Page 28 of Making It Burn
Mason was waiting by my Mercedes, looking amused."She seems...formidable."
"That's one word for it."I unlocked the car."Get in before they find another reason to interrogate you."
We climbed into the car, and I started the engine, grateful for something to do with my hands.The moving truck was already pulling out of the driveway, and I followed it, acutely aware of Mason sitting in my passenger seat, his presence filling the entire car.
"Your family is..."Mason paused, searching for the right word.
"Insane?"
"I was going to say 'interesting.'"
"That's diplomatic."I turned onto the main road, heading toward downtown."Sorry about the interrogation.My father thinks every person I meet needs to be vetted like a Supreme Court nominee."
"It's fine.My dad's the same way."Mason shifted in his seat, and I caught a hint of his cologne—the same scent that had been haunting me since yesterday."Your mother seems nice."
"She is.When she's not trying to marry me off to every eligible bachelor in Richmond."
The words were out before I could stop them.
The silence in the car was deafening.
I'd just—I'd just said that.Out loud.To Mason.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I kept my eyes fixed on the road, waiting for Mason to say something.Anything.
"Does she know?"Mason's voice was quiet.
"That I'm gay?Yeah.Has since I was sixteen."I forced myself to keep breathing normally."My dad took a little longer to come around, but he's fine with it now.Gracie figured it out before I did."
Another silence, but this one felt different.Less awkward, more...considering.
"My father doesn’t know," Mason said finally."About me."
I glanced at him, surprised by the admission.He was staring out the window, his profile sharp against the morning light.
"He wouldn't disown me or anything," he continued."But my dad's got this whole vision of what my life should look like—partner at the firm, country club membership, wife and two-point-five kids.Coming out would complicate that narrative."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is."He turned to look at me, and the vulnerability in his expression made my chest ache."But it's easier than dealing with the alternative."
I wanted to reach over, to put my hand on his knee, to tell him I understood.But we were colleagues, and this was already more personal than it should've been, and I was pretty sure any physical contact would short-circuit my brain entirely.
"For what it's worth," I said instead, "I think living your life for someone else's narrative is bullshit."
Mason's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile."Noted."
We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence.The condo was in Shockoe Bottom, a converted warehouse building with exposed brick and huge windows overlooking the canal.The moving truck was already parked out front, the movers standing on the sidewalk with their clipboards.
I pulled into a visitor spot, and we both climbed out.The morning air was crisp and cold, and I could see the James River glittering in the distance.
"This is it," I said, gesturing to the building."Fourth floor.Corner unit."
Mason looked up, taking in the industrial architecture."It's great."
"Better than Windsor Farms, anyway.At least I can control the thermostat."
One of the movers—a heavyset guy named Frank who I'd been dealing with all week—approached with his clipboard."Mr.Thatcher.Ready to start unloading?"
