14. Wes/Nora

FOURTEEN

Mom's new apartment sucks,and I mean that in the nicest way possible.

I thought she'd move into a huge house with all the money she had saved and turn it into a library or some shit. I thought it would give me an out to live with her instead of Connor and Archer. As much as I love those guys, they're a pain in the ass, and the thought of living with my mom doesn't sound half bad.

Instead, her apartment is pretty much a bigger version of the office she used to have at home. Home. I hate calling it that. Without her there and just all my dad's shit and my childhood bedroom, it feels like the furthest thing from a home.

Here, there's wide floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood panels, fancy transparent chairs, and a sleek kitchen that always looks clean. It's almost too clean like she never does anything in there. There's a huge bookshelf filled with all of the classics and an abundance of signed copies of her own books. There are only black and white stock photos in the large frames that hang on the walls in the living room area.

The only good thing about this place is the fact that my mom is here, safe, somewhere she can call a real home. Better at least than the place where she used to be.

As I walk up the steps to her apartment, I try my best to push away all the resentment I have towards my dad and try to focus on making my mom feel better. This is her first holiday without him, even though she never really celebrated Thanksgiving until she met my dad. I just want today to go well for her. For her to have some sort of normalcy in the midst of the current chaos.

I hold up the carrier in my hand as Jarvis coos quietly. "Are you ready to surprise your mom, bud?" Obviously, he doesn't respond, but from the soft way he nuzzles his face into his hand, I'd say he's up for the job. I didn't wrestle this fucker into wearing a bowtie for no reason. I'm making a show out of my outfit so he might as well, too.

Before I can even knock on the door, it swings open and my mom practically launches herself at me, smelling so distinctly as vanilla as her slender arms wrap around me. "Oh, Wes. I saw you get out of the cab from the window, and I couldn't help myself."

"It's good to see you too, Mom," I muffle against her blonde hair. She pulls away from me, pouting as she leans down to take the carrier out of my hand. I take a second to look at her. She looks better than one of the first times I came over. She's not wearing loungewear today and is instead sporting a plain black dress and pairing it with her fluffy slippers. I don't think she's wearing any makeup, but I could never tell the difference anyway. The main thing is she's smiling.

"And you brought my favorite boy," she coos, turning around to let Jarvis out so he can roam around the apartment. He doesn't, though. He just sniffs along the carpet before he plants himself next to the television, curling up into a little ball.

I shut the door behind me as I follow them in. "I thought I was your favorite boy?" I ask playfully, toeing off my shoes beside the door.

She throws me a frown over her shoulder. "You're both my favorite boys. How about that?"

I laugh in response as she flops herself down onto the couch, reaching down to pick up Jarvis. He couldn't care less where he's seated as long as he's not walking around, so he doesn't fuss when my mom plants him into her lap so she can stroke him.

I take a quick look around the apartment, and just as I expected, everything is spotless. I sit down at the other end of the couch, trying not to sound judgemental as I ask, "Are you not cooking today?"

She turns to me, her blue eyes shining. "Nope. I don't think there's much point, is there, Wes?" She says the words as if they're just… right. As if there is no questioning that this is how things will go from now on. As if this isn't the first family holiday where her family isn't together. She scratches Jarvis's head before straightening out his bowtie. "We can just order takeout and look pretty."

I don't know why the way she seems so okay with this bugs me. If she's fine, then I don't need to worry. But I can't help but think that this is all a front she's putting on so she doesn't break down in front of me. I'm never fully going to understand her position as much as I try, and maybe the sooner I come to terms with that, the better.

"Yeah, I guess so," is what I find myself saying when my mind stops spinning.

She gives me a weak smile. "Hey, no sad energy in this place, okay?" She lifts her arms up as if she's raising the invisible roof. "This is a party house. A fun-zone."

I can't stop the snort that leaves me. "Okay, mom."

