Page 29 of That's Not a Thing

“But there’s no cure for that,” Daphne says about Wesley, like I might not have already been all over the Internet, learning about the disease.

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Mer,” she says again. “That’s just ... My God. And he doesn’t even have family around to take care of him at the end.”

Wesley always hated being an only child.

“That’s got to be some kind of serious torment.” She looks at me searchingly. “I mean for you. To see him after so long and then find out that he’s got this fatal disease.”

I recognize her psych training pushing to get through, but she knows I don’t want to be shrinked. I went through enough hours of that when my mom was sick.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do? WhatcanI do?” Our waiter walks by with dishes for another table, and the smell of garlic overwhelms me. “He’s not my guy anymore. I think I have to just stand back and let it happen, right? I can’t be all about Wesley when I’m supposed to marry Aaron at the end of the year. Aaron’s a patient guy, but he has his limits.”

“Aaronisa patient guy,” she repeats, “but I know you, and you will never forgive yourself if you don’t try to help Wesley in some way, or just hang out with him a little before he gets too sick to be with people. You should think hard on this because it’s not like you’ll be able to change your mind later.” She pauses. “And there’s a limit to how jealous Aaron can get over it since he knows Wesley won’t be around forever. The ‘dying man’ exemption or whatever.”

I flinch at her words, at the thought that Wesley’s time is limited, but I know she’s right.

“You’re not thinking of going to him, are you? Giving up on Aaron, risking everything to nurse Wesley through his dying days?”

Only now that she’s put the thought into words do I realize that yes, that is exactly what I’ve been thinking about. Would a few more months with Wesley be worth sacrificing the many promises of my future? I wonder what exactly I owe Wesley and what I owe myself.

“Well, you better not. You have too much to lose. You know I’ve got no love lost for Wesley after the way he treated you. Even so,” she continues, “I know you, Miss Meredith, and you will not be comfortable with yourself if you don’t reach out to him in some way. I’m still not sure he deserves your time and effort, but there’s something between all and nothing, isn’t there?”

And that’s the conversation that leads me immediately back to Google when I return to my office after lunch, and straight onto the website for Thunder Chicken. Nicola has disappeared somewhere, and I take advantage of the privacy her absence is affording me. I dial the number for the restaurant, and when the perky receptionist picks up, I ask to speak with Wesley.

The woman seems surprised by the request, as though I’ve asked to step behind the curtain and see the Grand Wizard.

“Oh. Okay.” She pauses. “I’ll see if Chef is available. And who shall I say is calling?”

“Just tell him it’s Meredith. He’ll know.”

“I can do no such thing. I will need your last name, Meredith.”

Really? This is the world that Wesley has chosen for himself? I would have imagined him as being above all this fanfare, the pomposity. But I suppose if a person wants to succeed in the restaurant world in this city, the city of all cities, he’s got to sell out a little.

The woman places me on hold, and after a brief moment of being assailed by the new-agey music piping through the phone, I hear the rasp of Wesley’s voice. “Meredith?”

“Yeah, hi.”

“Hi.”

He waits for whatever I’m going to say, but I falter.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, filling the silence.

“Yeah, I just was ... I just wanted to follow up on our conversation from the other day.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured I’d be hearing from you. Listen, give me your number and I’ll call you when I get out of here. It should be a little after ten tonight. That okay?”

“Sure. Okay.” I rattle off my cell number, wondering whether I am getting the brush-off or if he is actually going to call me back. After we hang up, I start brainstorming excuses about why I won’t be able to see Aaron tonight for a movie date, as we planned. If Wesley does actually return my call, I want to be available to speak to him without Aaron nearby when the call comes in.

I decide to tell Aaron that I am bringing some work home with me tonight, that I am overloaded with unfinished asylum business, and that we should just postpone the movie until tomorrow. I usually avoid bringing work home. In fact, my main goal each day at the office is to finish enough work during business hours to ensure that my evenings are my own. Even so, Aaron knows how invested I am in Moe’s case for refugee status, so if I make my conflict about that, I am pretty sure he’ll buy what I’m selling.

I check my watch and calculate that, based on Aaron’s estimates, this morning’s surgery should still be far from complete. I send him a quick email, which I figure he will see as soon as he checks his phone following surgery. I tap out the news that I need to move our plans to tomorrow evening, my heart pounding its misgivings as I add the false excuse that I will be too busy working my way through certain issues on the asylum case.

Two minutes later, my phone rings, Aaron’s number on the screen.