Page 101 of Summer Lessons
Mason stole it.
Dane smacked him on the back, snarling, “Asshole!”
“You kids quiet down in there!” Janette called. “Don’t make your father spank you!” Then she giggled, and so did Roger, and Mason threw the pillow back.
“Please, Mason?” Dane said softly.
“Time, Dane. It’s a thing.”
“Fine.”
THE NEXTweek soccer started. Without him.
He was having Skip and Richie over for dinner again, and Carpenter, and Mrs. Bradford and her husband. Mrs. Bradford had been a last-minute invitation, but she’d started bringing him lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. When he’d asked her why, her response had been puzzled.
“I have no idea. I’ve never felt the urge to cozen you before. It’s very strange. If you don’t mind, sir, simply shut up and enjoy it. I don’t cook this much for my husband.”
“Okay, then,” he said, baffled. “Well, I can return the favor. Saturday I’m making something new and interesting that I plan to find on the Internet on Friday. Would you and your husband like to join us?”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Bradford said, apparently charmed. “I’d love that. And my husband would too. Should we bring wine?”
“That would be excellent—or beer, if Mr. Bradford prefers.”
Her smile was damned near girlish. “Sixish?”
“Sixish it shall be.” Which meant he had to get his game on, because last time they’d eaten at nearly eight. “Alfresco—and we have a pool.” He paused. “And, uh, you’ll be the only girl. I mean woman. I mean doublexchromosome. And, uh, Mr. Bradford shall be the only straight male.”
“Oh Mason,” she said, sounding a little teary. “We’d love to come. Anything to hear you sounding like yourself again.”
He omitted mentioning the dinner party to Hugh (Hot Hugh, Hugh of Hotness) because he’d feel guilty for not inviting him.
And he left the house Saturday morning at the same time Dane and Carpenter were leaving for soccer—timed on purpose. He told himself he’d get a workout fighting the crowds at Whole Foods.
The kid with the man-bun and the blue eyes who was stocking the meat counter winked at him and gave him extra pork tenderloin for the regular price.
The kid with the brown eyes and short blond hair who was spraying off the produce aisle produced cilantro, basil, garlic, and limes from boxes that hadn’t been unloaded yet, and patted him on the ass as he’d walked away.
The actual adult behind the counter (he had gray hair and kind eyes and looked surprisingly fit) blatantly asked him if he’d want one more for dinner.
By the time Mason got home with his groceries and a plan for burritos that should knock Mrs. Bradford’s socks off, he was starting to see Dane’s point about gay-nip.
Which actually fortified him for the postgame breakdown.
Dane and Carpenter showed up at one, and Mason put them on housecleaning duty after their shower. Richie and Skipper showed up an hour later, Ponyboy in tow, and they got patio sweep and pool cleaning. When it dawned on Skip that they were usually the company and they were being asked to help spiff up the place to impress someone, he had the gall to ask if Mason had a date.
“No!” he protested. “My secretary, Mrs. Bradford. You know her. She’s bringing her husband.”
Skip smiled then—the smile that showed all his teeth. “Richie, did you hear that? You’ll get to meet Mrs. B—she’s the one who ran me down the cold medicine and who gave us Easter eggs with chocolate in them. She’s coming for dinner.”
Richie popped his head inside the kitchen from the patio. “Seriously? Aw, man—Skip, can I run out and get flowers? That’s what you get for women, right? I mean mother-like women? ’Cause we owe her.”
Skip nodded seriously. “Yeah—you go take care of that. Something pretty. Maybe a vase too.”
Richie grunted and popped back out again, moving with purpose. Mason watched him go, remembering that long-ago conversation with Skipper about a mom who hadn’t mommed.
And wondered if Terry might not want to meet Mrs. Bradford socially someday.
For a whole five minutes, he hadn’t thought about Terry. It had been nice.
