He sighs and tears off a bite of grilled cheese.
We eat in silence for a while. The cheese is hot and stringy, but I barely taste it, too caught up in my thoughts as I try to find a way to make this better for Mase.
I was an only child until I met the Fords and then practically overnight Mase became my brother. I want to be able to fix this for him, and I hate that it’s not that simple.
Part of me wants to push, to get him to tell me whatever it is he’s holding back. But he’s been avoiding me a lot lately and I don’t want him to shut me out if I push too hard.
I slide off the stool and pick up our plates. After I’ve rinsed them off and cleaned the pan, I brace myself against the island. “Look, I’m not going to push but whenever you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”
Mase smirks at me. “At the end of a two hour walk down coastal roads and through an orchard?”
His joke feels a little too raw. “Yeah, well, if you weren’t living at some bar in Mount Bush these days, it wouldn’t take you so long to get here.”
Mase sobers, the self-effacing grin slipping from his lips. “Okay. Can’t say I didn’t deserve that.”
I huff out a harsh breath. I’m torn between being angry at him for how he’s treating Lola and feeling sorry for him for the shit he’s going through. “I get that you’re living your nightmare right now, Mase,” I say, “but you’ve got to stop with the drinking.”
He meets my gaze across the island.
“You feel like you want to drink, come here instead. I’ll put you to work picking apples.”
His lips twitch in a smile, but his eyes are dead. “That’s your dream, not mine.”
The joke falls flat and frustration spikes inside me. “Mason,” I say his name like it’s an order.
He snaps to attention and loses the smirk. “Yeah. Alright. No more drinking.”
Mase stays the rest of the day, so I don’t get a chance to finish cleaning off the driftwood. I somehow don’t think me saying I’mjust going out back to make your sister her dream sign is what he needs to hear right now.
I’m lying by omission by not telling him I’m helping Lola, with the sign and the apples. It feels like shit but the alternative—staying away from Lola—feels worse.
Maybe if Mase was his normal self, I would take Jarred’s advice and talk to him. But he’s clinging on by his fingertips right now and I’m not going to drag him down. Not when there’s barely anything to tell anyway.
If the situation changes, if Lola lets me do to her the things I want to do…
Fuck.I screw my hand up into a fist and push away images of Lola spread out on my bed.
She’s my best friend’s little sister. Icannotgo there. Not now. Not when Mase needs me.
Chapter Seventeen
Lola
What are you doing up here, Firebird? You’re supposed to be resting.
I thought maybe it would help me remember.
Did it?
No. The whole evening’s a blank.
- Conversation between Roman, age 25 and Lola, age 18
A few daysafter my dramatic meltdown I get a message from Roman asking me to come to the orchard and I immediately start spiraling.
“What if he wants to back out?”
Skyler looks up at me, metal parts in hand, from where she’s figuring out how to set up the newly arrived coffee machine. “Yes, because that’s often what people who give you motivational speeches turn around and do,” she deadpans.
