Page 83 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

I found Grandpa bent over in the garden, struggling to uproot a stubborn weed. I came around the corner and put my hands on my hips.

“Didn’t I buy you a garden weasel for just that purpose?”

“I like getting my hands dirty.” Grandpa looked up at me, his face shaded from the sun by the brim of a wide hat. “You’re looking good, Mason. Strong, healthy.”

“I’m in love, Grandpa. I’m going to be married soon. I only wish that you could be there.”

“Oh, I will be there.” He stood up and dusted off his gnarled hands. “I’ll always be there with you, Mason. No matter where you go in life.”

“I’ve always felt that,” I said with a sigh. “But I want you there, physically. I want you to see me walk down the aisle with the woman I love more than life itself.”

“Well, to quote the great British philosopher Mick Jagger, you can’t always get what you want.”

“That’s cold comfort, I’m afraid.”

Grandpa came over and put his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not used to having to look up at you, Mason,” he said with a cackle. “Turn around, take a gander. What do you see?”

I followed his gesture to the waiting garden.

“I see your garden, and it looks like your tomatoes might need more water.”

“No, you big dope!” He laughed, taking the venom out of his words. “What else do you see?”

“I don’t know, flowers? A fence?”

“You’re sure being thick-headed today son. Chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters. What you’re seeing isn’t a garden at all. It’s a memory.”

“A memory?”

“Yes, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I frowned. “I—is this a dream?”

“Is it?”

“I think so, but—Grandpa, I want to ask for your advice. How can I make Megan truly happy? In the long term, I mean. How can I make her love me just as much in ten years, or twenty, or fifty, as she does now?”

Grandpa again pointed to his garden.

“If you want words of wisdom, this is all I have to offer. Life is a garden, Mason. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved—except in memory. Build good memories with your new bride, my boy, and neither of you will ever want for happiness.”

“Mason! Yo!”

I felt a hard push on my shoulder and snapped awake. Stan the Man sat beside me, looking like a wannabe spy in his tux.

“Time to wake up and get married, Mr. Sleepyhead.”

“Oh, let him have his beauty sleep, Stan,” Chandler quipped. “He needs all of it he can get!”

They all cackled at me. My best man Jonathon and the groomsmen, who also happened to be members of my firm. We’d all been there for Jon’s wedding, so it was looking like we’d started a tradition.

“How long was I out?”

“About thirty minutes,” Jon said. “Maybe we should have dialed back the bachelor party a bit.”

“Nah,” Stan said. “Don’t be silly.”

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