“I know,” I whisper. “I think in a way, I’m more worried about him than me.”
“Sounds about right for you,” she says, with a quiet laugh. “But as far as…um, sex. It’s a part of romantic relationships, certainly, and obviously a part of marriage. Usually relationships are developed over, um, a bit more time than you and Wes have had, and likely will have.” She closes her eyes as she says this, endeavoring and failing to keep her voice even as she says it. Gamely, she continues. “But. I just want you to…to keep your wits about you. To trust your instincts. If something seems wrong, listen to yourself. And if it feels right, listen to that too. Don’t be pressured into it. It should be mutual. It should be beautiful. Take your time. Don’t rush into it, either.” She huffs, nervous, uncomfortable. “Don’t rush. Savor the time you spend with him. Remember the beautiful moments. Be you, and be vulnerable—if you feel safe and comfortable. And…expect him to be vulnerable too; and just some real talk here, honey—vulnerability can be difficult for men, so you may have to coax it out of him.”
In a way, this is the most ridiculously uncomfortable conversation I’ve ever had in my life. But also…the realest, the most needed.
She pulls me into a hug. “Jolene, my darling. If we have done anything like raise you right, then you’ll know what’s right and when. If we raised you right, then we have to trust you to make this decision for yourself. If you feel this is right and good and necessary, then…okay. Just…” She squeezes me tightly. “Just remember, if you need us, we’ll be on a plane faster than you can say boo.”
“I know, Mom.” I squeeze her back. “I love you.” I pull back and touch my forehead to hers. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
“I know.” She pulls back. “So, what’s the plan again?”
“We’re going to road trip back to LA. He has some work obligations that he can’t avoid, but then he’s going to rearrange his schedule. Put things on hold, whatever he has to do to get some uninterrupted time alone with me.” My heart skips as I say this—uninterrupted time alone with Wes. Squeeeee! “We’re going to make arrangements for a wedding. Soon, small, and private. Just you guys, Auntie Mace and Beth, and…well, honestly I don’t even know who would be there for him. I mean, I know like from Wikipedia that his parents are both alive and together and that he has an older sister, but I don’t know if he’s close to them or if he has a best friend or…any of that stuff.”
“That’s because you literally just met him, dear.” This, with some droll side-eye
“Knowing the facts about someone is not the same as knowing them, Mom. I don’t know how to put it.” I hunt for words. “I guess it just feels like…it feels like my heart knows his.”
Mom softens. “I know what you mean, honey.”
It’s another half an hour before Mom declares packing complete. I insist on hauling my suitcase down myself. Which I only manage about halfway, and then I have to pause and rethink the decision. Because…am I strong emotionally and mentally? Heck yes. Am I tough, physically? Absolutely? Do I suffer from an abundance of raw physical power? Not so much.
So I stand on the middle of the stairs, clutching a suitcase that suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
Wes is at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. “Got it?”
I huff, annoyed. At myself, at circumstances, not him. “No, I do not.”
“You want some help?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
He’s there in half a moment, taking it from me as if it weighs nothing. “I didn’t want to jump in and assume you needed help.”
I hold on to his arm, perhaps more than I strictly need to. “I really appreciate that, actually.”
“My sister is paralyzed from the waist down. Car accident when I was twelve, and she was seventeen. So I kinda grew up around that mentality—that understanding, I think is the better way to put it. She resents being offered help when she doesn’t need it or want it. She’s strong, she’s independent. She lives alone and has for years. She’s an athlete, an artist, and an absolutely amazing person, and I’m constantly in awe of her. She also happens to be in a wheelchair. So with you, I guess I’m sort of assuming something similar—you may have limitations. But I’m not going to assume you want me to sweep in and do everything for you. Even if my desire to help and to be there for you conflicts with that.”
I stop with him at the bottom of the stairs and look up at him. “Thank you.”
He frowns. “For?”
“Sharing that with me.”
He sniffs a laugh. “Oh. Well…” He shrugs. “Actually, that isn’t something I’d normally share with someone I just met. I’m pretty protective of her privacy.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Dinah,” he answers.
“Are you close with your family?” I still have my hand tucked around his bicep. “I was talking to Mom before I came down and realized that other than what’s, you know, publicly available knowledge about you, I don’t really…know you.”
He nods. “I am, actually. With Dinah, at least.”
“What about your parents?”
A shrug. “They live back East. Vermont. I moved to LA when I was eighteen, the day I graduated high school. They didn’t agree with the decision. They thought I should stay home and go to college and ease into show business. All I wanted to do was be a musician, and here was my chance, right? It just fell into my lap like a freaking grenade and blew up my life. I was nobody, and then literally overnight I was famous. It was bonkers. But I was like, I’m doing it. They thought it was a mistake, it’d be this fleeting thing. They believed in me, it was just the system they didn’t believe in.” A laugh. “Turns out, they were right. When I quit the band and the label like I did, there was a minute where I was like, shit, maybe they were right. But I loved LA and I loved performing, so I decided to stick around a while longer and try to make another go of it. And that just so happened to coincide with my agent getting a call from a director looking for a guy with a certain look for a part—and I just so happened to fit that look. And bam, just like that, I was an actor.” Another laugh. “They really didn’t like that.”
“Do they support you now?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, but it’s still a bit strained. They were always telling me I should just come home, let things cool off a bit.” A sigh. “It made me feel like maybe they didn’t support me or believe in me as much as I wanted them to. I dunno. It’s complicated.” A pause. “Then Dinah moved out to LA and that sort of chafed them a bit, too.”
I grinned at him. “And what do they think about this whole thing with you and me?”
A blinking, blank look. “Well…?”
I laughed and patted him on the chest. “I’m teasing.”
He sighs. “It will be a heck of a shock for them when I call them and tell them, ‘hey, Mom and Dad, so, um, I’m getting married next week, so you need to come out to LA.’”