“Grandma, I love you more than I can say. Iwantyou to pray for me, because I sure as heck need it. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend to believe something I don’t just to make you feel better. It would be a disservice to you, to what you believe, and to myself. The fact of the matter is that if thereisa God andifthat Godactuallyloves me, he wouldn’t make me suffer my entire life—and he sure as hell wouldn’t make me suffer my entire life and thendiebefore my twentieth birthday. That’s what I believe. But I respect what you believe and I respect you for standing firm in that, no matter what. I just don’t feel loved by God. I’m sorry, but I don’t. You say he has a purpose, and maybe that’s true, but it seems like a pretty shitty purpose, Grandma.”
A long pause, and a sigh. “Look, I love you. I miss you. When Wes and I figure out when and where we’re going to get married, I’ll call you and make arrangements for you to be here with us, because even if you don’t agree with what I’m doing or how I’m doing it, I know you love me with everything you’ve got and you’ll support me. And I need that support, Grandma. So on the matter of faith, we’re going to have to agree to disagree. But don’t stop praying. Because maybe God will listen to you in a way he doesn’t listen to me, for whatever reason. I don’t know. Pray for a miraculous healing. Because I really,reallythink this thing I have with Wes is amazing and magical—” her eyes cut to me, here, with a smile, “and I really,reallywant to have as much time as I can get to explore it with him. A lifetime would be really nice, but I’d take even a few more weeks.”
Another few minutes of back and forth, and then she ends the call, setting the phone into the console with a long, heavy sigh, rubbing her face with both hands.
“My grandmother is a lot. Talking to her is amazing, but it can be exhausting.”
I reach out and rub her arm. “I was just thinking about how I’m kind of jealous of your relationship with your grandmother. I don’t have that with mine.”
She makes a face, a complicated expression of wry amusement and sadness. “It comes from hours together in the oncology ward. My mom and dad could only spend so long with me since they had to work. Grandma retired when I was like, ten? So when I was stuck in the hospital going through endless rounds of treatment or at home recovering, it was Grandma who was with me most of the time. So yeah, it made us really close.”
“That’s honestly really special,” I say.
“I guess it is,” she says, shrugging.
“No, it definitely is. I’m not super close to anyone in my family except Dinah.” I hesitate. “I sometimes feel like I traded family for fame. Granted, growing up, things at home and with my family weren’t always all that great. I was…misunderstood.”
“You said they don’t necessarily support you, even now.”
I wince. “I may have fudged that a bit. They disagree with pretty much every decision I’ve ever made. They thought I should go to college or trade school and pursue music as a hobby. And they really hate that I’m an actor now, and not really even a musician anymore.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “My grandparents on my dad’s side both passed when I was little—they had Dad very late in life. Mom’s folks are still around, but Grandpa has pretty serious dementia, and Grandma…well…let’s just say she’s not dealing with that well. I go back East a few times a year and visit everyone, but it’s strained as hell. Grandma thinks I’m a YouTube celebrity, or something. Like, she thinks it’s all an internet hoax, or…or something. I’m not really sure what she thinks, and I don’t think she’s super clear on it herself.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have more support from your family.” She turns her gaze out the window, looking uncharacteristically morose. “I just wish I had more time.” To me, then. “Will they come to the wedding, do you think?”
I feel a flutter in my belly. Wedding. Wedding? That’s a reality. I said yes to that. But…the prospect of actually getting married? Yikes. It’s a little scary.
She’s regarding me intently. “You’re having second thoughts about that.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question.
“No, I’m not.”
She snorts. “Don’t be fake with me, Westley.”
I squeeze the steering wheel hard. “It’s not second thoughts. I said yes and I meant it.”
She shakes her head, pats my hand; it feels a little condescending. “That was a TikTok video, Wes. The time I’ve had with you has already been more incredible than any fantasy I could ever have conjured up for myself. You don’t have to marry me.”
I hold my answer for a moment, looking at my own emotions as analytically as I can, to be sure I’m telling her the truth.
“Jo, listen to me.” I glance at her. Hold her eyes as long as I can spare my attention from the road. “I’m not having second thoughts. Am I feeling…nervous, or…scared? Sure. I don’t know exactly what word you want to use for what I’m feeling, but I promise you it’s notoh god, I can’t do this. It’s more like…holy shit, getting actually married? Am I ready for that, like at all? I take marriage very seriously, Jo. Shit, I take relationships themselves seriously. It’s why I haven’t been willing to date or hook up with anyone, despite the easy availability afforded me by the fact that I’m somewhat famous. I don’t want to date just anyone. And I sure as hell don’t want to marry just anyone.” I pause to change lanes around a slow-moving semi. “The moment I saw you in that video, the moment I heard your voice, I knew down to the very freaking pit of my soul that we’re…god, I don’t know…connected, somehow. That I’m supposed to be with you. It was an imperative. Ihadto come to you. I didn’t know why, I still don’t know what it means or where it came from. I’m not sure I believed in, like, divinely appointed soul mates or whatever—I still don’t. But if they exist, divinely appointed soul mates, I mean, then you and I are that. We’re connected in a way beyond what’s normal. Deeper than what I can explain in any kind of rational way.”
She blinks hard. “You believe that?”
“I absolutely do.”
“I feel it too. For me, it was easy to blame it on the fact that I had this crush on you, as a celebrity, right? Like oh, I just like him because he’s hot and talented. I mean, shoot, every straight female on the planet probably has at least a little crush on you. So I guess I’ve been trying to blame it on that. But it’s not just that. When I met you, when you showed up at my door, I looked at you and I just…Ifeltsomething. Like you said, in my soul. The fact that you’reyou, you’retheWestley Britton? That kind of…stopped being important. How can we be connected when we just met? I don’t know. But we are. And I…” she swallows hard. “I’m afraid, Wes.” This is a whisper.
“Of what?”
She hesitates. Stammers. “I…I…” A sigh. Then, in a barely audible voice, face turned away: “Of letting you get too close.”
“I won’t hurt you, Jo. I promise. I’m not gonna flake out or change my mind or panic. I’m in this for the long haul, no matter what.”
She shakes her head. Her gaze turns to her lap, to her fingers pressing into her thighs. “It’s not me I’m worried about, Wes. It’s you.”
“You can’t worry about me, Jo. It’s my choice.”
“I know. But…what happened back there, in Cheyenne? That’s just going to get worse. Harder, and harder. Good days are going to be outnumbered by bad days. And then there’ll only be bad days, and then I’ll be dead, and you’ll be alone, stuck in love with me but I’ll be dead. It’s not enough time, Wes. There’s too much and there’s not enough time. If I let you…” She swallows, huffs, tries again. “If I let you fall in love with me for real, you’re just going to end up broken. And I don’t know that I can deal with having that on my conscience.”
“You can’t stop me from falling in love with you, Jo. You can refuse to be with me. You can refuse to let yourself fall in love with me. You can push me away. You can go back home and ignore me. But you can’t control how I feel. I don’t say this to be belligerent. It’s just not your choice—it’s mine. And I choose…you.”
