Page 47 of Mason

Zing! I grip the phone tighter. “Now who’s being sarcastic?”

“Tell me everything that’s been happening for you lately,” she says. “Leave nothing out, especially not the part where Renee is living with you. Are things going well for you two?”

My heart stutters. “Who told you? Was it Renee?”

“It should have been you,” she says, quiet, but with an edge of annoyance that takes me back to my childhood. Mom never got mad, not even when I fucked up. She just got disappointed, which is way worse. “You know I’ve always liked her.”

Not true.

Mom never could look Renee in the eye—said she reminded her of “the other woman.” It doesn’t matter that she shares the same eyes as me and Dad, she shares nothing of my Mom, and while she may have accepted the affair and doesn’t mean to punish Renee, there’s a quiet hatred that simmers just under the surface of her practiced tolerance.

“Well, since you know about Renee, you’re all caught up,” I fib. I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a soda, and then settle back into the couch. “It’s good living with her,” I say finally, which is the truth. “She’s at a fashion event today.”

“On a Sunday?”

I grin at Mom’s shock. “New York doesn’t sleep.”

“Right,” she says, her voice drifting.

Okay, now I know something’s going on. “Spill it, Mom. This is definitely not a checking in call.”

“It was,” she says, but then adds coyly, “Of course, I do have some news.”

A cough in the background makes me tense. It’s definitely male—and somehow familiar. “Mom, do you have the TV on?” I can feel dread unfurling from my core. With a shaky hand, I set down my glass, and curl my knees up to my chest. “Mom?”

“Liv, I want you to listen,” Mom says.

My pulse ratchets up. Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy. “He’s there, isn’t he?”

She sighs. “Yes, but…”

Heat spreads up the side of my neck. I clutch my hand into a fist. “Why is Dad at the house?”

Our house.

He should be in Oregon with his Renee’s mother, not back with Mom, twisting her emotions into knots. Damn him.

“We’re reconciling,” she says. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

Bile begins to creep up my throat. I take a sip of soda. Fuck. I’m going to need something a little stronger. Vodka. Whiskey. Maybe even the bottle of tequila Renee has stashed at the back of the cupboard for a special occasion.

Shit. Renee. Does she know?

Of course not.

If she did, it would be big news and I’d have heard as well.

I quickly check my cell phone, positive I must have some text from her, but the screen is blank.

My voice goes cold. “Wonderful isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

In fact, my parents reconciling is the exact opposite of wonderful. Because not only is my father a scoundrel, a bottom feeding cad--he’s a lying, cheating asshole about to break another woman’s heart. Not to mention Renee’s.

I’m pissed.

And scared.

Because no text from Renee means she doesn’t know, and this phone call is my father’s subtle way of manipulating me into breaking the news to her.