“Actually, no. Jolene is, uh, sick.” I let that word sit in the silence a moment. “I need a private flight chartered for her family as soon as possible. Include her best friend Bethany and Bethany’s guardian, Macy, and Jolene’s grandmother. Best solution for accommodations would be a house for them all in this neighborhood, as close to mine as possible. I don’t care what any of this costs.” I pause again. “Next, when Jolene feels better, I’m going to need a real showstopper of a date planned out. The most magical, the most romantic evening possible. A private table somewhere incredible, candles, roses, music, a limo home.”
“Wes…”
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. I’m not leaving her side until she’s back on her feet. Not for anything. Not for the president or the pope, not for anyone or anything. Consequences be damned.”
“But, Wes—”
“Nope,” I cut in. “I don’t play the boss card with you very often, Jen, but I am, now—no. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not doing interviews. I’m not doing choreo. I’m not blocking. I’m not rehearsing lines, or table reading. I’m not available.”
A sigh. “Got it—I got it.”
“Keep Martin away from me. I love the man, he’s great at what he does and I appreciate him, but if he tries to badger me on this I’m gonna snap.”
“Understood.” A pause. “This…date. Have anything in mind?”
“Dinner, but not, like, the inedible fancy bullshit. Good, simple food. A bottle of wine. Roses. Somewhere private. Maybe, like, a classical music trio or something. She’ll need a fancy gown and shoes. Someone to do her makeup—she may not want to wear makeup because she doesn’t, usually, but I want her to have the option.”
“So, like, some Bachelor-type stuff.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“The reality show?”
“I don’t watch reality TV. Or any TV at all, to be honest.”
A sighing laugh. “Oh, well, whatever. Regardless, I’ll handle it.”
“Thank you, Jen.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
I swallow hard. “You know anyone who can perform miracles?”
“My cousin goes to church. I can have her pray?” A tense silence. “I’m worried how this is going to shake out for you, Wes.”
“Me too. But I’m not thinking about that. I’ll deal with that if and when the time comes.”
“You know we’re here for you.”
“I know. And I’m grateful for you both.”
Midnight going into day three of sickness.
She took another pill a few hours ago. The fever broke, finally, so that feels like improvement.
My doorbell rings. I drag myself off the couch and to the front door—I’m not expecting her family until tomorrow; they arrived in LA not long ago, but Jolene is sleeping and they decided to let her rest.
I pull the door open. “Dinah?”
My sister could pass for my twin, despite being five years older. Same blond hair, though hers is long and usually back in a French braid, same brown eyes, same facial structure. She has a strong, lean, athletic build from the waist up, and before the accident she was a multisport varsity collegiate athlete—all-state track, all-state soccer, and state champion field hockey team captain. Then, the accident. It only slowed her down for a few months, though, and then she picked herself up out of the emotional dumps and rebuilt her life. Now, she spends as much time in the gym working out and training clients as she does in the art studio.
She has a six-pack of beer in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smells of burger and fries emanating from the bag. “Hey, bro-ski.” She regards me with pursed lips and a frown. “Wow, you really look like shit.”
I huff a laugh, and back up to let her in; I wouldn’t tell her this, but another reason I chose this house in particular was that there are no steps anywhere in the house, so she can roll from front door to back door with ease, only a few thresholds to bump over.
“Hey, Di.”
She follows me into the living room, sets the six-pack and carryout on the coffee table, and then tosses her purse onto the couch. With practiced, graceful ease, she transfers herself from her wheelchair to the couch, adjusts her legs, and then points at the beer. “Grab me one, would you, Wes?”
I crack one open for her and one for myself—the last thing I feel like doing is drinking, but a beer with my sister is kind of our thing. She shows up randomly with beer and food, and we talk about deep things.
I take a sip and then divvy out the food, burgers and fries from a local drive-through. Garbage food, but I’ve neglected to eat for quite a while, and Jolene would want me to.
It just feels wrong.
“So.” Dinah washes a handful of fries down with a swig of beer. “Why do you look like a sad sack of shit?”
I make a pressing down motion with a flattened hand. “Keep your voice down, please.”
She blinks at me. “You live alone. You don’t even have a cat.”
I sigh, take a seat beside her and attack the food—now that I taste and smell it, I realize how hungry I am. “You’re not going to believe the story I have to tell you.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Well, that’s not wrong. But it’s not even close to the whole story.”
“You eloped?”
I sip beer, and lean back, wiping my fingers on a napkin. “I honestly don’t even know where to start.”
Dinah frowns at me. She hears the complex layers of emotions in my voice—no one knows me as well as she does. I intentionally avoided discussing any of this with her because if anyone could have talked me out of doing what I did, it was her and I wasn’t about to allow that. This is the right thing for me, and I know it. She wants what’s best for me, but she’s also really protective and can be rather…aggressive about it, if she thinks I’m doing something stupid.
We have a complicated relationship, to say the least.
“Wes, talk to me.” She eyes me. “You’re worrying me. What did you do?”
So, I tell her the story. The TikTok, how it affected me. The spur of the moment decision to go meet her. How I felt when I met her, and how every moment since with her has only taken my feelings for her deeper and deeper. And oh yeah, she’s dying of leukemia as we speak.
When I’m done relating the events of the past week and a half—which is weird to think about, that it’s only been ten days since I first saw her video; it feels like a lifetime has passed—Dinah is quiet for a very long time.
“Wow.” She hands me her beer to set down. “That’s…a lot.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes to my bedroom door, closed. “She’s in there, right now, sleeping?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re determined to see this through?” Her gaze is unrelenting, assessing, seeing through me as no one else can.
I nod. “I am. All the way.”
“Why, Wes?”
I shrug. “I…I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked myself that. I don’t know, Di. Something about her just…belongs with me. To me. I don’t know to even put it. I wouldn’t have picked this situation for myself, Dinah. Who would? It’s so crazy. Zero to…I’d say sixty, but that’s not it. It’s gone from zero to a thousand, like, instantly. My emotions, our relationship, her emotions, the reality of…the situation.”