***
The late afternoon rain continued down in torrents, making it too wet for Wes to go for a brisk outside walk while Nadine cooked dinner. However, he had energy that needed to be burned off after their discussion, so he wandered through the conservatory, deadheading the occasional flower.
It had been a fantastic day. They weregettingsomewhere. It made him want to dance and hug Erma, that terrible animal, who had come out to the conservatory and was looking at the koi pond with a predatory eye.
He checked his phone to see a message from Amy.All good here, so don’t worry.
Wes took a step back as a thought occurred to him. Although he felt bad about leaving Amy to deal with her, he didn’t feel bad about leaving his mother. It was as if Dot’s mansion was a Faraday cage shielding him from Ma, because apart from sending a daily text that went unanswered, he’d barely thought about her since he’d arrived. Had the distance given him a perspective he’d been unable to gain living in her house? Or had Nadine’s quiet outsider sympathy told him what he knew deep down but had been unable to face—that the relationship with his mother was unsustainable?
Perhaps.
To distract himself, he texted Caleb to see what he was up to.
The reply came quick.So that wedding therapist.
Wes had almost forgotten he’d sent the link. Caleb hadn’t mentioned it until now.Did you call her?
Not yet. What if it’s not the wedding? What if it’s us?
This was big. Eager to escape his own problems, Wes called, and Caleb picked up. “Talk to me,” Wes said. “What’s going on?”
“It’s like, this is supposed to be for the rest of our lives, right?”
“Yes.” This was a safe answer.
“But I can’t tell the future.”
“Are you worried about something in particular?” Spying a rattan armchair, Wes sat down, brushing aside the parlor palm leaves draped over the mossy arm.
“Napkins. Isabel’s got three pinks that look freaking identical to me, and I don’t care because they’re napkins, but when I say that, she gets on my case about emotional labor and mental load or something like that. All I said was to pick one because they all look the same and I don’t care! And any time I do care, she says my idea is ridiculous.”
“Like what?”
“Like a taco truck for after midnight.”
Wes laughed. “That would be amazing.”
“Isabel wants some waffle wall thing. Says tacos will wreck the aesthetic. I get she’s doing most of the planning, but that’s because I’m in Calgary. It’s not like I don’t want to help.”
Feeling as if this was slightly above his pay grade, Wes trod carefully. “What else?”
There was a long silence. “I thought this was supposed to be our day, you know? Together. But she could stuff any dude in a tux and stand him at the altar, and it wouldn’t matter as long as the wedding favors are perfect. I don’t see the point in those, by the way. That was another fight.”
Wes knew this wasn’t true because he’d known Isabel for years. However, telling Caleb that wasn’t going to calm him down much. “Have you told her?”
“How can I? She’s so stressed. She’ll cry.”
“Isabel would be more upset to know you’ve been hiding this,” said Wes, settling into fixing mode.
“I guess. Goddammit. I should be able to talk to my own fiancée.” Caleb blew out his breath so hard that Wes pulled the phone away from his ear. “What if she doesn’t listen?”
“Then you have bigger problems than a waffle wall.”
“I only want to be with her, man. I don’t need all this stuff.”
Wes thought. “Does she?”
“What do you mean?”
