Chapter 17

seventeen

River

September | Email Chain

From: Stef

Subject: Wedding Party Details

Beautiful wedding party members,

We just wrapped up meeting with Mrs. Sherman at The Honeybee Inn and it's official: the wedding will be Memorial Day Weekend! So what comes next?

1. Colors, dresses, suits, etc: a second note coming soon : )

2. Susan would like to host a formal engagement party, word is sometime in February around Valentines Day/Presidents Day Weekend.

River: she'll probably talk to you or Delia about this.

3. We're going to have a joint celebration in Atlantic City the weekend of May 5th - so save up if you are a gambler, and get ready to party !

From: Seth

Subject: RE: Wedding Party Details

Unsubscribe

From: Lee

Subject: RE: RE: Wedding Party Details

NO

From: Lily

To: Stef, Nessa, Delia, River

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Wedding Party Details (No Boys)

Thanks, babe! So excited for you. Just wanted to confirm dates for my calendar. I'll head back for:

· One week in February for the engagement party and catching up

· Month of May for everything from the bachelorette through the big day!

What about a shower? Is that separate from February?

From: Stef

To: Lily, Nessa, Delia, River

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Wedding Party Details (No Boys)

Still TBD. IDK, you are the maid of honor - don't you plan that ?

From: Nessa

To: Stef, Lily, Delia, River

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Wedding Party Details (No Boys)

JUST MOVE HOME, K. THANKS. BYEEEEE

Dr. Nessa Rabin, PsyD

From: River

To: Stef, Nessa, Delia, Lily

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Wedding Party Details (No Boys)

Last I checked, I'm still a boy.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I roll over to see the photo I took of Pete sitting at the bar. Lily! I accept the call and realize a moment too late it's a video call. Scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I sit up as Lily rushes out a greeting.

"Oh my god, I'm so so sorry River. I didn't mean to insult you. Oh shit, it's early isn't it?" She says this all within the same beat.

Still groggy, my voice is raspy with sleep but I croak out, "What time is it?"

"Eight. I just finished doing a Live Workout up here in Vermont. I figured since I was out east, I might as well try to catch the fall foliage… or whatever." Her tone goes from excited to trying to play off being nonchalant but it doesn't totally catch.

"It's fine, I'm up. Scout is supposed to be here today to take a look at the cottage with me." I play it off, he's not supposed to be here until after his morning classes.

Our mom, Elizabeth, was well aware that the first born son would be named George on paper. George Hendrix has always owned The Featherweight, but that every few generations we stick with our middle names. That's why I'm George River, son of George Jonathan, grandson of just George.

While Grandpa George called Dad a yuppie sellout, Mama was his opposite and quickly her father-in-law's favorite. Sometimes I wonder if she married him just to make her favorite joke that if only she was a little older, people would believe she was actually the wife of Jimi Hendrix.

While Dad stressed over profit margins, she blended in with the town. Mama loves her long hikes, collecting new ceramics and paintings from little known artists on trips, and giving her boys all nature-inspired middle names they're called by. The first names Dad chose were meant to make sure that if we wanted to have a serious job, something in business or politics, we could. My brother Robert Leaf is four years younger than me and won't touch this place with a ten-foot-pole.

"Just Scout? No Leaf?" she asks.

"Leaf has asked to be called Robert because he is Jonathan's son through and through. And no. He doesn't leave Manhattan. Practically hasn't since he started at NYU. He's become a full on finance bro." I don't hide my frustration with my middle brother. His superiority complex is grating, and since Dad's stroke a few years ago it's only become more frustrating.

"Robert?" The question causes a muffled laugh, "Sure. I've met the type along the way. What's his story?"

"Who knows, like I said he doesn't want to leave Manhattan, he sends home money. That is how he helps… and Dad couldn't be prouder of him. Ironic, because the way he made the legacy of the George's out to be a curse it took a stroke for him to finally let go. Despite how much I love it here." It's the sleep deprivation, that must be why I'm being too honest.

"Okay," she hesitates, "so Scout?"

"Scout is a senior at Rutgers, and he'll be home in May. Usually I try to keep him from having to do this sort of thing, but Mama wants him at family dinner tonight anyway, so he offered to help with some of the demo in the cottage out back beforehand." I shrug.

When the stroke happened, the left side of Dad's brain was impacted. The doctors said that could have caused loss of language, reason, and logic, not just physical paralysis. His right arm and leg don't function consistently anymore. He finds light and sound more difficult to process so my parents house is always bathed in low lamp lighting. He's generally in a pair of noise canceling headphones we gifted him one Father's Day, listening to books or drowning out the world with music.

Given his cantankerous disposition, I used to joke that his mood had not changed. Except, it is markedly different. There is no mistaking it. After the hospitalization and step-down rehabilitation programs ended, Robert announced he'd found someone to help. Enter Gary: the behemoth man looks like a football player with his husky six-four build and thick dark blond beard. We have him assist with bathing and light exercise a few times during the week, thanks to Robert's financing. Gary is a recent veteran and given Dad's military history, they've been able to bond over this shared past. Mom keeps encouraging him to go to the VA for a group, but Jonathan is too stubborn. I wish he went, maybe someone else could get him to be nicer to me.

There are so many moments where his pride in Robert, based purely on perceived financial gains, are pushed far too hard in my face. It adds on to why everything I'm doing for the bar is so much more important to me. Starting with the renovations I did the first winter during our slowest season. I made a real effort to evolve beyond an old townie spot. Delia arranged with Gemma Whitter, and her wife Alice Mills-Whitter, to help oversee everything from the interior construction to the decor choices. The work didn't come cheap, because I wanted to do it once. Do it well. Yes, I took a loan on the property that I now have to pay off. Yes, of course, Dad disapproves of that choice. I just wish he could see my vision. It's already providing increased revenue; this is about more than my future. It's all of ours, every ‘ George Hendrix ' past and future.

Now, we have major events like the recent party for Stef and Lee on a regular basis. I'm booked solid through the spring and fall for rehearsal dinners, birthday and anniversary parties, and reservations for Easter Brunch. The events offered for Mother's or Father's Day fill up within days of being opened.

"River? You still here?" Lily cautiously prods .

Shaking my head, I yawn and stretch a little. "Sorry, still really tired. Was a late night. I decided that I'm going to do a bunch of specials for Sunflower Fest, starting with seasonal beers. I was up last night researching."

Her smile is magnetic, even through a screen. She swings the camera over her shoulder and shows off the slowly shifting foliage behind her. "Nothing says fall like New England, can you sneak away for a day or two?"

I want to say yes so badly, but I'm nervous to step away right now, wavering I offer, "Let me check in with Delia? She's my right hand around here and I don't know if she'd want to tackle this alone."

With a sugary sing-song voice she adds, "I had a local maple beer last night that would be perfect for the festival… you could say it's to come get syrup for the batches." With that dangling suggestion I'm a goner.

"I'll text you later, promise. I need to go back to sleep. Have a great day."

"Sweet dreams, River. Talk later."

Just as quickly as she took over the room, she's gone. My phone fades to black and I drift into a rough sleep filled with dreams of dark waves of hair wrapping around my face. When I wake again later, it seems my entire body has gotten the message, and I groan before changing to work out and hopefully push these feelings away through exercise.