Chapter 13 Nicknames with New Meanings
Nicknames with New Meanings
Wheeler
“Well, isn’t that exciting.”
Judging by Mom’s tone, the fact that we just sold out of the first drop of our summer collection in seven minutes isn’t very exciting at all.
A rush of saliva fills my mouth. I put a hand on my middle, wondering why the hell I feel like I’m going to vomit all of a sudden.
Ah yes, it’s because talking to either of my parents right now literally makes me sick to my stomach. How could I forget?
“Thanks. Mollie and I are really proud.”
“Y’all should be. I know you’ve worked hard.” A pause. “Maybe a little too hard. I still think you going to an office every day would provide more structure. Give you some boundaries, you know? Because it sounds like you’re working morning, noon, and night.”
Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest, but I immediately wince. Wow, my boobs are sore. I wish my period would come already so I could stop PMS-ing. I’ve felt pretty awful the past couple days.
“Mom, I tried to do the law thing, and I hated it.”
“You should’ve given it another chance. It’s not too late, you know. Barb’s daughter just finished law school at the ripe old age of thirty, and she got a signing bonus and matching 401(k) contributions at her new firm.”
“Well, I’m not Barb’s daughter.”
I swallow the lump that’s appeared in my throat. I know it’s just the PMS fucking with me—this time of the month, I always get super emotional. But Mom’s old implication that I’m doing the wrong thing—I’m on the wrong path—hits harder than usual.
“I know, honey.” Mom sighs. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you is all. I don’t want you to get stuck down the road if things don’t work out with Bellamy Brooks.”
What she doesn’t say: I don’t want you to get stuck like me.
Mom quit her job at a marketing company after she had my older brother, and she never went back to work.
To be honest, I don’t think she ever had big ambitions for her career.
Probably part of the reason why I do. But I know she regrets not having more agency in her life.
More financial freedom. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have had to tolerate my dad’s awfulness for so long.
I’m really proud of her for finally having the courage to get a divorce, but I wish she’d done it a lot sooner.
Why do you think I work so hard, Mom? I wish you’d trust me to make the right choices.
No one wishes more than I do that I wanted the kind of stable, respectable job my parents pictured for me. I even went so far as to take the LSAT my senior year of college in the hopes I could make that path fit.
I bombed the test. I took it as a sign from the universe that I was meant to do other things, but clearly Mom still disagrees how many years later.
My boobs throb. I put my hand on one, then the other. “I’m doing my best to make sure that never happens. Money’s rolling in. If we’re smart and we play our cards right, I think we have a real shot at being the next big thing. I really love what we’re doing, Mom.”
“I’ll cross my fingers and toes for you. I’m actually wearing a pair of my Bellamy Brooks right now!”
I smile, even as an arrow of something unpleasant arcs through my middle at the thought of Mom sitting by herself in her boots in the house I grew up in. I really do feel for her—getting a divorce so late in the game has to be an incredibly lonely experience.
“Lemme guess. A pair of the pink shorties?”
“You’re good, Wheeler Marie.”
“Yup.” I smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the boots, Mom.”
“I get so many compliments on them.”
Of course you do. I made sure they’re fabulous, just like every other pair we design and manufacture.
Another pause. My stomach rumbles. I’m nauseous, but I’m also kind of hungry.
Which makes no sense, as it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and supper isn’t until five at Lucky River Ranch.
I’ve been here for a few days now so Mollie and I could be together for our summer launch.
She’s still not feeling well enough to travel.
Wonder what Patsy is making for supper? I hope it’s meat loaf. Weird craving, but hers is so delicious, especially when she makes it with this sweet pea risotto that’s buttery and creamy and just, yeah, out-of-this-world delicious.
“So how’s the ranch? You line dance with any cowboys recently?”
My heart somersaults. It’s been a little over three weeks since Duke and I parted ways after that incredible weekend in Aspen. I wish I could say I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t thought about him or his laugh or the way his hands felt on my body.
That I haven’t been plagued by a sense of never-ending regret for not taking him up on the invitation to watch Titanic at his place.
But that would be a lie. I think about him constantly, which is why I try my best to avoid him.
I just don’t see a path to happily ever after for us.
