Every Kiss

by Tasha Ivey

  “Callie, I’m not stupid. I saw how you two acted yesterday, so I can’t believe for a second that it didn’t work. But I know something happened last night that freaked him out. Just tell me.”

  “Are you both looking for someone to blame?” I sit up and throw my hands into the air. “Because Wesley Baxter sure as hell couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. Wesley Baxter can be a complete asshole and everyone just has pity on him instead of making him act like a damn adult and stop throwing temper tantrums. Wesley Baxter can treat people like shit because he’s been through a few rough patches in his life. That makes it totally forgivable. So, fine, I’ll be the damn scapegoat. I’m the jerk who tried to see through the bullshit and tried to make him fight for his own happiness. Somehow, through all of this nonsense, I’m the one who seems to be falling in love with the stupid bastard, and he’s too self-centered to even see it. Not that he’d care anyway because I’m not trustworthy. To sum it all up, Makenna, you can point your finger at me. He left because of me.”

  Tears are welling up in her eyes, and her bottom lip is quivering. “Callie, I—I’m sorry. Wes is a good person, and he doesn’t mean to—”

  “Stop right there. I can’t listen to any more excuses for his behavior. He’s a grown man, and he needs to grow a pair. Life sometimes sucks ass, and it hurts like hell. But when it knocks you down, you stand back up and dare it to knock you down again. And when it does, you get up again and spit right in life’s stupid face. Until you and Shane can see that he needs to grow the hell up, I don’t have anything else to say to either of you. I’m so over this crap.”

  She jumps up and runs from the room, slamming the door shut on her way out. I can hear Shane asking her what’s wrong when she makes it downstairs, and I’m sure she’s telling him everything I just said about his brother. Bet that’ll make him just adore me.

  Good, now I’m the one being an ass to everyone. Oh, well. If they’re going to accuse me of making Wes leave, I might as well get the satisfaction of earning it.

  Almost two days down of this lovely vacation and five more to go. Awesome.

  LONGEST WEEK OF my life. Without a doubt.

  Imagine yourself at a beautiful beach house for a week with your best friend. There’s this gorgeous, mostly secluded beach and all kinds of neat restaurants and shops to go to. But you don’t go anywhere and don’t have anyone to talk to because everyone is giving you the silent treatment. Yeah, it’s been like that.

  Maybe I was a little harsh. Maybe I wish I’d explained it all a little more calmly. But do I think anything I said was false? Hell no, not a single word.

  However, I just thought these last few days were long. No, it was the six hours of being stuck with them in the car that has sucked. At least while we were at the house, I could keep myself secluded to my room, but in the car, there’s no escaping the tension. Oh, sure, they’re speaking to me today, but it’s only out of necessity. Like when we went to a drive-thru to order lunch, Shane actually had to ask me what I wanted to eat. And Makenna actually had to ask me to hold the stall door shut at that gas station.

  I get why they’re pissed at me. Well, kinda. Yeah, I let Makenna have it, but she deserved it. And I did say some pretty mean things about Shane’s brother, but I didn’t lie about anything I said. So, you know what? They can bite me. I know they’re waiting on me to apologize, but that’s just not going to happen. Ever.

  There’s a tap on my knee, so I yank my earbuds out and open my eyes. “What?”

  “We’re on your street.” Makenna points out the window.

  Shane flips on the blinker and slows before pulling into my driveway. “Do you need help getting your suitcase in the house?” Not let me help you. He’s basically telling me to drag it in myself. His mom sure would be proud.

  “Nope. I’m good.” I push the door open. “It’s been real fun. Thanks for driving me all the way home instead of kicking me out at the edge of town. Real kind of you.” Okay, so I didn’t have to say all that, but whatever. It is what it is. And they clearly didn’t appreciate it because I manage to wrestle my suitcase only halfway up the sidewalk before they’re speeding away.

  My mom flings the front door open. “Hey, birthday girl. Makenna didn’t want to stay and hang out for a bit? Or did you two get enough of each other this week?”

