Page 124 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
“I don’t know.”
“Is that the . . .” I look up, Zach is standing before me, P-Tink at his side, asking me about the ring. I nod.
“Holy fuck.”
“I know,” I say.
He slides his back down the wall to sit on my other side. P-Tink lays her head in my lap and licks my shirt.
“Why did she . . .” Zach starts but doesn’t finish.
“If you don’t know, man. I’m truly fucked. You know her better than anyone.”
“Her dad has a hold on her like I’ve never seen. It’s unreal. We’ve been friends forever, she and I. And Jonathan used to hug me right along with all her other friends. But when he found out I was gay, he switched to a handshake. As though a hug was something too sexual for me to handle. Or him.” He scoffs.
Then continues, “That cut me. Hard. I looked to him like a father figure. I spent more time at Willow’s than I did anywhere, especially my own house. And while he wasn’t a super present father, he was one hundred times better than the one I had. She let him do it. Barely said a word about it. This being the same girl who walked with me every year in our hometown Gay Pride parade after I was out.”
I reach over and pat his shoulder. “Sorry, man.”
“You don’t get it. We were the parade. It wasn’t an event like you see in Seattle or San Francisco, it was her and me, sporting rainbows, walking through the middle of town. She carried this big sign that saidproud to be besties with a gay man. Only the wordsbesties withwere in small letters, so unless you were up close it looked like the sign saidproud to be a gay man. She picketed the school board when I wasn’t allowed to take a boy from a neighboring town to prom. We were all still reeling from our other friend Marlie’s sudden death. The one with the brain aneurysm. And there she goes, Willow championing me. To the school board. But not her dad.”
I shake my head. Not sure what to think.
“What do I do?” I ask. “Is she gone?”
What have I done?
Is it because I told her family off?
I hear people start to come inside, murmuring and whispering about what’s happened. “I can’t deal with people right now.” I wave a hand toward the deck where people are still milling about as well.
“I will take care of it.” Zach stands and heads outside. I can hear him asking people to pack up some food to go and head out. He’s polite about it, but that’s the general gist. Willow had ordered to-go containers for people so that we wouldn’t have leftovers go to waste when we couldn’t finish them. How can she be both the woman who leaves her engagement ring on the counter without a wordandthe woman who buys to-go containers for guests at our party.
People leave faster than I anticipated. Soon it’s just me, Zach, Mom, and her friend Abe. I can’t bring myself to call him her boyfriend, even though he is. ’Cause, that’s my mom. Moms don’t have boyfriends.
Mom and Zach get most things cleaned up, while I sit like a zombie petting P-Tink. She left her dog. Not only did she leave me, but she left her dog. It’s like she’s a cult member who’s been brainwashed. Leaving me, her dog, her ring, and her cell phone. All the things she cares about. Or, if I’m out of the picture already, then at least the things sheshouldcare about: her dog and her cell phone.
“Do you want me to stay?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “No, you guys can go. I’m staying here in case she comes back or calls. Thank you for cleaning up, I owe you one.”
My mom smiles, that bit of pity that I hate is back on her face. I hug her, shake Abe’s hand, and send them on their way.
I’ve since moved to the living room and am sitting in my favorite chair, with P-Tink curled up on the large ottoman with my feet.
My favorite chair.
Because I live here. With Willow. Who left me.
Zach comes into the room with a bottle of tequila, limes, salt, and two shot glasses. “I don’t know what you heterosexuals do when someone leaves you. I usually alternate between ice cream and chick flicks, or tequila shots and MMA. I figured you’d appreciate the latter more.”
I give him a weak smile but take the shot when he offers anyway. Along with three more in quick succession after that. I feel the alcohol start to melt my insides and turn them to goo. Goo is good. Goo doesn’t care if your girl returns the ring and takes off. Goo has no feelings at all.
Soon, we are half a bottle down, and yelling at the TV when it doesn’t go the way we want. But we’ve moved on from MMA to a cooking competition show. And all our favorites keep getting eliminated.
“Fucking A,” Zach says. “Lavender-infused créme brûlée kicks fucking deconstructed bananas Foster’s ass every day, man. Every goddamn day. Those judges have their heads up their asses.”
I raise the bottle in agreement and take another swig, then pass it to him. We moved on from glasses to swigging right out of the bottle for efficiency’s sake. That and sometimes trying to pour into those tiny glasses is really hard.