My sense of self-worth is…wobbly at best. And my career is finally taking off.
I have to honor all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve poured into Bellamy Brooks over the years by making hay while the sun is shining.
That means working more than I have. Ever.
I’ve made it a point to not sit down for meals in Patsy’s kitchen, opting instead for the doggie bags she’ll make for me. I’ll usually eat in here in the primary bedroom, camped out at the desk in front of the big window that overlooks the front yard.
Duke has texted me a few times. He even called the day after we got back and the day after that. I wanted to pick up the phone so, so badly. But that seemed unfair of me, so I sent his calls to voicemail.
He hasn’t reached out since.
Part of me appreciates the fact that he’s respected my request for space. He’s always polite when we do interact. Always friendly but never too friendly.
And then part of me wants to grab him by the shirt collar and yank him in for a hard, hot kiss.
What the fuck is wrong with you? I’d breathe into his mouth. Why won’t you chase me any harder?
Because that’s not messed up at all, me wanting him to pursue me despite my very clear instructions to leave me alone.
“Ha. No cowboys, Mom.” I’m hit by a vicious swirl of nausea. I put my hand over my mouth. Really, what’s going on? Did I catch a stomach bug or something?
“You know, it’s important that you take the time to stop and smell the Stetsons. I mean roses.”
“You’re funny,” I manage.
“I’m okay, Wheeler.” Another pause. “Really. I want you to keep living your life. I know it’s not easy to forget about what’s going on with me and Dad, but…” She sighs. “It’ll all work out, so you shouldn’t put your life on pause. Your love life, I mean.”
I wish I could believe that things will work out. Just like I wish I could stop feeling like I’m going to throw up.
“Hey, Mom? I have to run. But let me know how your meeting with the mediator goes tomorrow, okay? I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Okay. Congrats again on your collection.”
You didn’t congratulate me the first time, but whatever. I wish our relationship weren’t so…complicated.
“Thanks. Love you.”
I hang up and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips, making my stomach slosh. A fist of sudden, violent pressure darts up my throat.
Holy shit, I really am going to puke.
Lurching off the bed, I dash for the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time to lose the contents of my stomach with a pair of awful, heaving retches.
Tears prick my eyes. The acidic taste of bile fills my mouth. I retch again and again, my arms shaking as I prop them on the toilet seat.
What the actual fuck?
“Wheeler?” Mollie’s voice sounds from the bedroom.
I retch again.
She must hear me, because the next thing I know, she’s flying into the bathroom, her brown eyes going wide when she sees me hovering over the toilet.
“Wheeler, oh my God! Are you okay?”
“I have no idea what’s going on with me.” I fall to my knees in front of the toilet, one leg at a time. “I think I might’ve eaten something bad. Does anyone have the stomach bug? Maybe Ella brought it home from preschool.”
Mollie shakes her head. “No one is sick. Not that I know of anyway. And we’ve all been eating the same stuff…”
I notice the pair of deep furrows on her forehead.
Falling back onto my butt, I’m overwhelmed by just how miserable I feel. “This is so weird. And awful.”
Despite her growing bump, Mollie leans down to run a hand over my back. “Do you want some water? Maybe some crackers? I’m kind of an expert on what to eat when you feel like ass.”
Mollie’s in her second trimester now. But she was pretty sick during the first part of her pregnancy, the “morning” sickness they warned her about lasting all day and sometimes into the night too.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep anything down.” I wince when I’m hit by another wave of what I can only describe as sea sickness.
The furrows in Mollie’s brow deepen. Her hand goes still. “Okay, I don’t mean to freak you out—”
“Oh God, what?”
“But your little weekend getaway with Duke was, what, three weeks ago?”
Mollie knows all about what went down in Aspen. She may be married to Duke’s brother, but she’s also my best friend. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say she knows everything about me.
Really, she’s comprised almost the entirety of the support system I’ve needed after losing the one I had in my family.
Pulse going haywire, I swallow a rush of bile that floods my mouth. “A little more than that, yeah.”
“Have you gotten your period?”
“I’m supposed to get it any minute.”
“Y’all were careful, right?”
“Of course we were careful. I’m on the—”
The words die in my throat. Wait a second.
Wait.
Did I accidentally miss taking a pill?