“What’s the point? She says she wants me home, but then she pulls out these, like, branded tablecloths that cost an extra few hundred bucks.”
“It’s your wedding too. If you don’t want the tablecloths, you don’t need to get them.”
Caleb laughed. “Yeah, right. This is her dream day.”
Wes had worked on enough wedding features to know that was often the primary message fed to engaged couples. “Marriage isn’t about a day, and if you can’t talk about stuff like that now, do you think it’s going to get better? You hate being out west.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t sound good,” said Wes doubtfully.
“I’ve had this feeling in my chest lately,” Caleb said, tapping what must have been his sternum loud enough that Wes could hear his voice vibrate. “I’ve never had it before.”
Wes stood up as if he could summon help from two provinces away. “Jesus. Are you having a heart attack? Can you feel your arms? Is your face numb?”
“What? No. My arms are fine. My face is fine. I was lifting heavy this morning, bro. I’m not having a heart attack. Also, face numbness happens with a stroke. Know your blockages.”
Wes relaxed. “It’s probably heartburn from that gross hot sauce you love.”
“No, it’s like I’ve been running super hard but I haven’t been. My heart is racing, and I feel sort of sick but also like I need to take a shit.”
Wes watched the tightrope woman wobble and regain her balance. “That’s dread. Anxiety. You’re anxious.”
“Anxious?” Caleb sounded astonished. “About what?”
“Are you serious? You’re getting married. You’re living away from home for months at a time. You miss Isabel. That’s a lot of stress.”
Caleb paused. “I suppose that makes sense. I’ve never felt this before. I don’t like it.”
Wes wasn’t surprised. Caleb was without a doubt the most well-adjusted person he knew. They’d done an online quiz for fun when Caleb was thinking of changing to sales and wanted to know what his personality strengths were. His score was in the top ten percentile of agreeableness and extraversion and almost at zero for neuroticism.
Wes’s score had not been similar.
Which, surprisingly, put him in a good position to coach Caleb through baby’s first anxiety attack. “You want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
He gritted his teeth, unable to tell if Caleb was being deliberately or unthinkingly obtuse. This was why he could never be a therapist. “About what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing, I told you.”
“Except feeling stuck in a place you hate, away from home, to pay for a single party you’re at best ambivalent about.”
The long pause meant he’d hit the issues dead-on. “I can’t tell her that.”
Wes remembered one of his stories from last year. “Have you considered a wedding therapist?”
Caleb burst out laughing. “Damn, you know how to cheer a guy up. A wedding therapist. Like I need that.”
Wes recognized the tone and knew there was no point arguing with Caleb. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk.”
“Told you I’m fine, bro. What’s going on with you and working with that girl you had a crush on?”
“I didn’t have a crush on Nadine,” Wes said quickly.
“Sure, that’s why you made me go to the same coffee shop where she hung out to study our entire last year of university.”
“It was a convenient location!”
