This isn’t a pity kiss. He’s not kissing the cancer girl to humor her desperation.
He’s kissing me, a boy kissing a girl.
When it finally breaks, Westley pulls away, hand still on my cheek. “You are an amazing kisser, Jo.”
I blush. “I think it’s you. I was just following along.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s you. One person being good at kissing doesn’t mean the kiss is going to be good.” He delves in, kisses me again, and heartbeats pass in an instant as our lips touch and tongues tangle. “That’s called chemistry, Jo. You and I have it.”
“We do?”
He rests his forehead on mine. “We do. I wasn’t expecting that, honestly.” He runs his hands over my hair, dimples his fingertips in the valley between the tendons at the back of my neck. “You want to know the truth of why I’m here?”
I nod. “I really, really do.”
“I have no clue. None. It was instinct, impulse. I saw your TikTok and just knew I had to…I had to come see you. I had no clue whatsoever what I was going to do or say once I got here.” He huffs a laugh. “My agent and my manager didn’t want me to come. They tried to literally, physically stop me.”
“But you just had to come see me?” I sound skeptical.
We’re huddled together, intimately close. Hands in hands. Noses millimeters apart. Foreheads touching. I’m barely breathing, in case breathing too deeply would pop the soap bubble of this impossible, fantastical moment.
He nods. “Yeah, I had to.”
“And now that you’re here?”
“Now that I’m here…” He breathes out, and his breath sounds shaky. “You did something that is, by any standard, crazy.” He speaks over my sound of protest. “And I’m about to do something even crazier.”
My heartbeat is the loudest thing in the world. “Crazier than kissing the dying girl you just met?”
“Yeah. Even crazier than that.” He brushes his thumb over my lips yet again. “Yes, Jolene Park.”
“Yes?” I blink, shake my head. “I’m not following. Yes, Jolene Park…what?”
“Your TikTok. The question you asked.” He holds my gaze. “You said, Westley Britton, will you marry me. And I’m saying yes, Jolene Park, I will.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Pull away, stand up, and walk several paces. Stop, trembling all over like a leaf, and hope my voice is loud enough to be heard. “If this is a prank or a joke, it’s not funny. And if it’s a publicity stunt, that’s even worse.”
I hear the swing creak as he stands up. Feel him behind me, then beside me. “It’s not any of that.”
“Then what is it, Wes? You can’t mean it. Not for real.”
“But yet…I do.”
I laugh, because that sounds like the harshest irony. “You, a man who could have any woman in the entire world—you are saying yes, you’ll marry me? A random girl who made a stupid video that was very literally and very honestly a desperate plea for attention because I’m sad and lonely. Me—a girl whose life expectancy is measured in days, Westley. Days. You’re seeing me on a good day. Tomorrow could be a bad day, where it hurts to be awake but I can’t sleep. Where all I can do is lay in bed and cry and wish it would just end because it hurts so freaking bad. And if the doctors are right, there will eventually—by which I mean sooner than later—be more bad days than good days. And then I’ll die. And there won’t be anything at all you can do. There won’t be anything you can do to make me feel better. You won’t be able to stop it. When it’s the worst, I usually just want to be alone in the dark.”
I turn and look at him. “You’ve known me for what? Twenty minutes?” I touch his face. “You’re sweet, Wes. Just being here at all has been…a dream come true. I got to meet you. But you’ve made it even better. You held my hand. You talked to me like a real person. And you kissed me. I can die a happy woman, and I mean that. I may die a virgin, but I’ll die knowing my first kiss was with you. That’s more than I could ever have possibly dared imagine. And that’s enough.”
“Jo—”
I speak over him. “But you don’t want to actually marry me. You don’t have to. Marrying me would be an act of pity and I don’t want pity—not even from you.”
He isn’t put off. His smile is tender and sweet and fierce all at once. “But I do.”
“I’m out of time—by the time you start to get to know me, I’ll be gone.”
