Hollie Porter Builds a Raft

4. Oh, Anxiety, You’re So Cute-2

Tanner, his wife Sarah, and Miss Betty are already at the floatplane terminal when we arrive. As Ryan returns the rental car, the girls pull me aside to gawk at the ring. Even though they’ve already seen it, it is kinda fun to watch Miss Betty pull one of her monogrammed hankies out of her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

“I didn’t think that boy was ever gonna settle down,” she says, kissing my cheek.

I’ve been on the floatplane enough in the last year that I no longer have to breathe in and out of a paper sack upon take off and landing—and my darling concierge even had the door fixed on Miss Lily so I won’t almost fall out. Aw, what a sweetie.

But this plane isn’t Miss Lily—it’s her bigger cousin we use to transport guests—so there is plenty of room for Sarah to recline in her seat and for Miss Betty and I to sit on each side and massage Sarah’s poor sausage-swollen fingers.

“That ring is never coming off,” she says, eyes closed, a smile on her lips.

“Oh, just wait. Once this little peanut is out, you’ll be so busy chasing him or her around the pounds will melt off. After I had my third one, the doctor put me on a diet to gain weight because I was run so ragged. Tanner and Hailey were crazy toddlers, so when Ryan arrived, I was done.”

“And yet you did it again?”

“Brody was an oops,” Ryan teases from the front. “We remind him every chance we get.”

“Don’t listen to him, Hollie,” Miss Betty says, shaking her head. “Their dad would’ve had a hockey team if I hadn’t put my foot down.”

Sarah’s eyes open. “I think I’m good with one.”

“Are you sure there aren’t twins in here?” Miss Betty says, patting Sarah’s belly, already in love with her new grandbaby.

“Bite your tongue, Grandma,” Sarah says, turning to look at me. “What about you, Hollie? You want kids?”

I can’t help but look up at Ryan, to see if his head is turned, if he heard Sarah’s question. Is this how things are going to go now? We’ve not even been engaged a full day yet.

“Ahhhh, I’ve freaked you out. Okay, question rescinded. Don’t worry, Hollie. You guys have lots of time. Well, as long as your eggs aren’t scrambled like mine were,” Sarah says, squeezing my hand. I’m so grateful I don’t have to answer her question.

“So, have you and Ryan thought at all about when you’d like to get married? I’m assuming you’ll want to have the ceremony at the Cove, yes?” Miss Betty squeezes more lotion onto Sarah’s hand, the cabin filling with the scent of peach mango, and continues massaging.

“No idea yet. We haven’t really talked about any of that stuff …”

“Well, I know the summer is very booked, depending on how big a wedding you kids want. If you want a long engagement, that would be doable. Get married next summer maybe?” she says.

A year ago, getting married was so far off my radar, and although Ryan and I have both been quietly confident that this relationship would be our forever, I don’t have a ready response for Miss Betty.

I twist the engagement ring, still unfamiliar with the sensation of jewelry on my usually bare fingers. It really is the most gorgeous setting, though. Ryan did so good. Shall we take wagers on how long before I break it?

But Miss Betty is one step ahead. As per usual. Hands wiped clean of the lotion, she’s got her iPad out. And she’s scrolling through her reservations app. I will have a word later with Ryan about why introducing his mother to technology was probably not the best idea. I fear that she will next Google “secret recipes to help your son impregnate his new wife on their wedding night.”

I should maybe stop eating Miss Betty’s food for a while.

Also, where is the duffel of booze? This flight isn’t nearly as accommodating as it should be. I’ll have to have a word with the copilot.

Miss Betty taps Ryan on the shoulder—and then looks between him and me before returning her sparkling eyes to her screen. “How do you kids feel about a weekday wedding?”

“Mom … we haven’t had this conversation yet,” Ryan says, pushing his spongy mic thingie aside.

“But do you want a long engagement?”

Ryan and I lock eyes, shoulders shrugging in unison. “Mom, please—”

“Because if you want a weekend, we’re looking at possibly November, which could be lovely if you want a holiday theme, but Ryan, so many of your friends won’t be able to make it because hockey will be in full swing and then what about Hailey and the kids, and Brody—we have to think about when they’ll be able to fly out if it’s during the school year, and then Brody needs enough notice to be able to take his vacation time. But,” she almost sings the word, “we could pull something beautiful together for a summer wedding—Hollie would look so lovely in a summer gown—in the next four to six weeks? Last weekend in June might work, if you do a Friday—Canadians will be busy with Canada Day and the Americans busy with 4th of July—”

“MOM!” Ryan is joined in chorus by Tanner and Sarah. Thank heavens for backup as my mouth is fixed open and I think I forgot how to breathe and those pins and needles have retaken my fingers and maybe the plane door opening right now wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Plan a wedding in four to six weeks?

“Hol,” Sarah says, pushing her rounded girth more upright in her cushioned airplane seat, “hand me a few of your magazines. Let’s look at pretty dresses and find one that will make your boobs the envy of this modern sexist society, shall we?” Into my palm, she slides a tiny bottle of gin, seemingly from the ether, and winks.

I mouth “thank you” and bury my terror in the glossy pages of emaciated models drowning in lace and tulle, turning away long enough to guzzle the bottle and hope that Miss Betty doesn’t next Google “signs your future daughter-in-law is a drunk.”