I sigh.
“Didn’t talk to my old boss. Didn’t give the middle finger to Christine.” I hang my head, still nauseated. My skin is overheated yet clammy, my arms and legs weak. Not at all how I thought victory would feel. “So. Didn’t exactly go down in spectacular flames like I set out to.”
Wesley tips my chin up with one finger. One corner of his mouth lifts. “Ofcourseyou didn’t.”
“You didn’t believe in me?” I return, half in jest.
“Just the opposite. My Maybell is not a vengeful person. Her head is in the clouds because she can see the beauty in the world from up there. Going down in flames doesn’t suit.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, choosing to lean my cheek into his palm. At thirty years old, I am finally accepting that I am simply nobody else but myself. I will always only be me. A little bit naïve, a lot idealistic. In the regard of many, understated to the point of forgettable, and easy prey, because my heart is so large a target. But those who deserve to be in my circle will like me just as I am, and will treat me the way I deserve to be treated.
“On to the next,” I announce, linking my arm in his. “It’s your turn now.”
At that, Wesley’s tender expression falters. “I feel like your part of the deal was easier.”
“Yeah, but yours is gonna be way more fun.”
•••••••
IT’S A FIFTY-MINUTE DRIVEto the airport in Knoxville, in which we dream about what we hope Scotland will be like. We hope the weather will be sunny and the Loch Ness Monsters in the mood to be glimpsed by humans. We hope we won’t get stuck behind people who like to recline their seats on the plane. I am doing most of the hoping. Wesley is mostly nodding along to all my chattering and growing progressively more pale. When we park the truck and get our luggage out of the back, his face is alabaster.
“Hey.” I rub up and down his arm. “Okay?”
My brain zings in a billion directions.He’s mad at you, it suggests. You did something wrong.Did I? I scan for anything I talked about on the drive over that might’ve offended him.
A darker thought creeps in: maybe he’s thinking about last night and regrets it.
I study his figure, which hunches over slightly, and feel my forehead crease with worry. He was in such a great mood last night, or at least I thought so. Now I’m second-guessing. It’s possible that I was so preoccupied with how fantastic I felt that I projected my good mood onto him and didn’t notice he didn’t feel the same... except, that can’t be right. He was happy. He expressly told me so.
After spending the night with someone, you don’t see them exactly the same way come morning. Sleepovers are a level unlocked in intimacy. I’ve been thinking we’re closer now, but what if he’s reconsidering me? Us? Going on a trip with someone you’re reconsidering being in a relationship with would certainly render a person pale and quiet.
I overcompensate for his quietness by being extra chatty. “Little disappointed that the connecting flight in Chicago only leaves us an hour of wiggle room. We could’ve gone sightseeing. What are some good sights in Chicago? I think they’ve got an important baseball field there, if you like baseball. Probably some museums. Deep-dish pizza. Maybe we’ll find somewhere in the airport that serves deep-dish.” We wend our way through clusters of people in the busy airport.
“This place is packed,” he grates, pressing himself into the side of the escalator we’re ascending as far as he can manage. A man bumps him with his bag anyway.
“Sorry,” the man says.
Wesley grants him a wincing smile and then faces straight ahead like he’s on his way to a guillotine.
“Do you want to get some snacks for the plane? I think there’s a Cinnabon past the gates.”
He responds with a curt shake of the head. A string of people pass us on the other side of the escalator and he guards me with his arm.
“What about reading material?”
He shakes his head again.
“Wesley.” We step off the escalator, heading for security. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I think the pancakes are giving me an upset stomach.”
“Oh, no.” I smooth a hand down his back. “I can go buy you some Rolaids.”
“No, I’ll be all right.”
“You sure?”
He nods jerkily.
