Page 48 of Full Circle

I waved him off with another laugh. “Just the taxi, please.”

It was so good to see a smiling Celeste looking up at me that I temporarily forgot about the world around us. Her dad’s illness, the stepmother from the Black Lagoon, my father’s crazy ultimatums—what did any of it matter? We had each other, and in that moment, that was more than enough.

Pulling her up from the sidewalk, I couldn’t help but remind her, “I love you.”

She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to mine, which was the best response she could have given me.

CHAPTER 19

A NEW NORMAL

CELESTE

The next several months went by in a blur worthy of a rom com montage. I honestly couldn’t tell what was going on day to day, nor could I keep a single thought in my head. The school board agreed to let me attend a four day school week as long as I gave up my study hall period and devoted it to another subject. It meant way more homework for me, but getting to have three days in Atlanta every week with Daddy was more than worth it. Plus it kept me busy enough during the beginning of the week that I didn’t spend all my time dwelling on his latest scan or whether or not he was in too much pain. There probably wasn’t another girl around who could say it, but all that homework might have saved my life because I would’ve driven myself insane without it.

Wesley was there by my side for every minute of my unraveling. Sometimes I wondered if he’d grow sick of me, if at some point my depression and anxiety would be too much for both of us, and he’d walk away rather than watch my downward, self-destructive spiral. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. That day never came, however. No matter what my temperament was or how short I was with him, that megawatt smile stayed firmly in place followed by a forehead kiss to remind me how much he loved me. There was no way I deserved that kind of love given my poor attitude, but I was eternally grateful to him just the same.

His horrendous father made Wesley live up to their bargain. The moment the plane touched down on Thursday evenings in Atlanta, Mr. Madden already had one of his assistants waiting at the gate with a change of clothes and an event invitation for Wes to attend. Most of them were social galas with paparazzi, celebrities, and other so-called elite members of society, and Wesley made it crystal clear how much he hated the lot of them. His photographs started to appear in every gossip magazine across the country as more than one teenage girl noticed how gorgeous his tan skin, long blonde hair, and angelic blue-eyed combo could be. Mr. Madden wanted Wesley to become the new face of the company, a golden boy that everyone loved, adored, and recognized.

While the recognition part was in full swing, Wesley’s surly attitude and volatile temper were more likely to land him on a TMZ report than anything else. I didn’t have the guts to voice it out loud, but I was of the opinion that Mr. Madden was one of those people who didn’t believe in bad press; as long as their names and his company were in the media, he was satisfied.

As much as I knew he hated going, Wesley never once complained. He would return to the hospital as soon as possible to check on Daddy, Nana, and me, then assure us all that we didn’t need to worry about a thing because all our bills and needs were taken care of. At the end of every night, one of the Madden family drivers would come to collect us from the hospital and drive us back to their penthouse to sleep before waking up the next day and doing it all over again. Never once did I see Mr. Madden himself, not even in their home, and from the photos I saw online, it looked like Wesley always attended the events alone. He said his father was too busy “brokering deals” to actually go to anything. Sure didn’t stop him from filling Wesley’s calendar, though.

At the suggestion of the school guidance counselor after Wesley got into yet another fight at school (“He shouldn’t have been running his mouth about you, Celeste!”), he began training with an MMA fighter to work out some of his aggression. Wesley took to the sport like white on rice, and the muscles he developed would have made any girl stop in her tracks. Pleased with the media attention Wesley’s new physique was getting, Mr. Madden invested in a gym back home in River’s Run that Wesley was given 24/7 access to use. He even put the business in Wesley’s name so that he earned the profit from it. Or at least, had there been any profit, Wesley would benefit. As far as I knew, Wesley, Maggie, and I were the only “members” in town.

The downside to our new routine was that Wesley was not granted the same accommodations from the school board this time around. Mr. Hildebrandt, the superintendent, said that while he appreciated Wes’ commitment to our family and that he showed excellent character by flying me back and forth every weekend, it wasn’t something that was necessary on his part. Wesley being Wesley meant that he told Mr. Hildebrandt the school board could fuck right off (I literally felt my mama’s ghost shake her head on that one) and continued to blow off school on Fridays anyway. After the first semester, he was going to face suspension if he continued, but he insisted I didn’t need to worry about it. As if it was that easy for the likes of me.

Whether it was River’s Run or Atlanta, Wesley and I were together, and my naïve, little heart loved every second of it. It surprised me that Nana never asked to check the accommodations, but Wesley and I managed to stay in his bedroom together every weekend we visited Daddy. Nana maintained the guest bedroom on one side of the penthouse and slept harder than a rock, her snores occasionally drifting out into the den, leaving us plenty of privacy. Privacy, however, that didn’t go to good use. I was a basket case on a good day, and physical intimacy beyond that of make out sessions and spooning in bed wasn’t on my radar.

