“It’s a spectrum, I’m telling you. Am I Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets? No. Do I have rather specific compulsions regarding cleanliness and organization? Yes.”
I look up at the ceiling, thinking. “Hmmm. Alphabetized spice rack? Check. Clothing organized by season and by color? Check. Dust Buster in every room of the house? Check.”
She tries to hold a stern expression. “Cleanliness is next to godliness. And organization is an integral part of cleanliness.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “I know, Mom. And I’m thankful for your compulsive dedication to godliness.”
She begins refolding the clothing I took out but decided not to take with me; I put the rest back on the hangers and in the closet. When my room has been returned to its naturally orderly state—that’s a joke, by the way—Mom sits on the edge of my bed and toys with the zipper tab of my suitcase.
She’s chewing on something—she has been this whole time she’s been helping me pack, but she’s still working out how to say it.
I sigh and sit next to her. Wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Whatever it is, Mom, just say it. You can talk to me.”
She sniffs a laugh. “Funny.”
“For real, Mom. I know you’re trying to figure out how to say something. So just…out with it.”
She runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t…I don’t know how.”
“Just be blunt,” I say. “At this point, there’s no point in being tactful.”
Another sigh. “You’re really going to marry him? Like, actually marry?”
“I think so.”
She looks at me, uncomfortable. “I know you’re nineteen and not a child. But you’re also…innocent.”
I groan. “Mom.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “You told me to just say it, so I’m saying it. You can’t shush me now because it makes you uncomfortable.” She holds my gaze, giving me the Serious Mother look. “You’re a virgin, Jolene. He’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I suppose I don’t, not for certain. But I find it hard to believe a handsome twenty-one-year-old male actor at the peak of Hollywood fame would be. It’s just smarter to assume he’s not a virgin, that he has experience you don’t.”
I lift a shoulder. “Okay, granted. And?”
“You know the birds and the bees, Jolene—”
A cackle bursts from me. “Ohmygod, Mom, yes. I know how sex works. I’m a virgin, but not exactly by choice, and I’m definitely not a child.”
“But you’re marrying an older and more experienced man, Jolene. Certainly you can see how I feel like it’s my duty to at least have an honest conversation with you about… expectations, I suppose you could say.”
I blow out a breath, because honestly, this is a topic that’s been on my mind pretty much constantly since things happened with Westley yesterday. I look at my door, which is closed—Wes and Dad are on the porch, drinking coffee and talking. Hopefully Dad hasn’t said anything too embarrassing.
I scrub my spiky hair. “My thoughts on that are actually pretty complicated.” I stand up, go to my desk, and fiddle with a mechanical pencil, because I don’t think I can look at Mom while I say this stuff. “I thought about talking to Bethany about this, but…she’s a virgin too, so I don’t really have anyone I can talk to that can give me sound advice.” I look at Mom, my expression tangled up between hard and earnest and pleading. “I need you to try to be not just my mother, for a second.”
She picks at a loose thread on the quilt of my bed. “I’ll do my best, honey.”
“I don’t want to die a virgin,” I whisper.
“Jolene—”
“Just listen, for a second, please.” I click the pencil until the lead is almost an inch long, then push it back in. “It’s not why I’m doing this. It’s really, really not. There really is a connection between us, an emotional one that I can’t explain. But then, it also is a part of why I’m doing it. Because…if not for this thing with Wes, I will die a virgin. I’ll die never knowing what it’s like to be…wanted.” I hold up my hands to forestall any protests from her. “I know, I know—you and Dad love me with everything you’ve got. I know. But it’s not the same and you know it. I want something more than you and Dad can give me, and that doesn’t reflect on you, it’s just reality.”
I swallow hard, let out a shaky, nervous breath.
“Mom, I…I want…that. With him. Yeah, there is an element of it that has to do with the fact of my years-long crush on him, I’m not going to try and deny that. But now suddenly he’s real and he’s in my life, and…I’m scared. I don’t want him to feel…obligated. And I also don’t want to feel pressured. And…god, it’s so complicated, Mom. And I just…I don’t know how to navigate it. And the fact that I’m sick does enter the equation. It has to. I don’t have much time left, and that just hangs over everything. It colors everything I do, everything I think, everything I want, and I’m worried he’s just going along with this out of pity for the poor sad cancer girl from TikTok, but he’s too nice to say anything.” I close my eyes, keep going. “And then…there’s a very real part of me that doesn’t care if that’s why he’s doing this. Like, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because it’s him. But for me, it stops being about who he is and it starts being about the time I have left and what I want to do with it. And part of me is just like, this guy clearly likes you, so just run with it. It’s the only chance I’m going to get to…to get carried away with a guy. To do any of the stuff that other girls my age are doing, that’s just part of life and growing up and everything I feel like I’ve missed out on. But just the fact that I’m going to die soon means I have to think things through differently.”
Mom comes up behind me, takes the pencil from my fingers and sets it on my desk. Turns me to face her and holds my cheeks. “Jo, my love. Listen. It’s my job as your parent to protect you. To keep you safe. To give you the best life I can.” Her voice cracks. “You being sick has…it’s made me sometimes feel like I can’t do that. So the chances I get, I maybe sometimes go a little overboard. I know that. And your dad and I having to face the reality that—that you…” she trails off, closing her eyes, inhaling deeply and holding it. Lets it out, slowly. “That God is going to take you home soon. It’s the most impossible thing in the world. In a way, I don’t think we can come to grips with it.”
I sniffle. “God, Mom. Come on.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to say this. I want you to have happiness. God knows you’ve had little enough in your life, and I hate that more than I can say. And yeah, this whole situation with Westley is sudden and confusing and strange and it worries us. It’s so much, so suddenly. And part of me wants to just let you go off and do this like I would if you were a normal nineteen-year-old girl. And then there’s the reality that despite your illness, you are a normal nineteen-year-old girl. With normal needs and desires and instincts and all that. So in that sense, I understand that even if I wanted to stop you, I couldn’t. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. You’re not a child. But the desire to protect you is still there, as strong as ever.” She moves her hands to the outside of my shoulders. “I want you to be sure this is what you want. Marriage is not a joke. It’s not a game. It’s real, and it’s important. And you’re not just risking your heart and your future in this, but his, too.”