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I try to fight my smile and lose. “Bingo. Looking for chemistry led me right to our nemesis, Mister Man Bun.”
Weston snorts at the nickname I’ve given Jesse. I’m pretty proud of it, myself.
“Why do I feel like that’s the more explosive kind of chemistry?” he asks gently. “The kind that starts out hot but then leaves devastation in its wake? In the end, it always ends up hurting people.”
“Nailed it.” I close my eyes as he starts to massage my shoulders in earnest, melting away the tension of the last few days that started with an argument and slid right into the awkward silence you just want to wipe away. He was so honest with me earlier. I owe him the same in return. “I didn’t know how to get away from Jesse, from my sisters, from my life. I felt like I was failing at everything. Couldn’t be a pharmacist. Couldn’t pick the right guy. Couldn’t find a better job to leave him. Had to move home with my tail between my legs and see the disappointment in my parents’ faces daily while Mom coddled me and Dad tried to avoid me. So, I did everything I could to make them happy and keep all the balls in the air. Just like when I was little. It’s really exhausting living that way. There’s little joy to be found in between those moments.”
“Presents,” he offers, switching his hands to the base of my neck and working out a knot with his thumbs. “This is why you love giving presents more than anything.”
“Exactly.” The more I talk, the lighter I feel. It’s so nice to be able to share this with someone. I haven’t even told my sisters these things. I’m not sure I’ve ever really told myself. It’s almost like I never allowedmyselfto get to know the real me. “I tried to hold onto my dream. Running the pharmacy and building up the gifting side of the business. I thought I could run the gifting part through the drug store too and that I could do both.”
His hands go still for a moment. “But you don’t want to be a pharmacist. You want to run the gifting side.”
“Ineedto do both.” I know that he doesn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t help but feel like he’s trying to push me, too. I just wish everyone would let me make these decisions on my own. Even if they aren’t going to be the thing that makes me the happiest, they’re the things that need to get done.
Weston’s long fingers swipe up the side of my neck. “Why? Hire a pharmacist when your dad retires.”
An argument starts to form in my head, but before I can say something that I’ll regret later, his phone goes off. He lets it ring until voicemail kicks in. And then it rings again. And again.
Weston climbs out of the bath with a sigh, still dripping onto the tile when he grabs his phone from the counter and puts it to his ear to listen to a voicemail.
“It’s so late,” I groan, curled against the edge of the tub. “And this bath is still warm. Can’t whoever it is wait till tomorrow?”
“It was my mom. Shit.” He wraps a towel around his waist, taking another to swipe at his hair. Whatever she’s said, he isn’t happy about it. But he isn’t moving fast enough to seem scared either, taking the time to brush his teeth and give himself a once over in the mirror, before kissing me on the cheek and heading out to grab clothes.
I respect that she’s his mother and that she needs him. And I can’t ask him to abandon someone he cares about, especially someone he feels this indebted to. But we’re important too, aren’t we? I feel like we just had a major breakthrough, and yet he’s allowing himself to be pulled back into the muck of the past. I throw on a robe and follow him out of the bathroom, catching him right as he’s fishing his keys from the glass bowl on the kitchen counter.
I jut out a hip. “So. What is it? Did she fall and she can’t get up?”
He slumps his shoulders, bracing against the front door and leaning on his hand. “No.”
“Is she bleeding out of her eyeballs?” I don’t want to be mad at him. But I can feel the annoyance starting to come out in the tone of my voice. Whether he wants to label it or not, we’re in a relationship. Why am I not his number-one priority? I shrink inside, going back to the little girl who was never seen or heard. His failure to set boundaries with his mom triggers me in a big way. Even though I try to fight it—I know he’s working on it— things between us flash and escalate.
For one fucking moment of my life, I want to be picked first.
He rocks back on his heels. “Of course not.”
My breath is hot as it passes my quivering lips. “So what’s the emergency?”
“I didn’t ask.” He turns around to face me, and I find that he can’t look me in the eyes. “I told her I’d always be there for her. So here I am, being there for her.”
My arms cross over my chest as if I can protect myself from what I know is coming. I lose. Again. “And she’s putting that to the test now that I’m in the picture. Got it.”
He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, shaking his head. Then he turns and walks out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Eighteen
Weston
Elowyn’s words haunt me the entire way to my mom’s. There was so much hurt in her voice, in her tragic expression, and no matter what my reasons were, I caused it. I hate that I just left, that I let her anger just hang in the air between us. I could say it was because Mom needed me, and I didn’t want to make her wait. But the truth is, I couldn’t deal with it. I’ve been feeling weak and off-kilter ever since I came clean about killing Joel. Part of me is relieved that it’s out in the open, but the other part is scared that I need to step up for the first time as a partner and honor my relationship with Elowyn.
When I don’t know how.
I need to figure out how my mom can fit into my life without it being at the expense of my happiness and the comfort of those around me. It’s just hard to make those kinds of decisions when it’s the middle of the night, and the person who needs me is on the other end of the line. When my mom lost Joel, she stopped growing in any kind of meaningful way and now she’s just going backward the older she gets. Not that her lack of self-awareness is my fault, it justis.
When I park my car in her driveway, I already dread whatever is waiting for me in the house. She sounded so dire over the phone, complaining about how she can’t hear anything and how the aids were just a scam and the doctors just wanted to take all of her money. Ignoring the fact that I’m the one with my name on the payment plan. I knock on the door and wait five minutes before realizing she probably can’t even hear me. I call and text her, to no avail. Finally, I give up on the front door altogether and go around to the kitchen. There’s a window above the counter that’s easy to open from the outside, and the screen pops right out. It’s how I used to get in during my last few years of school if I stayed out late enough that Mom would try and lock me out.
Slipping in through the open window isn’t as easy as it was at seventeen, but I manage to wiggle through and land quietly in the kitchen. After replacing the screen and closing up behind me, I try to assess the situation. The TV is on in the living room, showing some home shopping program about control-top leggings. A solid couple of days worth of trash and dishes are strewn all over the kitchen, and I start gathering all of the empty soda cans to recycle and food wrappers to toss in the can, as well as making sure the dishes are at least in the sink instead of all over the counter.
