Fisting his T-shirt collar in my hand I whisper, “Yes. Your job now is kissing me.”
Wesley wraps his arms around me. He runs his mouth up my shoulder, my neck, my jaw, my ear. I melt into him.
“Best job I ever had,” he says, before pressing his lips to mine.
Epilogue: Wesley
One year later
The last time I was here, my life was in shambles. But the Blunt family home remains unchanged. Sunlight brightens the space from the large window at the end of the hall, keeping it warm enough that by the afternoon it’s easy to feel logy and ready for a snack or a nap. The smell is a little antiseptic but not enough to be sterile. Just clean, with a layer of her shampoo underneath. It’s quiet at this time of day but the floor creaks as I stop in front of a closed door.
Letting my bag slide off of my shoulder, I drop it on the floor.
I take off my glasses and rub them on my flannel shirt. Run a hand through my hair to try to tame it; Corrine told me to get a haircut but I forgot. Plus, I like it when she can pull my hair, anyway.
Blowing a breath through my lips, I knock.
“Come in.”
The crystal, antique doorknob sends rainbow fractals across the wall, until I snuff them out with my hand. The door opens with a creak and there she is—leaning against the window, silhouetted in that bright, white, winter afternoon sunlight. Her hair is down and her sweater is too large.
She smiles when I walk in, padding over on bare feet.
“Hi,” she says quietly. She wraps her arms around my waist, plastering herself against me. I hold her back. “I missed you.”
She arrived in Minnesota two days ago while I finished packing up the apartment I shared with Jeremy and moved my boxes and a few pieces of furniture into her place, in between work.
“Corrine,” her mom says. “Don’t hog him. Introduce us.”
Linda Blunt sits in an armchair next to the window. Her hair is short and a little patchy. She’s pale but her cheeks are pink. And she’s thin. But Corrine was right when she told me on the phone last night that she’s recovering.
Corrine steps away, pulling her hands into her sleeves. “Mom, this is Wesley. Wesley, this is my mom, Linda,” she says, ever formal.
We’ve spoken a few times over video chat when I’ve been at Corrine’s apartment. But this is it. Our first in-person meeting.
“Wes.” She opens her arms. “Come closer, you handsome boy. Let me see you. Chemo did a number on my eyesight.”
“Yeah. Mom started wearing glasses after her first round,” I say, walking over. Leaning down, I let Linda Blunt pull me into a hug. I’m just thankful I don’t have to shake her hands. My palms have never been so sweaty.
She squeezes, tight. The way moms do. I want to pull away after a moment, but Linda holds on, pulls me closer. She rubs my back, strokes my hair. She smells like vanilla, classic mom smell.
A sob surprises me, escaping through a shudder in my chest. I try to suppress it.
“Oh, Wes,” she says. “Oh, Wesley.”
I realize, as I’m comforted by my girlfriend’s mother, that I haven’t been hugged by a mom in a while. This is the first time, in a long time, a woman like my mother has wrapped her arms around me, held me, comforted me, despite being sick herself.
This is my first mom hug, since my mother’s last one.
I drop to my knees on the carpeted floor in front of her chair, so I don’t put too much of my weight on her body as another sob wracks me.
“Oh, Wes,” she soothes. Another set of hands rest against my lower back. Corrine’s don’t move, she just lets me know she’s there.
“I’m so glad,” I say between breaths. “You’re feeling better, Linda.”
She pets my head. “It’s Mom,” she whispers. “If you want.”
I nod into her shoulder. “I want.”
