Westley
My heart is pounding like crazy. My lungs don’t want to work right. I’m completely full of shit. I have no clue what I’m doing.
I’m seriously going to marry this girl?
What the hell am I thinking?
I can’t seem to stop myself, though.
That kiss was…
My lips burn, the fierce hunger of her mouth on mine lingering like the after-impression on the backs of your eyelids from looking at the sun. I didn’t want to stop kissing her, which was why I did.
She’s beautiful.
I know she thinks she’s not because her body is thin from being sick and her hair is short and regrowing. But she is beautiful.
Her green eyes radiate strength and resilience, blaze with her determination to squeeze every last drop of joy out of life. Her skin is beautiful, pale with freckles, like sweet cream dappled by the sun. Her spiky, messy red hair is as fiery as her spirit. Her body is beautiful.
Her soul, though.
It’s brighter than the sun.
She’s genuine. Funny. Talented.
I want to be near her.
Am I bringing her into my life and opening my heart and in so doing inviting heartbreak? Maybe.
But…I accept it.
Am I crazy for that? Sure.
This is right.
I can feel it. The truth that I’m meant to do this rings in me like a bell. Clarion clear.
She’s just staring at me as if waiting for the dream to end. For the carriage to turn into a pumpkin, horses to mice, and shoes to vapor.
I take her hand and lead her back to her house. Now, her parents are waiting in the kitchen, sitting together with coffee mugs in hand. They watch us enter, and their eyes go first to our hands, joined, and then to the dandelion on Jo’s ring finger.
“I feel like maybe we missed something kind of important,” her dad says.
I let go of Jo’s hand and cross to the room, extending my hand to him. “Hi, Mr. Park, I’m Wes Britton.”
He stands and shakes my hand. “Charlie Park.”
I turn to her mom. “I don’t know that we met, um, formally.”
She blushes. “Sherri.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys. And I’m sorry for showing up like this.”
Charlie hasn’t sat down. He’s wearing jean shorts, like with properly hemmed ends, knee-high white socks with New Balance sneakers, and an Eiffel Tower tourist T-shirt tucked into the shorts. His hair is thinning, and the reddish-blond color of it tells me Jo got the ginger gene from his side. Her mom is medium height and slender, with blond hair and green eyes—the same shade of green as Jo; their daughter is a mix of both of her parents, physically.
Charlie seems like a generally jovial type, but he’s not smiling now. “You kissed my daughter.”
“Dad!” Jo pushes past me to stand nose-to-nose with him. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”
“This is my house.”
“And this is my life, Dad.” She takes his hand and I can tell she’s probably squeezing as hard as she can. “I know you’re not going to like or understand any of this, Dad, but please, please, please, just…trust me, okay?”
“You don’t know him.” He’s staring at me past his daughter. “He shows up unannounced at eight thirty in the morning, and I see you two sucking face in the backyard. Excuse me if I’m a little confused.”
Sherri is gazing with curiosity and concern at her daughter; and I realize: she knows. “Charles, just listen, honey. Okay?”
“Listen to what?”
Sherri’s eyes are soft, hopeful, confused, concerned…a thousand things. These are parents who dearly, desperately, totally love their daughter.
“Mom, Dad, I…” Jo turns to look at me for help.
“Maybe first they should see the video,” I suggest. “Might give them some context.”
Her shoulders slump. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s not, Jo,” I say. “It’s really not.”
Jo sighs. “Fine. Hold on—my phone is in my room.”
She vanishes up the stairs and returns with a cell phone. Spends a moment bringing up the video in question, and then hands it to her parents. Her mom takes the phone and holds it, while her dad blindly fumbles for a pair of reading glasses on the kitchen table.
They watch the video silently. Her mom’s eyes mist over and she covers her mouth with one hand, as if to hold in her emotions. Her dad’s jaw clenches and he blinks furiously a few times, swallows hard.
“I didn’t think he would see it,” Jo says, once it’s done playing. “I genuinely never expected him to see it. But somehow it…” she sighs. “It went viral.”
Her dad frowns. “How many views does it have?”
I surreptitiously check the post on my own app.
“Ten…million?” Jo answers, making it sound like a question.
Her dad rips off the readers, eyes wide. “Ten million? You’re kidding.”
“Actually, as of just now, it’s hit thirteen-point-five million,” I add.
“Dear lord,” Charlie mumbles. Then, he rallies, straightening. “I can’t believe you put that on the internet, Jo-Jo.”
“Dad.” She huffs, and then again. “Again, I thought the only people that would see it would be my friends. And then…he showed up here.”
“How does that lead to you two making out in my backyard? And why were you holding hands? And why do you have a weed tied to your finger?” Charlie sits down, abruptly, and slugs coffee like it’s whiskey, complete with a wince and a grunted sigh after the swallow.
“I, um.” She clearly has no clue how to proceed.
Neither do I. But she’s floundering and I have to step in.
“I said yes.” I move to stand beside Jo, take her hand in mine. “The only people that know I’m here are my agent and my assistant. I do my best to stay out of the media, and I legitimately have nothing to gain professionally from this.”
Sherri laughs. “We do, though.” She looks right at me. “Not that I’m saying we’d, you know, sell a story. I’m just saying, I don’t think the issue we have is that you might be doing this for publicity.”
Charlie holds up both hands. “Hold on, hold on. When you say you said yes…” He clutches his coffee mug and stares at me. “You mean—”
“He means he said yes. And I said yes.” Jo looks at me, wonder and disbelief and hope all tangled in her eyes. “It means…”
“We’re getting married,” I finish, and the sound of that coming out of my mouth fills my head with a furious tumult of wild emotions, each more chaotic than the last. Her hand in mine, however, grounds me.
Charlie stands up. “No.”
Sherri moves to make a triangle between Jo and Charlie. “Hold on, honey. Just…breathe a second.”
“Are you talking to me or Dad?” Jo asks.
“Both.” She shakes her head, turning her attention to her daughter. “My god, I—Jo. Come on. You’re not serious.”
“I know it sounds a little…” Jo trails off, shrugging.