Page 113 of Making It Burn
“Catherine, please.”She sipped her wine.
Mason’s hand found mine on the couch, and I laced our fingers together.
“Actually,” Frank said, his voice pleasant but firm, “Mason earned that partnership through hard work and exceptional legal skills.I’ve seen the cases he’s won.The clients he’s brought in.He’s brilliant.”
“Of course he is,” Caroline added.“We’re so proud of him.”
My mother’s expression didn’t change, but I saw a slight tightening around her eyes.
“And the house,” my father said, clearly trying to redirect.“A townhome on West Avenue?That’s a wonderful neighborhood.An excellent investment.”
“We love it,” I said.“Three bedrooms, original hardwood floors, walking distance to everything.It’s perfect.”
“A bit small, isn’t it?”My mother sniffed.“For two professional men.Surely you could afford something more...substantial.”
“We like cozy,” Mason said.“It feels like home.”
“Well, everyone has different standards, I suppose.”
The room went quiet for a beat too long.
Then Caroline, bless her, leaned forward with a bright smile.“Catherine, Beau tells me you’re on the board of the Valentine Museum?I’d love to hear about that.I’ve been looking for volunteer opportunities since the wedding.”
And just like that, she had my mother talking about her favorite subject — herself.Caroline asked all the right questions, made all the appropriate impressed noises, and somehow made it seem genuine.I watched in awe as she navigated my mother’s icy personality with the skill of a seasoned diplomat.
Meanwhile, Frank and my father had moved on to discussing golf, and Gracie had reappeared with hors d’oeuvres that she offered with pointed looks at my mother every time Catherine said something particularly pretentious.
“You know,” Frank said at one point, looking at Mason and me, “I never thought I’d see my son this happy.After his mother died, he threw himself into work.Never made time for relationships or friends or...life.But then you came along, Beau.”
“Dad—” Mason’s face had gone red.
“Let me finish.”Frank’s eyes were bright.“You made him remember how to live.How to laugh.How to be human instead of just a lawyer.So thank you for that.”
“I think it was mutual,” I breathed, my throat tight.“Mason saved me too.”
My father was watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite read.Not disapproval, exactly.More like...consideration.
“I must admit,” he said slowly, “when you first told us about Mason, I had my doubts.Not about—” He gestured vaguely.“Not about the nature of the relationship.Just about whether it would last.Whether it was serious.”
My mother made a small sound that might have been agreement.
“But watching you two together,” my father continued, “seeing how you are with each other—” He paused, then smiled.“I was wrong.This is real.And I’m...I’m glad you found each other.”
My mother said nothing, but Gracie, standing in the doorway, made a small approving noise.
“Thank you, Robert,” Mason said.“That means a lot.”
“Yes,” my mother said finally, setting down her wineglass with deliberate precision.“I suppose if one must have a...partner...in this day and age, at least you chose well, Beau.Mason is successful, well-mannered, and comes from a good family.That’s something, I suppose.”
It was probably the closest thing to approval I’d ever get from mother.
“I’ll take it,” I whispered to Mason.
After dinner, while the parents lingered over coffee in the living room, Mason and I stepped out onto the back terrace for air.
The garden was immaculate, as always—every flower in its place, every hedge perfectly trimmed.The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
“That went better than expected,” Mason said, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