  I kiss her on the cheek. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  “Ouch. That doesn’t sound good. You want to talk about it?”

  “Oh, it’s not really a big deal.” I shrug. “She asked for the truth, but she didn’t like hearing it. I might’ve been a little too harsh, but Makenna never holds a grudge long. I’m not too worried about it. You know how it is when you spend way too much time with someone. It can’t be puppies and rainbows all the time.”

  Mom helps me get my suitcase in the door and drapes an arm over the top of my shoulders. “Honey, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. Don’t forget I shared a room with my two sisters.”

  That’s the truth. I’ve heard some pretty wild stories. My grandma got pregnant twice—the first produced a set of triplet girls and the second produced twin boys. From what I’ve heard, their house was a three ring circus. No one can blame my grandma for being a little nutty these days.

  “Thank God I’m an only child.” I look around the living room. “Is Dad still not home?”

  “He came in yesterday, but he took my car to get new tires. It’s good to have him home, so some of the manly stuff can finally get done. We didn’t think you’d get home until later this afternoon, so he was trying to get everything done before you got here. What do you want to do for your birthday dinner . . . go out or stay in?”

  “Definitely in. Lots of pasta and cake. And we’ll finish off the evening curled up on the couch with a movie.”

  Mom laughs, the slightest hint of crow’s feet crinkle at her eyes. “That’s my kind of party. Carbs, carbs topped with sugar, and then followed by an activity to ensure it goes straight to my thighs. It’ll be a sacrifice, but it’s the least I can do for my sweet girl.” She usually eats healthy, but she hops off the wagon every now and then. “Now, on to more important things. You don’t look like you got much sun, but let me see your shoulders.”

  I roll my eyes. Why did my mom have to be a dermatologist? “I didn’t get any sun, Mom. I didn’t go out all that much, but when I did, I wore sunscreen and stayed under the umbrella.”

  She peeks under my sleeves. “Good girl. Why don’t you get unpacked and rest a while? I’ll even start your laundry for you. Then, when your dad gets home, we’ll hang out and you can tell us what all you did in Gulf Shores.”

  Umm, let’s see. This last week, I pretended to read a book while staring at a half-naked man. I went to a club, drank way too much wine, and ground my ass on the same guy. Also, he licked frosting off my finger and mouth before I straddled him and made out with him. Then, he proceeded to tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore and that he didn’t trust me. When my best friend asked me about it, I chewed her out, and she didn’t talk to me for the rest of the week. I don’t there’s anything that happened this last week that my parents would really appreciate hearing.

  “Sure, mom.” As in, sure, I’ll avoid that subject like the plague.

  After I get everything unpacked, I’m too restless to watch TV or anything, so I decide to poke around on the internet a while. Maybe I’ll find some good sales. I sit at my desk, and my eyes are drawn to the pictures covering the corkboard above my computer.

  Ah, high school . . . seems like so long ago. I thought life was simple back then. No real complications. No real worries. All I had to do back then was keep my grades up and my room clean, and my parents were happy. That’s it. Everything else in my life came easy. Once I started ninth grade, I was finally out of my ugly duckling phase and got my braces off, and the boys finally started to notice me. By the time I was in eleventh grade, I was one of the cool kids. I was always surrounded by friends, I never
had to worry about having a date to the school dances, and everyone wanted me at their parties.

  I didn’t know it then, but that person wasn’t really me. I’ve always been opinionated and spoke my mind about things, but when it came to how I looked in high school, I was a damn puppet. I wore what the other girls wore, I styled my hair like theirs, and I even wore the same color of nail polish. It was ridiculous. Makenna wasn’t like that at all, and she was the only person I didn’t have to pretend with. I never have had to. She’s always been that one person that, even if she didn’t like what I was doing or saying, she supported me.

