First Position (35 page)

“They may start that way,” she said, “but they will stay because you’re the best.”

“I know.”  Wesley smiled but then turned serious.  “Did you tell him about the baby?”  He knew the answer from her face.  “Oh, Emory, you’v
e
go
t
to tell him.”

“No, I don’t.”  Emory sat straight up.  “We both agreed to leave the past in the past.  I even talked to a priest about it, sort of.”

“You know I’ll support you no matter what you decide.”  

“Good, because I’ve decided to be happy and move on.  And I’ll need you to help me plan and shop for my dress.”

“How fun would it be for you, me, and Olivia to do that together?”

“Oh my goodness, I’m not sure the bridal world is ready for you two!”  She paused.  “But I wish I could do it with my mom.”

“I know.”  He held up her left hand, so she could see her ring.  “But your mom is with you.”  Emory nodded her head.  “I know your dad will go with us, if you want.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emory said.  “I’m not taking him dress shopping.  I may actually have Kathleen come.  If nothing else, she’ll keep you and Olivia in line.  She’s really good with threats.”

* * *

Mason was a Texas boy, used to deserts and droughts.  Charlotte’s rain showers, which seemingly came every April afternoon, caught him off guard.  He couldn’t get used to them.  It was one thing to play football during a torrential rainstorm, but quite another to suddenly get soaked while walking from a parking lot into a grocery store.  He preferred the burning sun.
 
At least I’m not in Seattle
.
  But the rainfall didn’t damper his bliss with Emory.  Rain meant Emory sometimes couldn’t take photographs, freeing her up to spend time with him in bed and work on their home in Myers Park.  So Mason found himself learning to love the rain.

In between work and play, they called their friends and family to share the happy news.  Steven encouraged his brother to move fast and get hitched quickly, so he didn’t have the chance to screw things up again.  Kathleen loved Emory’s offer to come dress shopping, and Olivia, too, couldn’t wait to tag along, also hoping Noah soon would have a cousin.  Emory texted her father a photo of her left hand, then laughed and cried on the phone with him, thanking him over and over again for her mother’s ring.  He assured her it was what her mother would’ve wanted, and he wasn’t going to get in the way of that.  There was no need to reserve judgment any longer.

* * *

Emory was busy at a photo session that was running long, so Mason, with no other plans, texted Wesley to meet for lunch at noon.  He said he wanted to bounce around some wedding ideas.  Wesley was shocked by the invite -- and by the topic -- but was excited Mason reached out.  Wesley was willing to do anything to help Emory plan her wedding, and since Mason chose a hip downtown restaurant, it allowed him a rare opportunity to dress up.  Plus, any chance he could get to escape the rigors of teaching children and to enjoy some adult company, he seized on it.

Wesley arrived promptly at noon.  The reservation was under Mason’s name, and the hostess led him to the table.  Wesley ordered some water and looked around the room.  It was a busy lunch hour, most tables full.  The waitress brought the water and gave him with a menu.  He told her Mason was late, and she left another menu at the table.  She asked Wesley if he wanted to order an appetizer, and Wesley politely declined, preferring to wait for Mason.  They obviously didn’t have the same taste.

By quarter past noon, Mason still hadn’t shown.  Wesley thought about texting Mason but didn’t want to pester, then worried whether something had happened -- perhaps he was hurt at the Panthers facility, or got in a car accident, or was lost downtown.  He then wondered whether Mason’s unexpected invite was merely a joke but quickly dismissed the idea.  Mason would never do that; it would upset Emory.  Maybe he just forgot.

Wesley scanned the menu and took a sip of water before looking again at his watch.  He looked up and saw the hostess walking towards his table with Tomás, dressed in a sleek black shirt and pants, Wesley’s eyes popping out of his head.  Tomás saw where the hostess was going, and his heart raced.  The hostess pulled out a chair for Tomás, and he sat awkwardly, offering a shy smile to Wesley.  He then fidgeted with his menu, as Wesley took a drink to cover his face. 

