugh as I pass through the inflatable archway welcoming residents to Beaver Creek’s Canada Day Festival. I do that awkward jog as I accidentally pass in front of a woman holding a camera. She takes photos of her two children next to the stereotypical Canadian symbols printed on the bottom of the arch. The mom laughs and waves me off as I apologize.
I walk further, wishing the town council had gone one level higher than this and handed out maps. The park is full of midway games, fair rides, food stalls, and even a stage down by the pond. Everyone rushes around me and the queasy feeling returns. There’s too many people here and I’m sure some of them know me and it’s only a matter of time before someone tells me to get the fuck out. I take a long sip from the sticker covered water bottle Addie shoved at me the last time I saw her, yet another spot of colour in my grey world. I don’t know if the cold water sliding down my throat calms me, or the thought of Addie, but I’m able to walk further into the park. My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Addie
Look right
I do and realize I’m directly in front of the BeaverTails stall. There’s a long line of patrons hungry for the cinnamon sugar dessert, and just beyond them: Addie.
I find her hair first, then her radiant smile, then the plaid minidress that clings to her curves.
I shimmy through the line, mumbling strings ofexcuse mesandsorriesuntil I’m in front of my girl. There’s nothing else in the world but her and the heart-shaped pockets over top of her hips. She leans up and kisses me. I taste cinnamon on her lips, somehow still painted a bold red. Only when I pull back do I realize we’re not alone.
Two older men hover next to her, one with the same freckled skin and dark blue eyes as Addie and the other with deep brown skin and a combover. A couple about the same age as me and Addie stand next to them. Everyone’s holding their version of a BeaverTail, decked out with cookies, hazelnut spread, or drizzled caramel. Addie hands me a half-eaten pastry in its crinkly brown packaging.
“Wasn’t sure how you like yours so I just got the classic cinnamon sugar,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ve never actually had one.”
“Did I just hear you say you’ve never had a BeaverTail?” the woman with coily brown hair asks. She disentangles herself from the man in a Montreal Canadiens ball cap next to her and opens her arms to hug me. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. Or, at least, not in a while. I’m Tabitha.”
I lean into the hug, one armed, and pull back as soon as she does. “You’re Addie’s best friend.”
“Oh, hell yeah, I have a title.”
“You do,” I say with a laugh and what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Oh, I’m Zander.”
Tabitha rolls her eyes and taps my shoulder like we’re old friends. “I know. You’re a new piece of my best friend’s heart. Trust me, I know all about you.”
I can’t tell if that’s reassuring or threatening. It’s said in kind, her full lips stretched in a toothy grin. There’s no sign of malice and her eyes twinkle like she’s genuinely happy for the redheaded woman who’s currently affixed herself to my side. ButI know all about youhas never been directed my way without another shoe dropping.
“Oh, shoot,” Addie says with a giggle. Her cheeks are red, body hot. “I’m skirting my duties. Zander, these are some really cool people in my life. You just met Tabs, and this is her husband Simon.”
Simon looks up from his BeaverTail, one covered in poutine. He dangles a French fry drenched in gravy from a fork. I have never seen something more Canadian.
“Hey, man.” Simon waves his fork my way. A crease forms between his brows, before recognition lights up his eyes behind his thick glasses. “Zander! We went to school together!”
My body tenses, but I still lean in for the bro handshake he gives me. It’s awkward, with our hands full of food and an audience of virtual strangers to me, but I make it through.
“How’ve you been? You’re an author now, right? Or, uh, that’s what Tabby tells me.”
I swallow and nod. “Yeah, that’s how I met Addie. We were both at the local author fair here last month.”
“Oh, yes!” Addie joins in, directing my attention to the man on Tabitha’s other side. His bushy moustache twitches as he smiles. “You can actually thank Mr. Larkin—er, Gregory—for me being late that day.”
“As I recall, I saved your ass that day.”
