Chapter 11 #2
“If we even do.” The most cynical part of me keeps getting stuck on that. What if Wes decides he’s not ready to tell the world he’s gay? What if he sits me down and begs me to keep quiet for another year? Or for the entire duration of his pro career? Or forever?
“Wait, has Wesley changed his mind?” my sister demands. “Or did the team ask him to keep pretending he’s straight?”
“I don’t think so. Wes said the PR department already has a statement prepared for when the news breaks. And I have no idea if he changed his mind. We’re not communicating too well lately,” I admit.
“Then start communicating.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It’s as easy as you make it.” She goes quiet for a beat.
“Jamie, you’re the most open, honest person I know.
Well, you and Scottie. Joe and Brady?” She names our two other brothers.
“They act like talking about their feelings is an admission of weakness or something. But you and Scott are like this huge inspiration for me—proof that not all men are tight-lipped jerks. Actually, Wes is pretty open too. I think that’s why you guys are so good together.
You never, ever shy away from difficult conversations.
You always find a way to work through shit. ”
She’s right. Wes and I have known each other since we were kids.
The only time we’ve ever had trouble talking to one another was when Wes disappeared from my life for three years after we hooked up at hockey camp.
I forgave him for that, though. I understood why he shut me out—he’d felt guilty about possibly taking advantage of me, and he’d been confused about his own sexuality.
At the time, it was something he’d needed to work through on his own.
But this distance between us…it’s something we need to work through together. And ignoring the issue isn’t going to achieve that. Jess is absolutely right—Wes and I don’t usually avoid difficult conversations. But this time we are avoiding it, and that’s only making things worse.
“I should talk to Wes,” I say with a sigh.
“No shit, Sherlock. Now thank me for my supreme wisdom and ask me how I’m doing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Thank you, oh wise one. And how are you doing?”
“Good and bad. I think my jewelry design business is a bust.”
I’m tempted to toss out a no shit, Sherlock of my own, but I bite my tongue, because I know Jess is sensitive about her career.
Or her lack of career, rather. My sister, God bless her, is the most indecisive person I’ve ever met.
She’s twenty-five and has had more jobs than I can count.
She’s also enrolled in and dropped out of half a dozen college programs, and created about a dozen Etsy shops that went nowhere.
“Didn’t Mom and Dad lend you money for all those jewelry-making supplies?” I say warily.
“Yup,” she answers glumly. “Don’t tell them about this, okay? Mom is already stressed out about Tammy’s delivery, so I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is right now.”
My entire body tenses. “Why is she worried about Tammy’s delivery?
Did the doctor say we should worry?” Our older sister is pregnant again and due to give birth next month.
Her first delivery had gone smoothly, so I haven’t given much thought to this one.
I figured it would be the same as the first.
“No, I think it’s just general nerves,” Jess assures me.
“This baby’s a lot bigger than Ty was. I think Mom is scared Tammy will need a C-section.
But seriously, you don’t need to worry. Tammy’s doing great.
She’s bigger than a house, but totally glowing and all that jazz.
Anyway, the jewelry thing was my bad news. Do you want to hear the good news?”
“Hit me.”
She offers a dramatic pause, then announces, “I’m going to become a party planner!”
Of course she is. I sigh and say, “Sounds fun.”
“You could sound a little happier,” she huffs. “I finally know what I want to do with my life!”
Sort of like how she knew she wanted to be a chef. And a bank teller. And a jewelry designer. But I keep my mouth shut, because in the Canning family, we support each other no matter what. “Then I’m very happy for you,” I say in a sincere voice.
Jess chatters on about her new venture during the entire drive back to the condo, but I have to cut her off when I reach the underground parking lot because there’s no service down here.
We agree to chat on the weekend, and then I ride the elevator up to the apartment and shrug out of layers upon layers of winter clothing.
I shower and make myself some dinner as I wait for Wes’s game to start, and then I plant myself on the couch with a plate of risotto and grilled chicken.
I’m going to spend the evening cheering for my man.
And when he gets home tonight, I’m going to take Jess’s advice and talk to Wes about what I’m feeling.
That can’t be so hard, right?
How hard is it? my traitorous brain echoes. And I smile as I take the next bite.