“Then we’d better not waste time, huh?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m operating purely on impulse.” He takes my hands and turns me to face him. “This isn’t pity. Something in you…calls to me, Jo.” He swallows hard. “Maybe we’ll only have day or weeks or months—all the more reason to spend that time together.”
“It makes no sense, Wes.”
“I know.”
“If the media gets ahold of this, I can’t even imagine what the headlines will be.” I shake my head and laugh.
“I don’t care.”
“It could ruin your career.”
“My career happened by accident. I never even wanted to be an actor, I wanted to be a musician, like an American Ed Sheeran. Write songs and play guitar. So, if my acting career is ruined because of this, then so be it. I know it’s right. And plus, to be perfectly honest, I could live the rest of my life comfortably on what I’ve already earned and have saved and invested. So…let it be ruined. I don’t need to act. I enjoy it, and I would love to keep making movies. But I could happily go back to making YouTube videos of cover songs. And with the following I have, I’d probably be able to make a go of music on my own. So I’m not worried. That’s the real, honest answer. I’m not worried about my career.”
I search his face. “You can’t be serious about this.”
“I am.”
“I don’t know what to do. It was…not a joke—but I just…I never expected you to actually respond, much less…this. I’m not prepared for this.”
I see no duplicity in him. Again, he’s an actor, so he could be duping me and I wouldn’t know it. But…it doesn’t feel that way. I want desperately to believe he means this. It’s just too good to be true and my heart wants it so bad and my mind is blaring a klaxon that something which sounds too good to be true usually is.
“I just don’t know how this can be real.”
“Say my name.”
“Westley Britton.”
He shakes his head. “That’s my Westley Britton to your Jolene Park. My name. I’m not Westley Britton to you anymore. Or, I don’t want to be. I want to be Wes to your Jo.”
My eyes burn. He really means what he’s saying. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”
“That is easily remedied by spending time together.”
“You must be busy.”
“Schedules can be rearranged. You would become my new priority.”
“I want to believe you,” I whisper. “But fairy tales like this just don’t come true.”
“Why not?”
“When I found out I was terminal, I showed my parents my bucket list. And they’ve…” I choke up, try to swallow around the hot lump in my throat. “They’ve gone nearly bankrupt making all that come true. Their savings are gone. They remortgaged the house and took out a loan. They liquidated everything they could. I don’t know how they’re going to make it once I’m gone.”
“Jo—”
“Don’t tell me not to talk like that, okay? That’s reality. I have to face it. I have, and I am. My point is that those trips they took me on were my fairy tale. I saw Paris and Rome and London and the Caribbean and I swam in the Aegean. I wanted to see the world before I died, and I have. To get all that, at the expense of my parents’ financial solvency…it’s bittersweet. They wouldn’t hear of not doing it, they just told me it was their worry, not mine. But I do worry.” I struggle to breathe, and turn away, swallow and gulp oxygen. “And now you show up and threaten to…what? Whisk me away from my provincial little life in Illin
ois for the past few days of my life? Make the remainder of my life a fairy tale come true? What about them? I can’t leave them.”
I turn back to Westley. Take his hands, shake my head. “There are real, practical considerations, Wes. I’m going to get sicker. It won’t be romantic. It’ll be gross and messy and undignified. I can’t leave because I could never expect you to take care of me like that. We literally just met. And I can’t leave my parents and just go zip off on one last wild adventure with my surprise celebrity husband.” I giggle at the very turn of phrase. “It’s sweet of you to humor me like this, Wes. And it means more than I could ever express. But I just…can’t.”
He nods, gaze serious, thoughtful. He paces away from me, into my yard, out from under the shade of the oak tree’s canopy. His broad shoulders rise and fall slowly. I look at the house, and see Mom and Dad blatantly watching us; they saw us kiss. I wonder what they’re thinking.
He turns back to me. “Of course you can’t leave your parents.” He drills a hard, hot stare into me. “So you’re saying you didn’t really mean it? Asking me to marry you, I mean. It was just a joke.”
