Thankfully, Mason fell asleep after raiding my cabinets and slept all the way through the next day. When he did wake up, he split his time between sharing uncomfortably sentimental memes on social media, bingeing a few television action series, and ordering an obscene amount of food, even for him. Ireturned home to find him on the couch, wing sauce all over his face, and Jack Ryan shooting up the bad guys.
By some gift of scheduling and karma, I barely saw my team on Friday. Cami and Tori were both paged to the hospital early to scrub in for procedures, Reza was assigned to babysit a touchy case, and I was shipped off to the ER to work with the peds attending down there.
Save for Reza, who cut me off with “It’s not my business and I wish to leave it at that” when I tried to talk to him about what happened outside Acevedo’s house, I didn’t even get a second with the others. Everyone left for the weekend before I finished in the ER, and when I texted to ask if they were okay, I got a smattering of responses that included a pic of Cami and her husband sharing a donut, a question about next week’s conference schedule, and a bunch of random emojis.
I didn’t know how to interpret any of that and I didn’t have time to worry one way or another because Mason demanded we hit the bars Friday night.
Not a great idea.
I spent the whole night preventing a guy who was roughly the size of a grizzly bear from picking fights with every other drunken fool in Boston because he was full of feelings and didn’t know what to do with them.
We were escorted out of three bars, left before management got involved at two others, and narrowly avoided a chat with the cops at another two. Mason made it back to my building with only a few busted knuckles and a bloodied but not broken nose that would result in some gross bruising.
The stairs, however, presented many problems to him.
We sat on the floor in the foyer for an hour while the nausea and dizziness passed. Mason told me about some of his recent expeditions and the state of the snowpack in the Sierras. It was shaping up to be a heavy year.
When we finally arrived at my apartment, he flopped down on the couch and didn’t move again until this morning. He was hungover as hell and both eyes were bagged and bruised, but he didn’t complain about coming with me to meet Whit for breakfast.
“It would be really cool if you didn’t say anything weird to Whitney about how I’m trash at relationships,” I said as we walked toward the café. “I’d consider it a pretty big favor.”
“When did you start chasing women?” he asked, his voice still rough from last night.
“When I found one worth chasing.”
“But you’re the president and founder of the Love Isn’t Worth It club. What the hell happened?”
“People change,” I said. “I’ve changed.”
“Didn’t mention any changes to me.”
“I’ve had a lot going on,” I said, hoping that was adequate. I rounded on him, holding up a hand before we crossed the street. “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell Whitney that I’m probably going to fuck it all up one of these days and ruin everything. Okay? Just keep those details to yourself for now.”
He threw his arms around me and swallowed me up in a bear hug. “What are you talkin’ about? You’re not gonna fuck anything up. That fancy girl likes you a whole damn lot.”
I wanted to believe all of that.
We found Whit and Brie seated at a table inside the café, both staring at their phones. Brie looked like she’d been chewing on something bitter all morning and Whit looked like she’d had to hear about it.
Spending time with Whit meant I’d learned pretty quickly that Brie controlled the weather. For the most part, Brie did her own thing and paid little attention to her sister, but when the winds changed, everyone knew it.
Whit startled when I trailed my fingers across her shoulder blades, then pulled me down for a hug. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
God, I loved this fancy girl.
I pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Missed you too.”
Mason lingered behind me, taking in the black and white décor and eyeing the locals like he didn’t recognize this species. He liked everyone and everywhere, but if presented with a choice, he’d never choose city living. If I asked him what he thought of this place, he’d probably tell me it was too damn loud. As if his favorite taverns and sports bars back home were library quiet.
“You’ve met Whitney,” I reminded him as I dropped a hand on her shoulder. “And this is Brie.”
Mason cupped his ear as he held out his hand to her. “Sorry, didn’t catch that. It’s loud in here, right? Did he say Ree? Or Tree?”
She pushed out of her seat to reach his hand. “Brie,” she said, tapping her chest. “Like the cheese.”
“I’m Mason,” he said, still clutching her hand. “Like…the jar.”
Brie blinked up at him. “And quite a tall jar you are.”