Silence settles over us for a few seconds before her favorite French drama captures her attention. I try to focus on it, but I don't understand much. She tried to help me learn French as a kid, as well as German, but I was too stubborn to take it seriously. I gave up on French, but I had no choice but to learn German. Sometimes, she'd go a whole day not speaking English just so I was forced to understand her. I'd have the odd meltdown, but eventually, being bilingual has come in handy. It just means new ways to curse, if I'm honest.

After the show"s finale wraps up, she switches it to a classic romcom, and I can't help but flinch. Is a romantic movie really the best thing she should be doing right now? I mean, she's settling a divorce with her husband, who cheated on her. If I were her, I wouldn't want to listen to a dumb movie that talks about how love is infinite and life-changing. I'd just want to smash some shit.

"How are things with you? You seem quiet, Schatz," my mom says, turning to me.

I shrug. "I'm okay. Everything's… okay."

Her eyes narrow. She settles against the arm of the couch, turning to face me fully. "Come on, Wes, talk to me. I'm dying over here in silence. You and I don't keep secrets from each other. Remember?"

I hate how right she is. I'm a huge softie. Everyone knows that. And that soft side is all because of my mom and how she raised me and allowed my personality to flourish. Despite my talkative and eccentric behavior, my mom has always made sure it's important that we communicate no matter what. I've told her nearly everything growing up, and I don't see how that's going to change now.

"I know, I'm just…" I take a deep breath, running my hand through my hair. "The team is doing awful this season, Mom, and I don't know if we're going to make it through."

"Oh," is all she says. Her nose wrinkles. "Do they know about–"

"No," I say, cutting her off. "Nobody on the team knows about what happened with… her. Only Connor knows, and it's going to stay that way, I promise."

Mom nods. "So, what's going on?" I try my best to explain to her how the team isn't gelling, and there's not much we can really do about it other than doing more team-building drills. I tell her about the last two games and how we just managed to pull through at the end of our most recent one. "Is your dad giving you a hard time?"

I sigh at the hesitation in her voice. Neither one of us has brought up what happened directly, and I don't want to unless she does. "Sort of, but I think it's also my fault. I just don't think my heart is fully in it, and I can't figure out why. I just… I don't know if I'm that serious about football anymore."

My own words shock me. They've been floating around in my head for months, but I've been too afraid to say it aloud. I've always loved playing and competing. It's been one of the constants in my life since I was a kid, but doing it professionally, doing it as a job, I don't know if I want that.

I don't want to be tied down to a contract or, worse, not make it to the NFL at all. If I'm going to strive for something, I want to be sure. And recently, football hasn't felt like that thing. I want to travel. I want to see new places and meet new people, not sticking to diets and ridiculous workout schedules. I just want to have fun. And playing football until I eventually break doesn't exactly sound like my idea of fun.

"What do you mean? You've always loved football. Ever since you were a boy," my mom whispers, her tone gentle, like she's afraid I'll break.

"I know, and I appreciate everything you and Dad have sacrificed to get me where I am, but I just…" I trail off again because, for once in my life, I don't know what to say. I'm confused, irritated, and downright stressed. I hate feeling like there's a rock lodged in my chest, but that has been happening more times than not recently. "I don't know, Mom. I don't feel like I used to. Maybe I need to discover more options and see what else I might be good at."

I shrug, feeling pathetic at my answer, but my mom just nods. A frightened expression takes over her face as her eyes widen. "This isn't about your dad giving you a hard time, is it? I don't want what's going on between us to drive you away from your passion, Wes. That's the very last thing I want for you."

"It's not him," I say, not really meaning it. He's obviously a factor in this somehow. "I just need to think about it. I'm probably stressing over nothing." My mom bites the inside of her cheek, clearly thinking about what to say, but I say something before she does. "No sad vibes, remember? Let's think of something to eat."

When mom looks at me like she's regretting everything that's happened in the last few months, I have the urge to tell her that it's not her fault. To tell her that no one is going to be able to fix the weird numbness I'm feeling in my chest. It's a problem I'm just going to have to deal with and figure out eventually.

