He sits there in silence for a while, his forearms resting against the island as he stares at my spider plant.
I carry on making the grilled cheese. I’ve known Mase since we were fifteen and he needs time to process when he’s upset. He’ll talk when he’s ready.
When I turn my back on him to heat the frying pan, he clears his throat. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have turned up here like this. I was over in Mount Bush when I got your voicemails and…” he trails off.
The bread sizzles as it hits the pan. I put down the spatula and turn back to face him. “Please tell me you didn’t walk all the way here from Mount Bush?”
He grimaces and runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Christ, Mase. That’s like a two hour walk. You’re lucky you didn’t end up as roadkill.”
“I can think of worse things.”
My chest avalanches. “Mase…”
He waves a hand through the air and slings back the rest of his water. “Ignore me. I’m not making the best of decisions these days.”
I think of the state Lola was in yesterday partly because of what Mase said to her, and my jaw tightens. “Trust me, I know.”
He winces and fiddles with his empty glass.
The bread starts to catch, and I quickly flip the sandwich over. “Is this because of work?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The words feel like they’re torn from him, all jagged glass around the edges.
I sigh and concentrate on the grilled cheese for a moment, catching a drop of melted cheddar on the edge of the spatula.
I put the spatula down and turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well you might have to, because whatever you’re doing now isn’t working.”
Mase squeezes his neck. “I’ll stop drinking.”
“Will you though?”
He won’t meet my eyes, and I drop my voice. “What happened on that mission, Mase?”
Just the mention of the mission I’m pretty sure started all this makes him tense. “It’s classified.”
“It’sme,” I counter but Mase stays tight lipped and then I smell burning.
I twist to grab the pan and tip the grilled cheese out onto a plate. I cut it in half, the bottom is a little charred but it’s food and it will soak up some of the alcohol in Mase’s system.
I round the island, pull out the neighboring stool, and plant the plate in front of him. “Eat,” I say, sitting down and stealing half the sandwich. “Do your parents know about you being discharged?”
Mase picks at the crust. “I can’t tell them.”
I give him a look. “I guess keeping big news to yourself runs in the family.” He’d thrown such a fit when Lola hadn’t included them in her plans and here he was doing the same thing.
He grunts. “Thought you were supposed to be onmyside.” It’s a good-natured jab, he’s not actually mad but therein lies the problem.
I’m his best friend. I shouldn’t be going anywhere near his little sister.
Mase rests his elbows on the island and locks his hands behind his head. “I have no backup plan, Rome.”
Mase decided he wanted to join the Canadian Special Ops when he was sixteen and that was it. I helped him train every holiday. We spent hours running, hiking, and camping out in the wilderness.
When everyone else was making plans for college he was set on preparing for basic training. We never thought about what would happen after. There wasn’t supposed to be an after. But now there is.
“We’ll find a backup plan,” I tell him.
