Page 100 of Summer Lessons
“So aren’t you going to ask me?”
“I can’t. I’m not talking to you.”
“Look, I know you’re hurting,” Dane said, because he was the king of not taking the hint. “But Terry’s going to come back or he’s not. You know how you need him to be okay being alone? You’re already okay being alone. So maybe look at being okay with someone else besides Terry.”
“This makes no sense. None. Not to my head, not to my heart. And you know something else? I’m tired of being with people whodon’tmake me feel like Terry did. So if all I have of that feeling is the memory and the hurt, I’m going to cling to that until someone comes along who’s worth leaving that behind for. So far? No contenders. Throwing people at me isn’t going to help.”
“I don’t have to throw people at you. I understand you’ve become gay-nip.”
“Who besides George? And there’s no such thing as gay-nip.”
Behind them, their mother chortled, and Mason and Dane made the exact same sound at the exact same time.
“Stop picturing John Barrowman without his shirt,” Roger said mildly. “It’s scaring the children.”
Janette’s throaty chuckle was enough to make them both groan.
“Mom!”
“Oh my God, yeah, could you not?”
“I could, but I won’t,” she said unapologetically. “Go on and tell us about how Mason is gay-nip, Dane. This is the best anniversary presentever.”
“So let me tell you about Hot Hugh,” Dane said, obviously relishing the gossip.
“Oh Lord,” Mason muttered. “He’s not that hot.”
“Smoking hot. Hot Hugh. Hugh of Hotness. Blond god of human resources—Skipper and Carpenter verified. Hugh the hottie, who is even hotter for Mason.”
“Jesus,” Mason mumbled, negotiating off of De Anza Boulevard toward his parents’ house. “This is not my life.”
But it was. It was his life. And that night—after harboring a deep grudge for the treasonous Mrs. Bradford, who apparently dished to Skipper and Carpenter way more than Mason ever suspected—he had a little talk with Dane about letting it stay his life.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said as they settled into the same queen-size bed they’d shared as children.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. It’s a broken heart. They happen every day.”
Dane’s sigh shook the bed. “Not to you. You usually just bounce off the thing that breaks you and blame yourself for not being good enough to be happy.”
Mason grunted. “That’s fair. This time’s different.”
“I know. This time Terry got you. Hegot you. And he thought you were perfect. And you couldn’t have him. And you’re… you’re broken. I had to hear about Hot Hugh from Carpenter, Mason.Carpenter.Not one word about George Williams and how he had the most boring name in the world and muscles like forged steel so maybe he was Superman.”
Mason chuckled. “See, I was thinking John Cena,” he said. “Superman is inspired.”
“Mason—”
“I’m hurt,” Mason said. “Remember all the times you said that to me? You said ‘I hurt, but I’m still functioning. Just stop worrying about the hurt and let me function.’”
“This isn’t—”
“No. It’s not mental illness. It’s less. It’s temporary. And if it isn’t, I’ll still live with it.”
“‘It’s less’ is bullshit, Mason. There’s no fucking yardstick for this type of pain. You can’t shove a ruler into a wound and say, ‘Oh, Dane’s is three feet deep and Mason’s is only two.’ They both fucking hurt, so don’t weenie out, okay?”
Mason faked a snore, and Dane walloped him over the head with a pillow.