  It’s funny how you don’t find out who you really are until all of that is gone. College was a real eye-opener for me. Nobody knew who I was, and nobody cared to find out. I was just another freshman taking up space. I was surprised that I actually liked not being the center of attention for a change. I liked not having to dress a certain way, just because people expected me to. If I wanted to wear jeans and a t-shirt every single day, nobody really cared. It took those first couple of years in college to really discover who I really was and what I really liked.

  That’s why I don’t much like looking at these photos, but they also serve as a reminder for me to stay true to who I really am. No matter if Makenna and Shane think I’m a horrible person. No matter if Wes doesn’t think I could ever be trusted. I know who I am, and I won’t change because someone wants me to. Never again.

  Shaking myself back into the present, I check my email first, having to wait a few minutes for all of them to load. I really need to check it more often . . . and stop adding my email to mailing lists. I delete email after email of store sales, credit card offers, and blog updates, but I nearly have a heart attack when I see the subject line of one that was sent earlier this week from a remotely familiar email address.

  I feel like my stomach drops into my feet when I open it and see who sent it.

  To: Callie

  From: Chesley Adams

  Subject: Wesley

  I received your picture a few weeks ago, but I never got around to thanking you. So thank you. So so much. It means more to me than anything in this world, and I look at it every day.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about your question . . . you know, when you asked why I was reaching out to him now, after all these years. I knew the answer then, but I didn’t think I was worthy of it. And I still don’t think I am, but meeting my son is the one thing that would make my life complete, and I couldn’t stand myself any longer if I don’t at least try to make that connection with him, even if it’s just for two minutes.

  I know what kind of a position this will put you in, but I really need your help. And I need it fast. I don’t expect you to help me without the full explanation, so I’m willing to tell you anything you want to know. I’m hopelessly desperate, so please, whatever I need to do in order to make this happen, consider it done. I’m in the Tuscaloosa area, so just text or email me a time and place, and I’ll be there.

  If you won’t help me, then I completely understand, and I wish you and Wesley all the best. I hope to hear from you soon.

  Oh hell. I can’t get in the middle of this, especially now that he never even wants to see me again. I know his mother is desperate, and I know what it would mean to her to get to speak to him. But then again, I know that she’s partly responsible for his inability to trust women, the reason he doesn’t think anyone could ever stay with him. Maybe if her reason is good enough, he can actually believe for once that he’s worthy of love. Maybe I can listen to her story and decide if it might be beneficial for him to hear.

  But, oh, he’ll be so pissed if he finds out I intervened. Perhaps I should call his mom and let her know that Chesley has contacted me and what she’s asking me to do. I’m sure Eve would much rather handle the situation. I do a search online for Robert and Eve Baxter, and I’m quite amazed that their number is listed. After punching the numbers into my phone, I take a deep breath and say a little prayer that Wes isn’t there. That would not be good.

  “Baxter residence,” a cheerful voice answers. Thank God.

  “Mrs. Baxter? This is Callie.”

  “Just a moment, dear. Let me go into my office.” A hand covers the phone, and I can hear her explaining something about ordering drapes before a door closes. “Callie, sweetheart. How are you?”

  Oh, good. Wes and Shane haven’t turned their entire family on me yet. “I’m okay. You?”

  “Lovely. By the way, if we get interrupted, and I start talking about fabric, just play along. The boys are here today, and they think I took a work call.”

  Great. “So I guess Shane told everyone what I said.”

  “Well, not entirely. He got here just a bit ago and said that things were a little strained with you this last week because you said some pretty mean things about Wesley. Wes just asked Shane what was said when you called, so I haven’t heard the whole story. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I groan. “I’m so sorry. I never intend to stir up trouble with your family, but I somehow manage anyway.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and rest my elbow on my desk. “I basically told Makenna that Wes needs to grow some balls—pardon my language—and stop making excuses for himself, that life is hard for everyone and he shouldn’t shut down just because he’s had some bad things happen to him. It made it all a little worse that I was kinda hateful to Makenna over it, and of course, she told Shane, too. I’m so sorry, Eve.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I don’t think you said anything that wasn’t honest. Just give it some time. It will all blow over. Oh, uh . . . hang on just a minute.” She lays the phone down and I hear her asking someone what’s going on. A muffled voice answers, but I can’t tell who. She sighs and a door closes. “You still there?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, the boys are arguing and Robert is about to blow his top. We should meet up for lunch one day, and we’ll talk about everything. Was there a reason you called?”

