Page 12 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“Yeah,” I mutter, running a hand down my face. “And apparently my relatives are now vying for the ownership rights. My grandfather wants to hold out as long as he can, but his health hasn’t been great lately. He needs to pass on the marina sooner rather than later. And between him and my parents constantly asking about my relationship status and my extended family wanting to take over the marina, it’s been a lot.” I sigh heavily, the weight in my chest pressing down harder. “Anyway,” I say, my voice quieter now, “thank you for listening. Your grandma was right. I feel a little better now that I’ve let some of this frustration out.”
Jenny’s smile is warm, softening the edges of her features. “Well, I’m happy I could help, even just a little. I know this is a lot to carry, but don’t let it weigh you down completely. Things always have a way of working out in the end.”
Her words linger in the air like a soothing balm, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. “Thank you, Jenny,” I say sincerely, watching as she stands and heads toward the door.
She glances back, her ponytail swinging with the motion. “Anytime,” she says, her voice light but steady, as if to remind me that she means it.
As the door closes behind her, the room feels quieter, heavier somehow. I lean back in my chair, my fingers brushing absentmindedly over the edge of the desk. If only she could solve the one problem I can’t seem to fix.
The following week, I sit in my office, not feeling much better about my predicament. Jenny’s voice carries from the front desk. “I’ll be right with you,” she says. Her voice is warm and melodic, tinged with a professional politeness that somehow still feels genuine.
I get up from my desk chair and head out to see if I can help. She’s at the counter, the cabin reservation book open in front of her. The pencil in her mouth bobs slightly as she jots something down with another pen she’s retrieved from her ponytail. A small streak of graphite marks her cheek. She glances up as I approach, mouthing a quick “thank you,” her sapphire-blue eyes sparkling.
Jenny truly fits in here.
My feet falter as I spot my mother standing in front of the newly displayed painting on the wall. Jenny finished it last week, a tranquil depiction of the lake at dawn with ducks gliding through a thin veil of mist. I insisted she hang it up, and the customers have already been complimenting it endlessly.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, stepping toward her. “Anything I can help you with this morning?”
“What? A mother can’t come and see her son for no reason at all?” She raises an eyebrow, her tone light but her expression lined with concern.
“She can, as long as she doesn’t ask about my relationship status again. It hasn’t been that long since we talked about it at Sunday dinner.”
“Well, yes,” she says, “but your father is worried, and so is your grandfather . . .” She trails off, the familiar worry creeping into her voice.
“Mom, I told you I’d get back to you as soon as I have something figured out.”
“But, Trenton, you know we need to have something to tell the extended family. Soon.”
“I’m aware, Mom,” I say, my gaze wandering to where Jenny is now organizing fishing lures with practiced efficiency. Her blonde hair bounces lightly as she moves, catching the morning light streaming through the windows.
“Trenton, are you even listening to me?” Mom asks, a harried look on her face.
“Sorry, Mom. I got distracted by—”
“Mrs. Hughes!” Jenny’s cheerful voice cuts in as she seamlessly materializes beside me. “It’s so wonderful of you to stop in today! How are your spinach plants coming along?”
“They . . . they . . .” My mom’s voice falters at the abrupt change in conversation. “They are doing better than I expected actually, I’ve got more than I know what to do with.”
“If you have some to spare,” Jenny continues, “I’d love to take some off your hands. I have the perfect spinach dip recipe, and as you know, I’ve been learning how to bake bread with Holly. Pairing the two would be so delicious.”
“Well then,” my mom says, a smile spreading across her face, “I will pick some and bring them by for you the next time I’m heading over.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, I’ll be sure to make you a batch,” Jenny says. Then she leans into me and loops her arm through mine as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Shock flickers across my mother’s face, and I’m so stunned myself that I can’t even muster a laugh at her expression.
“Trent,” Jenny says, turning her bright eyes on me and stopping my thoughts mid-track. “I know we were going to wait until Sunday dinner next week, but I got so excited when your mom popped in that I figured, what the heck, why don’t we tell her now?”
“W-why don’t we tell her . . .” I echo dumbly, trying to piece together what’s happening. What is Jenny getting at?
“Yes, Trenton?” My mom says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You have something to tell me?”
“Oh, er . . .yeah . . .” I look down at Jenny, and she shifts her hands around my arm. “We . . . wanted to wait . . .”
“Wait for what, dear?” My mom asks, her lips curving into an eager smile as she looks at Jenny nestled into my side.
“To tell you . . .”