The hostess summoned the waitress to bring another water.  She told them the lunch specials and left them with a wine list, along with some final words.  “Lunch is compliments of Mr. Mason.  He said it was for second chances.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Wesley asked.

“I don’t know,” Tomás said, clearly confused.  “I got a message from Mason to meet him here at 12:15.  He said he wanted a painting for his new house.”

Wesley smirked.  “He told me to meet at noon to talk about the wedding.”

They shared a moment together, each man vulnerable, realizing Mason had duped them both.  The waitress brought Tomás a water.   “Why did Mason want to talk about your sister’s wedding?”

“Not m
y
sister’s
.
  Emory’s!”

“Emory’s?”  Tomás gasped, fanning himself, his eyes welling up with tears.  “Oh my God!”

Wesley hadn’t shared Emory’s good news with anyone he cared about until now.  And he did still care for Tomás.  Wesley knew he couldn’t stay mad at Tomás forever.  Wesley certainly liked telling him off at the coffee shop, but it didn’t feel as good as snuggling with him during a movie marathon, a popcorn bowl between them.  He missed Tomás, and Wesley was happy to see him again.  And it warmed his heart to see the way he’d reacted -- pure joy for his roommate.  Still, Wesley tried to harness his emotions.

“Yep.  Mason proposed about a week ago.”

“I’ve obviously missed out on a lot.”  Tomás sighed and took a drink of water.  “I’ve missed you, too.”

Wesley winked at him.  “Of course you have, you jerk.”

Tomás could feel the ice thawing.  “I’ve found myself watching action marathons at night -- wondering if you were, too.”

“That’s pretty pathetic, though I probably was watching.”

Wesley reached for his glass, and Tomás grabbed his hand gently.  “Is there any hope for us?”

“Well, I don’t know.”  Wesley freed his hand and took a drink.  “Have you been banging a lot of guys in your art studio?”

“Of course not!”  Tomás said, urging Wesley to lower his voice.  “No one.”

“Have you decided whether our relationship or your pride is more important?”

“Wesley, I obviously handled this all wrong.  I said things I didn’t mean.  I screwed up.  There’s not a day I don’t regret it.”  Tomás lowered his head and reached for his menu, but Wesley grabbed his hand, gently stroking his fingers.  Tomás started to cry.

“I’ll offer you a deal.  You cook that shrimp dish for me each night for the next week, and you do whatever painting Mason wanted for free. If you do that, I’ll promise you me -- again.”

“That’s a small price to pay.  Of course I’ll do all that.  I’ll do whatever you want,” Tomás said, wiping his face.  “I love you.”

“Damn right you do.”  Wesley took a sip of water.  “Don’t fuck it up this time.”

“I won’t.”  Tomás smiled, adding,  “And I promise to treat strangers worse than you.”

“Yes, that needs to be part of our deal, too.”  Wesley scanned the menu.  “Now, should we run up a big bill on Mason?”

“Probably not.”

Wesley looked up from his menu.  “By the way, I love you, too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Emory and Mason dedicated themselves over the next several weeks to passionate sex and home renovation.  She took photos of clients here and there, and Mason spent an occasional night out with his new teammates, but by and large they spent their time together, looking to the future and creating new memories together.  They discussed wedding plans, though she did most of the discussing, Mason nodding along to whatever she desired.  Emory occasionally felt a twinge of guilt about the secret she still kept, but did what she could to suppress it.  She wouldn’t let it drag her down.  After all, there was a wedding to plan.

Her first order of business was to choose a wedding dress, and Kathleen suggested a trip to Texas.  A client of hers owned an exclusive bridal shop and guaranteed her future daughter-in-law would find the perfect dress, at a friendly price.  Emory jumped at the idea: she’d get to see Olivia, and share the experience with family.  Of course, Kathleen insisted Mason come along, too, though not to the bridal shop.  She, like Emory, would never allow him to see the dress until the wedding.  And Mason was fine with that: he didn’t want to go dress shopping with three eager women, or the man coming along who himself couldn’t wait to shop.  Wesley could hardly control his excitement.

