30. Wesley
30
WESLEY
Did I say those things today to get Nina riled up in that bikini? Partially.
All I could picture was pulling her onto my lap and feeling every dip and curve of her body with my mouth. The sight taunted me the entire day. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Our interactions break me apart inch by inch, and I’m not far from turning into a man who begs.
After a long shower, I sit on my bed and stare at my personal phone. I’ve been pushing myself to call Cora or Mom for the last ten minutes. Everything I say to them is wrong and comes out judgmental or awkward. I shouldn’t have to struggle to be with my family.
I selfishly accept the affection they offer, but improvement means meeting their efforts. I can say that work takes up all my time. It does, but quick texts after my shift or the occasional call would go a long way. I know that. Doing it is another obstacle.
What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if, with every conversation, they realize that they deserve better?
I hit call . My knee bounces the whole time it rings.
“Hello stranger,” Cora sings, but I can hear the underlying agitation.
“Hi.”
“Isn’t it late for you?”
I swallow my nerves. “A bit, yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m all right.” I clear my throat. “I wanted to, uh—check in. How’s the baby?”
“Your five-year-old nephew is fine.”
Karító . Five? Last I heard, he was less than a year.
“And John?”
“Also fine.”
“Mom?”
“Also fine.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Cora…”
“What do you want me to say, Wes? We hadn’t heard from you in years and a couple months ago you bounce back into our lives, but no, not completely, because you’re still so secretive about whatever the hell?—”
“If I could tell you, I would.”
She groans. “What can you tell me?”
“That I’m sorry,” I admit. “That I’m… I’m trying. I really am.”
She sighs. “Look, I just don’t want to get my hopes?—”
My work phone buzzes with an incoming call from an unsaved number. This phone is protected from scammers and all unprogrammed numbers go through a scanning system before connecting. Which means this has to be related to work—to Nina.
“I-I’m getting an incoming call,” I stutter to Cora. “It’s work. I have to go.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry,” I say genuinely before hanging up on my sister to answer the other call. “Hello?”
The caller hesitates. Cold and wild panic washes over me when a timid, familiar voice says, “Wesley? It’s Nina.”
She’s supposed to be sleeping down the hall.
“Where are you?”
“Did I wake you up?” she asks, and I shut my eyes to stop the frustration creeping in. She speaks as if it’s a normal conversation.
I grip the phone tighter. “Nina… where are you ?”
“Don’t be mad, but um… I don’t know.”