After we submit an order for a pizza and chicken wings, I try to lighten the mood with some good news. "You know when you told me I should think about dating more seriously," I say as casually as I can, leaning over to pet Jarvis. Mom's eyes light up. "Well, I did. I've been seeing someone, and we're dating. Officially."

"Oh, Wes, seriously?" She exclaims like an excited teenager.

"Yup," I say, puffing out my chest. "You're going to love her. In fact, I think you already do." Her eyebrows quirk, and I let out a short laugh. "Nora Bailey," I add simply.

Her eyes soften, and she lets out the dreamiest sigh as if I've told her the best news in the world. "You finally asked her out?"

Finally.

That word hangs in the air like a firework about to explode. I've always had a thing for Nora. I think anyone with eyes can see that. I've waited around like a fool for years, waiting for her to see me the same way I see her, but I've come to terms with the fact that I'll only be her friend. I've spent nights with her in bars or at parties, trying my hardest to keep my hands to myself. I've spent weeks turning over ideas in my head, thinking of how I'd finally be able to ask her to be mine. This whole fake dating thing could work out perfectly for her, and we'll go back to the way it was. Her with a new guy and me being the idiot that has to watch.

"Yeah, I did," I answer.

"She's so sweet, Wes," Mom says, fawning over her like she's not a she-devil. I snort at that, shaking my head. She knows how much we terrorized each other as kids. She's a lot of things, but she isn't as sweet as my mom makes out. "I'm happy for you. Just don't rush into anything if you're not ready. I don't want you to have done it just because I suggested it."

I swallow.

There's nothing I wouldn't do to make my mom happy. To ease some of the tension and the pain she's feeling. If I can lessen that by making her think I'm fine and that my life isn't spinning out of control, I'm going to do it. There is nothing more important than the smile on her face, even if I have to lie to get it.

How do you feel about Hamilton?

Wessy

The musical or the founding father of our great nation?

Both…?

Wessy

I have no particular feelings towards Hamilton.

Really? I swore I heard you listening to My Obedient Servant last month…

Wessy

I was deep in an LMM rabbit hole. Sue me.

Wow, you're even using the abbreviations. I hate to break it to you, but you're a true fan, Wesley.

Wessy

What do you want from me, woman?

There's a showing of the musical at the drive in a few towns over. We can go if you want? Would be great for photos, and maybe my own personal gain...

Wessy

If you want to make out with me again, just say it. Or, I dunno, run away again? That seems to be your thing.

Shut up.

It's next weekend. Pick me up at 12. We're taking your car because it's bigger.

Wessy

Guess I don't have a choice.

See you there, Sunshine ;)

I've spent the better half of today trying to shield myself from Cat and Connor making out or doing something at the dinner table.

Thanksgiving with my parents is always my favorite time of the year. We always try to get together with Elle and Wes's family too, but with everything going on with the Mackenzies, I wasn't expecting them to show up. Elle's relationship with her moms is hard as it is, and I don't think the distance she's putting between them is helping her case. Instead, it's just me, my parents, Connor, Cat, and Cat's grandma JoJo.

I'm fully convinced that JoJo is my spirit animal. She's witty, fierce, strong, and highly competitive. After completely sweeping both of my parents in a game of Go, I dared to even look her in the eye. Even now, as she argues with my dad over the rules of chess, she's slightly terrifying but incredibly inspirational. After losing her daughter, she's become a huge constant in Cat's life, therefore making her a constant in our lives too. She might live half an hour away in a care home, but I know how important it is for Cat to be close to her around the holidays.

"What are you smiling at?" Cat asks when we've all finished our dessert, and she slides into the seat on the couch next to me. Connor follows her like the lovesick puppy he is and takes the seat across from me.

I didn't even realize I was still smiling at the texts between Wes and me until she started talking. I click my phone shut, shoving it between my thighs. "Nothin'," I say, shrugging. The country accent does nothing to hide the blush on my cheeks.

"Who were you texting?" Cat presses, poking her finger into my knee.

"Just Wes."

