Page 59 of That's Not a Thing

“I told Aaron that I made out with Wesley,” I spout without preamble, rushing to get all the salient details out. “Aaron dumped me and is moving out until Wesley goes into a facility, at which point I will be homeless, too. Oh, and I’m also unemployed.”

Lana does a little shake of her head, like she’s trying to get water out of her ear. “I’m sorry—what, what, what?”

I then tell her a slightly less abrupt version of the events, adding a few details here and there, my words bursting forth like shrapnel as I try to get her to understand the catastrophic state of my affairs.

“And the reason I called you,” I race onward, “is so you can be my wing-woman while I tell Wesley that there is absolutely nothing, nothing, nothing romantic between us, even though Aaron and I aren’t a thing anymore.”

“Huh.” Lana stares at me, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. I can see her processing everything, and I feel a surge of love for her because I know she’s trying to figure out the best way to help me. I get a little hopeful, wondering if maybe there’s something I haven’t thought of, some way to fix this.

“Okay, yeah,” she says finally, cocking her head toward the elevators. “Let’s go dump Wesley.”

“No, it’s not like that.” I feel a surge of protectiveness for him. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Not recently. I still care about him, a lot, just not that way.”

“No, I know.” She reaches out and gives my upper arm a light squeeze. I stiffen at the touch, too raw to accept any affection. Her hand drops as she continues, “But maybe if we can get him out of the apartment, it might help in your quest to get Aaron back.”

“There is no quest. Aaron was über clear; he’s not coming back.” I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a sob before it escapes.

We’re silent for a moment, the scent of Lana’s flowery hair-care products enveloping us both.

“Although maybe it would tell him something,” I start thinking aloud. “That even without Aaron, I don’t need to be near Wesley. But no, he’d probably just add that to the list of what I’ve done wrong, actions that make me a bitch. You know, kicking out a dying man just to serve my own ends.”

“Okay, yeah, I get it. C’mon, hon.” She links her slender arm through mine, and I surrender to her authority, feeling suddenly as though her allegiance is all that’s keeping me on my feet, the only fragment of my life allowing me to remain physically upright. “Let’s get this over with.”

As we round the corner from the alcove back to the main lobby, I see Wesley by the elevators, his shining wheelchair pointed not toward the two elevators but toward the mail room. I don’t know how much of our conversation he heard, but the expression on his face tells me it was enough.

I brace myself for whatever hateful words he is about to spew, wondering if there is any way I can possibly make things worse than I have already. When he finally opens his mouth, his tone is kinder than I expected, his words a startling balm.

“We’ll fix this,” he says. “C’mon, I’ve got prosecco cupcakes for you guys.” He tilts his chin downward, and I notice the white bakery-type box on his lap.

We’re silent as we step onto the elevator, Lana in front while I push Wesley’s chair.

“How much did you hear?” I ask.

“I was already thinking about moving into a facility,” he answers matter-of-factly, like he’s telling me about a business meeting and not his end-of-life palliative care. “I’ve had a couple of little things in the past couple of weeks, so ...”

“Things?” I’m trying to get a handle on what he’s saying, to get a handle on anything at all.

“Things. That’s not the point. The point is that I started looking into aides, home health care workers, you know? But it doesn’t feel like the right solution.”

The door opens on the eighth floor, and Wesley keeps talking. “There’s a place I found, in Massachusetts. It’s a one-of-a-kind care facility dedicated to patients with ALS. Everyone gets their own apartment in this one building, and the staff helps the patients maintain normal lives for as long as possible. They have engineers dedicated to making communication devices that suit each individual’s different needs. Things like that.”

“Communication devices?” Lana interrupts as she walks next to me, the two of us trailing Wesley.

“Yeah, for when we lose our ability to speak.” He sounds so calm as he glances back over his shoulder at Lana, like he’s teaching her about ALS the same way he used to teach her about trigonometry when she was in high school.

“I saw that place,” I say as I step in front of him and use my key to let us into the apartment. “When I was looking around online. It looked amazing but very small. They have room to just take anyone?” I hold the door open as Lana and Wesley file into the apartment.

“Well, it’s expensive,” Wesley says, as he swivels back toward me. “I don’t think that many people can afford it. And I guess that with their particular clientele, they probably have a lot of turnover.” He shrugs sheepishly.

“That’s not funny.” I swipe the box of cupcakes from his lap and huff my way to the couch.

Lana charges onward as though Wesley has been a part of this conversation from the beginning. “So, how are we going to convince Aaron to get over your lapse in judgment?” she asks as she plops down next to me and peers into the cupcake box that I’m opening. Her phone buzzes, and she reaches into her clutch. “Ooh. Spencer.” She’s pursing her lips at her phone, like she’s trying to formulate a response, or maybe just thinking about kissing.

“Seriously?” I demand, suddenly annoyed at her. “You’re cheating on Reese for real? We’re like Sodom and Gomorrah over here.”

“No, I’m not ‘cheating on Reese’”—she mimics my tone back to me—“but I do think I may be finished with him. He’s never around, and I’m not sure he’d miss me if I moved on. I think I’ve been so focused on fixing our crappy relationship over the years that I’ve never paid much attention to whether Reese was even capable of making me happy. We have almost nothing in common at this point, and I’m kind of over him.” She looks from me to Wesley and shrugs, as though this is not a topic that has consumed her for the past several years, as though her new epiphany is no big deal.

“Doesn’t it take you back though? I used to come to you two all the time for advice about Reese back in high school.” She makes a heaving sound, like she’s clearing her throat of a nasty taste. “I don’t even think he was making me happy back then, so it definitely makes sense that I should be ending it. I just have to find a time to talk to him. He keeps being toobusyevery time I tell him we need to talk.” She pauses for a second, fiddling with the zipper on her clutch. “I’m still talking about myself, aren’t I?” Her cheeks turn a bit pink, and she looks as pretty as ever as she reaches for her phone again and starts typing a response to Spencer.