Addie laughs and the sound makes me smile. “Alright, alright. Fine. Youdiddrive Ben away.”
“Ben?” Tabitha nearly screeches. She latches onto Simon’s arm as they delight in some inside joke. “That beaver’sstillbothering you??”
“Regrettably,” Gregory says with a grimace, then nods my way. “Zander.”
“And this is my dad,” Addie says, squeezing my arm as she turns to the man who looks so much like her, aside from the anger radiating off him in waves.
I shoot a hesitant grin his way and hold out my hand, ready to shake. He just stares. After a few awkward beats of a minute, I take my hand back and rub the back of my neck.
Okay.
Well, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
What do I do now?
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Ramsay,” I say, the words coming out in a rush.
“Dad,” Addie says. Her eyes are wide, yet somehow menacing. She huffs out a sigh and unloops her arm from mine. “At least say hi, please.”
“Hello,” comes Mr. Ramsay’s gruff voice. “I should talk to Wayne.”
He excuses himself and I’m left staring at the back of his faded red shirt. My stomach knots itself and the urge to shit my pants returns. Addie’s friends start up a conversation again, but I don’t hear it. The roar of festival goers and lack of Adelaide on my arm leaves me unmoored. I look at the half-eaten pastry in my hand. It’s cold now. It’s what I deserve, I guess.
I bring it up to my lips. Addie’s lipstick stains the edge, where she’s taken little nibbles, like a chipmunk. This discovery is comforting, or it should be. It doesn’t quite light me up as it should.
“Do you want one as well?” Addie asks.
“Sorry, what was that?” I reply.
“Tabitha and I were going to go get a duck from the stand over there,” she says, pointing to a vendor selling nothing but rubber ducks in funky outfits.
I manage a smile. “Surprise me.”
She salutes me, then heads off with her friend. It leaves me and Simon. I knew him, once upon a time. I can picture him younger, less experienced. We weren’t in the same grade, but we had similar, nerdy interests. So many of my memories from that time are blocked out, but I still try to reach for one.
“Did you—We were on the school paper together for a bit, weren’t we?”
Simon shoves the last of his poutine in his mouth right as I ask the question. His cheeks puff out and he covers himself with a hand. After vigorously chewing, he nods.
“Yeah, though we first met on that school trip in grade seven, or grade eight, for you. The two upper grades went camping. I invited you to my birthday party that fall.”
I don’t remember going, but I play along like I do. I take bites of the BeaverTail, while Simon reminisces on a shared past that I can’t touch. It’s really unfortunate, it actually hurts quite a bit, because Simon’s a good guy. I like him. But I can hardly tell you anything about our former friendship.
“Oh, hey!” Simon says, mid-conversation. I ball the brown paper wrapper in my hand as Simon calls someone over. “Wendy!”
With a name like Wendy, I’m expecting someone young and bouncy, or maybe someone with red braids and a plaid dress. What I don’t expect is the broad-shouldered woman with pronounced smile lines and feathery bangs streaked with grey, yet another person from my past. Why that should be a surprise in this town, I don’t know.
“Simon!” Wendy DaRosa, my former English teacher, jogs over to Simon and gives him a hug. “How’s your mom doing? How’s Tabitha? Who’s your friend?”
I always loved her enthusiasm, her rapid-fire questions. She never asked performatively, she genuinely wanted to know.
When she turns my way, she freezes. And, fuck me, there’s only so many times someone can give me this look today before I call it quits. I close my fist around the balled up wrapper, squishing it further.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy says. She reaches out to me, cheeks pale like she’s seen a ghost. “Zander Olson?”
I wrinkle my nose at the name, but still manage a smile. She. Remembers. Me.
“It’s actually Browning now,” I say. “But, yes, it’s me.”
