Page 25 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Mason
We file outside, following Mrs. Brooks’not-so-subtle suggestion. Willow has some kick-ass patio furniture, I’ll give her that. All teak wood with big soft cushions, and hella comfortable. We sit at an umbrella-covered table for six. The chair I choose is a rocker, giving me the opportunity to lean back slightly, which is always nice since inevitably my legs will hit the person across from me when sitting at a table such as this.
I’ve gathered from earlier conversation that her name is Cassandra and his is Jonathan. And that I should have already known that somehow.
“Okay, so I took the liberty of making a list on our way here of everything that needs to get done before the wedding,” Cassandra says. “I found a website online that is just fantastic for things like this. And they have a countdown with deadlines of when all those things should be finished by before the big day.”
Uh, excuse me?
“Now, I would have done a mock-up of the invitations, but I didn’t know Brian’s last name,” Cassandra continues.
Brian? Wait, is she pretend marrying me or pretend marrying her ex? Or is he her boyfriend? What do you call the guy who refuses to propose and then strands you at a hotel two thousand miles from home?
“His name is Mason,” AshLynn corrects Cassandra.
“You said his name was Brian,” Cassandra says.
“Why would I say his name was Brian when his name is Mason?” AshLynn asks. “Maybe Daddy got it confused and then told you wrong.”
“Well, that does sound like something I would do,” Mr. Brooks says. “Sorry, Bri— err, Mason.”
I nod. “Are invitations necessary?” I ask the table at large.
“Well, of course,” Cassandra says. “Time is of the essence. We don’t have a minute to waste. The invitations have to go out immediately.”
“And why is that exactly?” I ask.
“People could already have plans. And we want as many people there as possible.”
“Right.” I draw out the word.
“You didn’t give us a lot of time to prepare,” Cassandra says.
“And how much time is that?” My voice sounds strained.
“Three weeks,” Cassandra says.
My head spins. I want to throw up.
I scoot my chair back and put my head between my knees.
“That’s so cute that he’s got the jitterbugs. Isn’t that cute, AshLynn?”
“Yep, that’s my Mason for you,” AshLynn says.
“Uh, AshLynn, can I talk to you a moment?” I ask weakly.
“But we have so much to discuss here, with my parents,” she says.
I clear my throat and straighten. “Now, please.”
She nods and follows me into the house and out the front door. I force her to sit on the brick planter surrounding the big maple tree and begin to pace.
“What—” I’ve got to get my thoughts together before I just start firing questions. She had to have a good reason for doing all of this. Right?
“I can’t—” I don’t finish that thought either. So, I just ask the hardest question first.
“Why are you doing this, AshLynn?”