  “Oh, if you’re too busy . . .”

  “No, no, no. What is it?”

  Here goes nothing. “Chesley Adams.”

  Everything is silent, and I begin to wonder if she’s hung up the phone. “Well,” she finally whispers. “That’s not a name I hear too often. What about her?”

  I go on to explain how she showed up at Wes’ house the morning after the banquet and everything that was said, including the fact that I sent her our picture. Then I read the email to her, word for word. I can only faintly hear her breathing, so I know she’s still with me, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “Eve, I know I shouldn’t have gotten myself mixed up in all of your family matters, and I apologize for crossing the line. If I tell her that I can’t help her, I get the impression that she won’t push the issue, but part of me thinks he needs this. It’s clearly none of my business, though. I just need your advice. You tell me how you want me to handle it, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  “Callie, you can’t tell anyone this, but I’m the one who gave her Wesley’s address.”

  “You? But why?” If he ever found that out, he’d be pissed.

  “Like you, I think he needs the closure. He needs to hear what she has to say, but I know he won’t listen to anyone. That’s a decision he needs to make on his own. I thought that if she showed up there, then he’d be forced into it. But of course, he wasn’t home when she went by there, and I think the gift on his doorstep freaked him out.”

  It sure did. I saw him before and after, and “freaked out” doesn’t quite do it justice. “So maybe Chesley should talk to you about this. Maybe the two of you could set something up, so I don’t have to be involved at all.”

  “No, Callie,” she stresses. “Wes can’t know I’m a part of this. He’ll look at it like I’m trying to push him on her, like I don’t want him anymore. You can imagine what that will do to him. To me, Wesley is my son, not hers, and I don’t love the idea of him having any sort of a relati
onship with her. But I also have a feeling that it could be healing for him. I think you should meet up with her. Talk to her, talk to Wes, and see if you can make some kind of breakthrough with him. He’ll listen to you. He won’t give you any idea that he’s listening, but he will be. It may not turn out for the best in the end, but like I said, closure could make such a difference with him.”

  I expected her to tell me to ignore Chesley’s email or to tell her I won’t be a part of it. I never ever expected her to tell me to go for it. She’s been his mother for . . . well, I don’t know how long, but long enough that he considers her to be his mom. I’m shocked that she’s actually pushing for him to see the woman who gave him up. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean this is something you have to do. I just think that you’re the only one that might convince him to do it. It’s your call, Callie, and whatever you decide, you have my support.”

  “Well, I might have your support, but I know I won’t have his. Wes already doesn’t want to speak to me again, so I can only imagine what he’ll do when he finds out I’ve spoken to her.”

  She blows out a breath. “You know why he doesn’t want anything to do with you, right?”

  “Yeah. He’s running again.”

  “Exactly. Just think about that. I need to go referee, so let me know what you decide, okay, sweetheart?”

  Whatever I decide to do, I have a strong feeling that, either way, there will be consequences that I may not want to deal with. The lesser of the two evils—ignoring her—isn’t going to be beneficial to Wes, but trying to push them together could be hazardous to my own health. Wes is going to strangle me.

  But who am I kidding? As much as I’d like to question it, I already know exactly what I’m going to do.

  MONDAYS. I HATE them.

  So it’s only fitting that I agree to meet with Wesley’s biological mother on a Monday, just to make it completely horrible. I’m drowning my reluctance in coffee, but unfortunately, the overdose of caffeine has put me more on edge than normal. I keep telling myself that I’m doing this for Wes. I’m doing this so that he has a chance at happiness. I know I’m sacrificing the chance for us to be together, simply because he’s going to be infuriated with me, but a true friend has to be the martyr sometimes.