I want to let out a harsh exhale, or drag in a shaky breath, but my lungs are frozen. “I…” I close my eyes. “No. It wasn’t a joke.”
“So you meant it.”
“I guess so.”
“Regardless of what you meant, I’m here.” He’s open, his eyes deep and expressive. “Whether you expected anything or not, I’m here. And I’m saying I want to marry you. It’s crazy. It’s utter lunacy. It makes no sense. But I’m serious. I mean it.” He takes my hands. “I don’t have a ring, and I don’t have it all figured out. But my heart is telling me this is what I want to do. And I hear what you’re saying about the reality of what’s coming, but…I’m not scared. I’ll handle whatever comes as best I can. I’m taking this on voluntarily. We’ll keep it to ourselves. Not a secret because I’m, like, ashamed, or embarrassed, but so you know I’m not milking this for publicity. And if you want to go public, we can do that too. I don’t care. I can’t explain why I feel the way I do, but from the moment I watched that TikTok, I just…I knew I had to see you. And once I saw you, I…I dunno. I’m not letting go. I’m not walking away. I don’t know what this is, Jo, but it’s real and I mean it.”
“Wes…”
He glances down at the grass underfoot. Bends, plucks a dandelion. Ties the stem around my ring finger. “Marry me, Jo. Whatever time we have together—be it a week, a month, a year, or a lifetime. I’m saying yes. Will you?”
I sniffle a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
I make a face that’s a cross between a frown and a smirk. “I’m a fan of morbid humor, because it helps me process things. And I feel like you missed a good opportunity, there. You should have said you were dead serious.”
He closes his eyes and huffs a laugh. “I think you’re allowed to make morbid jokes. But I’m not sure I’m there.” He opens his eyes, holds my hand and holds my gaze. “Say yes, Jo, and I’ll take care of everything. You, your parents, everything. I can, I want to, and if you’ll let me, I will. Say yes.”
I put my hands over my mouth. “This is crazy.”
“Yeah. So?” He grins. “What do you have to lose?”
“Getting my heart broken right before I die of cancer?”
“Not gonna happen. I will not break your heart. Will not.” He smiles. “In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to do the opposite. To heal your heart, even if I can’t heal your body.”
“Yes.” I laugh, breathless with wonder. “Yes.”
Taking Risks
Westley
My heart is pounding like crazy. My lungs don’t want to work right. I’m completely full of shit. I have no clue what I’m doing.
I’m seriously going to marry this girl?
What the hell am I thinking?
I can’t seem to stop myself, though.
That kiss was…
My lips burn, the fierce hunger of her mouth on mine lingering like the after-impression on the backs of your eyelids from looking at the sun. I didn’t want to stop kissing her, which was why I did.
She’s beautiful.
I know she thinks she’s not because her body is thin from being sick and her hair is short and regrowing. But she is beautiful.
Her green eyes radiate strength and resilience, blaze with her determination to squeeze every last drop of joy out of life. Her skin is beautiful, pale with freckles, like sweet cream dappled by the sun. Her spiky, messy red hair is as fiery as her spirit. Her body is beautiful.
Her soul, though.
It’s brighter than the sun.
She’s genuine. Funny. Talented.
I want to be near her.
Am I bringing her into my life and opening my heart and in so doing inviting heartbreak? Maybe.
But…I accept it.
Am I crazy for that? Sure.
This is right.
I can feel it. The truth that I’m meant to do this rings in me like a bell. Clarion clear.
She’s just staring at me as if waiting for the dream to end. For the carriage to turn into a pumpkin, horses to mice, and shoes to vapor.
I take her hand and lead her back to her house. Now, her parents are waiting in the kitchen, sitting together with coffee mugs in hand. They watch us enter, and their eyes go first to our hands, joined, and then to the dandelion on Jo’s ring finger.
“I feel like maybe we missed something kind of important,” her dad says.
