Page 4 of Gin and Bear It

Why? Because my ex-boyfriend, Troy, told her he wanted to marry me for some fucking reason. As if we weren’t more off than on. Putting a deadline on his proposal was probably her way of nudging him toward marriage.

And my stupid ass lied to my grandparents about us being broken up for over a year because I didn’t want to break their hearts even more. They adored Troy. When he worked at the hotel while we were both getting our master’s degrees, they thought he could literally do no wrong. Pop even said he’d be honored for him to run the hotel alongside me, just like he and Mimi did.

Except we’ve been broken up for ages, not that our love was particularly strong before that. And my dating life is dead. Not that I’d want to marry a relative stranger, but I need to marry someone.

I know the historical society would maintain the building, and it would still be a Jepsen landmark, but it wouldn’t be an active hotel. Guests like the Jenkinses would lose a piece of their lives, even if it was relatively small. Most of our staff would lose their jobs.

All because of me. And my stupid ex, but mostly me.

“You could always call Troy,” Jeremiah finally says.

“Oh my god, don’t even say that.” I fake gag. “Not that he’d help me after I cussed him out last time we spoke.”

I gobble down more cookies and chase the bites with coffee. The initial high of the sweets has worn off and I’m stuck in my anxiety spiral yet again.

“I still don’t get why Mimi did this,” Jeremiah says. “I mean, besides wanting Troy to propose. At least you don’t have competition. Danika doesn’t fit either condition to inherit the hotel.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Danika’s a hot mess, and I can say that because I’m also my own flavor of human disaster. If she got her hands on the hotel, she’d probably run it into the ground, sell it, or both, somehow. The property value has skyrocketed in the past few years. She could get more than enough to pay off her debts from buying literally everything that’s vaguely trendy and go take a billion more vacations.

But I’m safe on that front—the only silver lining in this whole mess. She has a bunch of credits but no degree, and her boring-yet-offensive boyfriend of ten years flat-out refuses to propose to her despite her clearly stating that she wants marriage.

The track is clear and I just need to somehow run to the finish line.

Unless…

“I hope you didn’t jinx me,” I say.

“How would I jinx you?” Jeremiah steals the last bite of a butterscotch cookie that isn’t my favorite. “It’ll be fine. Even if Danika’s boyfriend manages to propose, she’s not going to finish her degree. She already has a job.”

Both of our phones light up on the table and my other problems come into focus. It’s Waylon in our group chat with my other best friend, his fiancée Bianca.

“He wants to know if we’re down for dinner this week,” Jeremiah says as he reads the message. “Just him, Bianca, and us.”

I swallow the knot in my throat that pops up whenever he or Bianca or any of our other friends reach out to us these days.

Right after my grandmother passed, they gave us plenty of space to grieve, which we both needed. Especially me. I don’t think I really left my apartment much, besides to halfheartedly “celebrate” Christmas and Thanksgiving with Dad, Jeremiah, Kendra, and her husband and kids. Each holiday felt like extensions of their funerals.

But now it’s been six months and I’ve still stayed distant. I don’t know why. They’ve been perfectly normal in the few times we’ve hung out. Being holed up in my apartment gives the illusion of safety from reminders of my grandparents. If everything is exactly how I ordered it, without outside influences, I can’t be surprised by things like songs Mimi hated or something Pop would have found hilarious.

I can almost pretend they’re still here.

“You want to go?” Jeremiah asks.

The thought of seeing them should make me excited—I miss them. But any mention of seeing them feels like one of those heavy lead shields they put on you at the dentist. I could move to go, but it’s easier to stay put.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s still hard to be out there. Work drains all my mental reserves and I don’t want to be a shitty friend by being cranky.”

“It’ll just take some practice getting back into normal life outside the hotel. I think I’ve gotten out of my shell again. You should come. It’ll be good for you.”

Any other person telling me something would be “good for me” would piss me off, but coming from Jeremiah, it just vaguely annoys me. Because he’s right.

I can’t stay huddled up in my hole of grief forever. But stepping out of it sounds like too much right now, especially now that my future looks as bleak as I’ve been feeling. I have to figure out something, some way to get the hotel. Maybe then I can face the world again and get some closure.

TWO

ASH

Waking up to the faint sounds of my parents bickering is not the kind of nostalgia I’m interested in. But it’s the nostalgia I’m being force-fed first thing in the morning.