Page 26 of If You Never Come Back
“Thanks, Dad.” My voice comes out muffled against his shoulder. He clears six feet, so even his side hugs engulf me.
He releases me at the same moment Mom finally lets Wes out of her hold. I bend down to hug her, mouthing “sorry” to Wes. A hesitant smile appears. “It’s okay,” he mouths back.
I let out a sigh of sweet relief when Dad offers him a friendly handshake and not a bear hug.
“Come inside!” Mom says, waving us in. “Everyone is so excited to see you both!”
My stomach and heart fall in tandem to my feet when I step inside. Instead of the quiet lunch with just my parents that I promised Wes, my entire extended family who lives in the area is crammed into their home.
Wes and I are rushed by a wave of cousins and aunties and uncles. Instantly, we’re pulled into hugs and given cheek kisses. Laughter and excited questions echo around us. It’s sensory overload, but I’m used to it—this is how every family gathering goes. But Wes isn’t. All he had growing up were his friends and his dad, who was never around. Judging from what Colin said, Wes has never experienced a large gathering of relatives trying to smother him with affection.
That’s why even though on the outside I’m sputtering pleasantries, I’m discreetly scanning the room for Wes. This must be a nightmare for him, all these strangers itching to hug him.
I quickly answer a question from my cousin about my art website before my gaze lands on Wes, who is now on the other side of the living room having his cheeks pinched by my Great Aunt Nima. When she starts to ask him about marriage and kids, I make a beeline for them. Poor Wes doesn’t need to be put on the spot by auntie Nima when the two of us haven’t even had that conversation.
But then Mom catches my elbow, halting me. “Honey! What a sweetheart Wes is! Look how well he’s taking to the family!”
She points over at him still standing with Auntie Nima. She releases him, but judging by the tense smile on his face and how he stands with his arms crossed, he isn’t comfortable at all.
I turn to her. “Why did you invite the whole family over? This was supposed to be just lunch with you and Dad.”
She waves her hand in the air.“I thought this would be so much more fun. And almost everyone could make it. Well, except Remy because he had to work, but he’s met Wes before, so it’s fine. It’s been so long since we’ve done a big family gathering. Wasn’t it a nice surprise?”
I sigh, silently ordering myself to rein in my frustration. I can’t lash out at her, not in front of everyone. She did this with the best of intentions. That doesn’t erase the anxiety so obviously coursing through Wes though. What I would give for Remy to be here. At least he would have been a familiar face in the crowd.
“It’s just all a bit overwhelming for Wes,” I say.
She frowns and shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Look. He’s fine.”
For a split second, I contemplate telling her that his standoffish posture and pursed lips are the exact opposite of fine, but she walks away to talk to my uncle before I can get a word in.
I look up in Wes’s direction, but he’s disappeared. My heart pounds. In the time that I stopped and talked to my mom, I’m sure at least one other relative has asked him the marriage and kids question. Or maybe one of my cousins has dragged him off for that dreaded topic of “just what are your intentions with our Shay?”
I spin around and catch him out of the corner of my eye nodding as my uncle is showing him photos from his wallet. I move to head over, but one of my cousin’s kids stops me to help get her a snack. When I finish helping her and look for Wes, he’s gone again. I sigh and trudge through the crowd once more.
* * *
“I’m so,so sorry about that, Wes.” I focus on the road ahead, bracing myself for his response.
It was a solid forty-five minutes before I could find Wes in the crowd of my family. He was in the den listening to my great uncle complain about social security benefits. By the dazed look on his face, he had had enough. I snatched him and we left soon after that when I made up an excuse that I wasn’t feeling well.
Seconds pass, but Wes says nothing. I peer over at him in the passenger seat of my car. I nearly jolt at the stony look in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. But part of me expects this. He’s not used to family, to huge, loud, touchy-feely gatherings that go on for hours. Shutting down is a normal response when a person is overwhelmed. I know this. And I want to help him through it.
“My mom does that sometimes, invites the whole family over when it’s supposed to be a small gathering,” I try to explain. “I’ve had my whole life to get used to it, but still it gets on my nerves.”
There’s no answer. He won’t even look at me.
The drive finishes in strained silence. We walk up the stairs to my apartment that same way. When I lock the door behind me, I turn to him, wondering how to gently approach him in a way that encourages him to open up to me so I can help him through whatever he’s feeling.
He chucks his wallet and keys on the table in the corner before spinning around to me. His frown is back, but this time with an edge. He rests his hands on his hips before he finally speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me your entire family might be there today?”
“I didn’t know they would be. My mom sprung it on us as a surprise.”
“But you said she does this sometimes.” His jaw clenches. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
I open my mouth, but can’t think of anything to say. I probably should have thought to do that. It just never crossed my mind.
When I say nothing, he turns away, shaking his head.