I let go of Jo’s hand and cross to the room, extending my hand to him. “Hi, Mr. Park, I’m Wes Britton.”
He stands and shakes my hand. “Charlie Park.”
I turn to her mom. “I don’t know that we met, um, formally.”
She blushes. “Sherri.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys. And I’m sorry for showing up like this.”
Charlie hasn’t sat down. He’s wearing jean shorts, like with properly hemmed ends, knee-high white socks with New Balance sneakers, and an Eiffel Tower tourist T-shirt tucked into the shorts. His hair is thinning, and the reddish-blond color of it tells me Jo got the ginger gene from his side. Her mom is medium height and slender, with blond hair and green eyes—the same shade of green as Jo; their daughter is a mix of both of her parents, physically.
Charlie seems like a generally jovial type, but he’s not smiling now. “You kissed my daughter.”
“Dad!” Jo pushes past me to stand nose-to-nose with him. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”
“This is my house.”
“And this is my life, Dad.” She takes his hand and I can tell she’s probably squeezing as hard as she can. “I know you’re not going to like or understand any of this, Dad, but please, please, please, just…trust me, okay?”
“You don’t know him.” He’s staring at me past his daughter. “He shows up unannounced at eight thirty in the morning, and I see you two sucking face in the backyard. Excuse me if I’m a little confused.”
Sherri is gazing with curiosity and concern at her daughter; and I realize: she knows. “Charles, just listen, honey. Okay?”
“Listen to what?”
Sherri’s eyes are soft, hopeful, confused, concerned…a thousand things. These are parents who dearly, desperately, totally love their daughter.
“Mom, Dad, I…” Jo turns to look at me for help.
“Maybe first they should see the video,” I suggest. “Might give them some context.”
Her shoulders slump. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s not, Jo,” I say. “It’s really not.”
Jo sighs. “Fine. Hold on—my phone is in my room.”
She vanishes up the stairs and returns with a cell phone. Spends a moment bringing up the video in question, and then hands it to her parents. Her mom takes the phone and holds it, while her dad blindly fumbles for a pair of reading glasses on the kitchen table.
They watch the video silentl
y. Her mom’s eyes mist over and she covers her mouth with one hand, as if to hold in her emotions. Her dad’s jaw clenches and he blinks furiously a few times, swallows hard.
“I didn’t think he would see it,” Jo says, once it’s done playing. “I genuinely never expected him to see it. But somehow it…” she sighs. “It went viral.”
Her dad frowns. “How many views does it have?”
I surreptitiously check the post on my own app.
“Ten…million?” Jo answers, making it sound like a question.
Her dad rips off the readers, eyes wide. “Ten million? You’re kidding.”
“Actually, as of just now, it’s hit thirteen-point-five million,” I add.
“Dear lord,” Charlie mumbles. Then, he rallies, straightening. “I can’t believe you put that on the internet, Jo-Jo.”
“Dad.” She huffs, and then again. “Again, I thought the only people that would see it would be my friends. And then…he showed up here.”
“How does that lead to you two making out in my backyard? And why were you holding hands? And why do you have a weed tied to your finger?” Charlie sits down, abruptly, and slugs coffee like it’s whiskey, complete with a wince and a grunted sigh after the swallow.
“I, um.” She clearly has no clue how to proceed.
Neither do I. But she’s floundering and I have to step in.
“I said yes.” I move to stand beside Jo, take her hand in mine. “The only people that know I’m here are my agent and my assistant. I do my best to stay out of the media, and I legitimately have nothing to gain professionally from this.”
Sherri laughs. “We do, though.” She looks right at me. “Not that I’m saying we’d, you know, sell a story. I’m just saying, I don’t think the issue we have is that you might be doing this for publicity.”
Charlie holds up both hands. “Hold on, hold on. When you say you said yes…” He clutches his coffee mug and stares at me. “You mean—”
Wish Upon A Star Page 6