"Ah, the boyfriend," Cat muses.

"Fake boyfriend," Connor adds.

"How's that going?" Cat asks, ignoring Connor's comment as she takes a sip of the margarita in front of her.

"Good," I say. Her eyes narrow. "What? Everything's fine. It's just a little…. Strange."

"Strange how? What has he done?" Connor presses, pushing to the edge of his seat as if he's going to go across town to find him.

"Nothing," I shout, holding my hand up to him. "He's not done anything wrong. I'm pretty sure it's just me." I take a deep breath. "I'm just worried how easy this all is. I've only been in serious relationships, but pretending to be in one with my best friend just feels like I'm setting myself up for something that's going to go wrong."

Connor coughs and excuses himself. He doesn't really need to be present for my meltdown. Not like he's ever much help anyway. Cat inches closer to me. "What do you mean?"

"I kinda… ran away after we kissed. The same way I did the first time," I admit.

Cat furrows her eyebrows. "What? Why?"

I take a deep breath and all the words I've been holding spill out of me.

"What if I fall for him?" I blurt out. Her eyes widen. "What if he gets too good at this, and we get too into it, and all the lines start to blur? What if none of it works, and we've just made out a bunch of times and touched each other, and it just fucks up our friendship? What if it's not convincing enough, and it's all for nothing? Or…" I swallow, my throat tightening. "What if he stops liking me after this? If he realizes how genuinely unbearable I am, he won't even want to be friends with me anymore." I take in another gulp of air, unable to stop. "I know this is going to sound crazy, Cat, but… I need Wes in ways that I can't describe sometimes. He's always been there. Through every single rough patch we've hit, he's just there, and I don't want this to drive him away."

All the words rush out of me like I've been holding them in, and the vault has finally opened. Since we kissed after my rehearsals, I've not been able to stop thinking about this. My brain won't stop telling me the worst possible outcomes of this. I don't know when I became such a pessimist, but after everything that has happened in the last few months, it feels like second nature. I don"t want to have rushed into this to make another mistake. To push another person away. My overthinking has never done me any good, and it sure as shit isn't going to now.

"First of all, everything you said is valid," Cat whispers. I take a deep breath. "But some of it is also bullshit, Nora."

"What?" I choke out.

"That boy loves you more than anyone, and he has done since we were kids. I don't think a few make-out sessions and some cute pictures together are going to ruin what you two have," she explains. "You've just got to prioritize your friendship. Just think of it as an extension of that. You're an actress. You can pretend to be in love with people, right?"

"With people I don't know personally, yes. This is different. I know Wes better than anyone. I know how he is, how he thinks. I don't know people like that when I'm acting with them. Everything with him just feels so… safe."

Her eyes soften. "Isn't that a good thing? Aren't you sick of fighting or of questioning your worth? If Wes doesn't make you feel like that, maybe this is a good thing for you, Nor."

"I've only been with one person. What if I don't know what I like or what I don't like? What if I–"

Cat cuts me off by placing both of her hands on the sides of my face, shaking my head. "Nora, babe. I love you, but you're driving me crazy," she mutters angrily. "Ryan must have really fucked you up if you keep thinking that you're not capable of doing something like this. Just because you love easily and fall quickly doesn't mean you can't control your emotions. Hell, maybe you don't have to at all. Just trust your instincts and yourself. You're trying to play two steps ahead, and it's stressing you out. Just focus on the now, okay?" I just nod, my eyes stinging. "You've got this. It's going to work out."

She presses a kiss to my cheek before she pulls back. I take in a deep breath. Maybe she has a point. Maybe I'm just spiraling for no real reason. Maybe this is good for me. Maybe a model of a healthy relationship can help me move on in the future. Focusing on now might be the only thing I can do.

"You're right," I say finally.

Cat grins. "I know I am."

I laugh, resting my head on the back of the couch. "Sorry to go all existentialist on you."

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. "You're my favorite person to have an existentialist crisis with, Nora."

When she says that, I instantly start to feel a little less crazy.