* * *

The foursome sat in a private room of the bridal boutique, Emory twirling her hair, wondering if such a large group was a good idea, concerned how all the strong personalities would mesh, if at all.  “You three need to be on your best behavior.”

“Of course,” each promised, telling Emory she had nothing to worry about.

Emory wished she could just wear her mother’s gown, but it was 1970’s polyester.  It was not an option.  Her mother’s ring would have to do.  In the large shop, Emory found herself overwhelmed by all the dress options.  It was easy to see a good dress highlighted in a magazine, but in a bridal shop, the choices were endless.  She didn’t know what style of dress she wanted and felt a good bit of pressure.  As good as her relationship with Kathleen had become, the thought of trying on dresses in front of her wrecked her nerves.  It also wasn’t lost on Emory that Kathleen had footed the bill for the trip, perhaps a subtle -- or not so subtle -- way to exercise control over selecting the dress.  If that was indeed the case, Emory would give Kathleen a pass; she meant well, and just couldn’t help herself.

A young, attractive consultant entered the room.  “Who’s the bride?”  She had a kind smile and smooth, mocha skin, with a pleasant face immediately putting Emory at ease.

“That would be me.”  Emory raised her hand, and Wesley patted her leg. 

“Oh my, you are lovely.  I’m Penelope.  So, tell me about your wedding and fiancé.” Penelope wanted to get an overall feel of the wedding and couldn’t help but notice Emory had a body that would look good in any dress, both a blessing and a curse to a consultant.

“I’m finally marrying my college sweetheart.  The wedding will be in Charlotte in the next couple of months.  It will be very small and intimate.”  Emory gave a friendly glance to Kathleen, whom she knew wanted a large affair.

“Sounds lovely.  So what style of dress are you looking for?”

Emory opened her mouth to speak, but Wesley answered instead.  “Emory is a former ballet dancer, so I think she should be in something ballet inspired, perhaps tulle.”  Emory looked at him and wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, yes,” Olivia agreed.  “Something big and poofy.”  Emory turned to Olivia and dropped her jaw.

“I tend to agree,” Kathleen interjected, and Emory swung her eyes to her.  “I would love to see her in a ball gown with a cathedral length veil.”

Emory cleared her throat and looked at Penelope.  “You were asking me, right?”  Penelope nodded, politely.  “I was thinking something more form fitting, maybe a sheath.  I’m not sure I can pull off a big ball gown.”

“OK, how about this?  I’ll pull a bunch of different styles, and we’ll go from there.”  Penelope smiled at Emory.  “Price point?”

Emory hesitated to respond.  When she’d discussed the wedding with her father, he told her to get whatever dress she wanted, and he’d pay for it.  But Emory knew the dresses at this high-end shop were $3,000 at minimum and didn’t want to strap him -- on his meager high school football coach salary.  Of course, she knew Mason would get whatever she wanted, but she didn’t want that, worried it would offend her dad.
 
I’m only going to wear it for a few hours.

“No limit today,” Kathleen said.

“Kathleen, I . . . .”  Emory started, but Kathleen waved her off.

“Honey, you are marrying an NFL player,” Olivia reminded her.  “Live it up!”  Emory looked at Wesley for help, but he was busy fist-bumping Olivia.

“Penelope, make sure Emory doesn’t see any price tags,” Kathleen instructed.  “I don’t want her choosing a dress based on price, though I’m a friend of the owner, so I’m sure we are not paying list price anyway.”  Penelope paused, having heard nothing about any price reduction, then nodded along to appease Kathleen, a woman who obviously got what she wanted.  She then went off to pull some dresses.

“Emory, dear,” Kathleen looked at her lovingly, “the dress is my wedding gift to you.”

“But . . . .”

“Now, now, don’t worry, dear.  I already talked to your dad.”

“You have?” Emory asked, shocked.

“I asked if it would be OK if I bought your dress since I don’t have a daughter of my own.”

“Wait!”  Olivia said.  “You didn’t offer that to my dad?”