Thankfully, Jeremy and Hillary continued to stay with their paternal grandparents. Jeremy went back to his same old routine of pretending I didn’t exist, which suited me just fine, but Hillary made it her life’s mission to harass me as much as the school would allow. She started to call me her baby sister (she was older by two months) and constantly felt the need to give me unsolicited advice. None of it was helpful and nearly everything circled back to the premise that Wesley Madden, heir to Madden Enterprises, didn’t belong with a poor redneck from the backwoods of Georgia. I didn’t want to add anything more onto Nana or Daddy’s already overloaded plates, so I ignored her as best I could rather than tell anyone. Since the only thing I could count on was Wes’ overreaction, it was easier to keep that secret close to the chest.

Nana had no other choice but to step up at The Comfy Cushion. We simply couldn’t afford to hire anybody else, even with the Madden family paying medical expenses. The problem was Daddy had his own particular system at the restaurant, so there wasn’t a good blueprint to follow when it came to ordering and balancing the books. Schedules were getting all messed up and Marla was at her wit’s end, ranting like a lunatic at Jesse and the other waitresses when nobody knew how to keep it together. By the time Nana got home at the end of every night, she was exhausted and passed out right on the couch.

It only took two months of the craziness before everyone agreed that The Comfy Cushion would need to close on weekends. Nana wanted to be able to visit Daddy, too, and since she couldn’t be in two places at once, it was the only viable solution. I cried harder than anybody else when they reached that decision because a piece of my mama’s soul died with it.

Surprising no one, Desiree continued to be just as awful and ambiguous as she ever was. One minute she sang my praises to Daddy, claiming to have heard from Hillary that I took top place in the science fair or that I volunteered to help a teacher decorate the school gym for a fundraiser, but then as soon as the nurse came to take Daddy for his next scan, she would lash out at me for wanting too much attention and ruining her daughter’s reputation. Supposedly all the kids at school were talking about Wes and me dating (I never once heard or saw anyone care) and it reflected poorly on Hillary to be related to such a jezebel.

And sadly, we were in fact now related. On one particularly good weekend for Daddy, I arrived at the hospital to find Desiree in a white silk dress and a minister at the foot of his bed. She insisted they would have a “real” wedding at some point, but for now, it was most important that they actually be joined as man and wife. Daddy had stars in his eyes the whole time, so who was I to argue? His happiness was all that mattered to me and Lord knew he had suffered enough over the past few years. They both recited their vows back to the minister and that was that. I officially had a stepmother.

Of all people, though, why did it have to be Desiree Stanbrooke? She was as cold and calculating as a viper, and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that we did not have an affectionate bond as step-relations. The ink hadn’t even dried on the marriage license before she zipped out of the room with Daddy’s attorney and a shiny new credit card, making Nana purse her lips so hard the skin cracked.

From there on out, any time I came to visit, Daddy was alone. He insisted that it was just Desiree’s way of coping and told me to try and imagine how hard it would be to see Wesley suffering in a hospital bed, knowing I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was no version of that scenario where I wouldn’t have remained by Wesley’s side. When the people you love are weathering the storm, you grab a rain jacket and hunker down so you can ride it out together. Mama never would have left Daddy’s bedside, just like he never left hers. Desiree seemed content to shop at all the Atlanta boutiques, only returning to show Daddy all the purchases she made.

I cried inconsolably about it to Wesley more times than I could count. Every time I arrived to find Daddy thinner, paler, and all alone in that giant hospital room, it chipped away a tiny piece of my heart.

It didn’t help matters that treatment wasn’t going well. Winter break was spent in Atlanta, with Nana doing the unthinkable and closing The Comfy Cushion for an entire week. She said our family had too much going on and needed to spend the quality time together after Daddy’s latest scan showed the cancer not only resisted the TTF/chemo combo, but had spread out further into his brain.

On Christmas Day he had his first seizure, right after a bite of Marla’s famous apple pie, and I’m still not entirely sure my heart didn’t seize up right along with him. I have never felt as helpless in my life as I did sitting next to him, watching his entire body jerk erratically while alarms went off around us like a bad karaoke machine. It was all too soon and crashed into me like the sky was falling: Daddy was going to die.

Dr. Hassan started showing less and less optimism as the weeks went on. Daddy lost a ton of weight and all of his hair, looking downright skeletal. He requested to stay in the hospital bed more and more rather than walking around or even sitting up in a chair. Sleep became his most natural state as he was almost always napping. All of these side effects were normal, Dr. Hassan assured me, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. I wanted Daddy to be strong and cuddly again. Not that I ever let it show. I never wanted him to know how badly his illness was affecting me. He didn’t deserve a side of guilt along with his hot plate of pain and suffering.

At night, though, whenever Wesley and I would lay down in his bed, he would wordlessly pull me to his chest and stroke my hair as I bawled everything out. Sometimes he would croon out the lyrics to “See You Again” by Carrie Underwood. I fell asleep every night to his gentle reminders that I was the strongest person he knew and it was okay to break down with him. There wasn’t a chance in heaven that I could have gone through any of it without Wesley’s steadfast presence. He kept me going when all I wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position and cry my problems away.

We were all making the best out of the worst situation and created our own version of normal. But the thing about normal is that it’s constantly changing. And for me, change wasn’t good.

CHAPTER 20

SURPRISE, SURPRISE

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