Mason laughed.
“I couldn’t imagine Christmas without it,” she said.
He looked up at her, still smiling. He tipped his head a little.
Reagan looked away. “So do you still have friends around here?”
“Oh ...,” he said, “you know.”
“Not really.”
“Some of the people from high school are still here. But I see them more on Facebook than anywhere else. I’m not exactly hanging out at the Co-op.”
“I guess not,” Reagan said.
“What about you? You still have friends in Arnold?”
“I’m not sure I ever had friends in Arnold.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her. “You can’t lie to me about that—I remember you and your friends. I always thought you were going to marry Levi Stewart.”
Reagan curled her top lip. “Why’d you think that?”
“Everyone thought that.”
“Not me.”
He pulled his head back. “That’s harsh.”
“Pfft. Levi’s fine. He’s got a wife and three kids and fifty bison.” She still talked to Levi once a week, even though they broke up in college. (Reagan didn’t let many people into her life—but once she’d gone to the effort, she didn’t like to let go of them.)
“Bison, huh? That sounds interesting.”
“You should friend him on Facebook, he’ll tell you all about it.”
Mason was finished with his Jell-O already. He was putting his mask back on. Reagan was sorry to see his smile go.
It was colder now that she was sitting on the deck. She shivered.
“Here,” Mason said. Then he tossed something onto her deck. Two somethings.
“What are those?” Reagan was squinting over at them.
“Handwarmers—I guess I should have asked if you wanted them. Are you worried about surface contact?”
“Um ...” Reagan had hand sanitizer in her coat pocket. Mason watched her spray the handwarmers. He didn’t make fun of her. She slipped the paper pouches into her pockets. They really were warm—how did that even work? “Oh,” she said. “That’snice. You sure you don’t need them?”
“Nah, I’m fine. I’ve been warming my hands this whole time.”
She sat down again, hanging her feet off the deck. “Just watching me suffer.”
“Exactly.”
Mason was sitting at the very end of his deck, leaning against the beam. Both decks looked like they’d been built by the same person. Unfinished cedar, with one railing. If you were a kid, you could fall right under the rail. Reagan and her cousins used to push each other off.
Reagan looked down at her feet. “Sorry I don’t remember who you were going to marry in high school,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Mason said. “I didn’t marry her.”
