Page 42 of Making It Burn
Caroline clapped her hands together.“Wonderful!Now, dinner’s almost ready.Mason, your father tells me you like wine, so I hope that Bordeaux you brought is tasty because I plan to drink at least half the bottle.”
She swept toward the kitchen, already talking about the recipe she’d tried—"Italian, from scratch, can you believe it?I’m normally a frozen pizza kind of woman"—and my father and I stood there in her wake.
“She’s...a lot,” I said carefully.
My father’s smile widened.“Yes.She is.”
“You seem happy.”
“I am.”He put a hand on my shoulder.“I forgot what this felt like, Mason.What it’s like to look forward to coming home.To have someone to share things with.Your mother...”He paused, his expression briefly clouding.“Your mother would want this for me.She’d like Caroline.”
My throat was tight.“I think she would too.”
* * *
Dinner was chaos in the best possible way.
Caroline talked—constantly, enthusiastically, about everything and nothing.She told stories about her work as an event planner, about her daughter and twin grandchildren, about the disastrous first date she’d had with my father where he’d been so nervous he’d knocked over his water glass twice.
“Three times,” my father corrected, and they both laughed.
She asked me questions about my work, my life, my apartment.And when I gave my usual careful, measured responses, she’d dig deeper, asking follow-up questions that no one ever asked, genuinely curious.
“So you’re working on this big merger case,” she said over dessert—a tiramisu she’d apparently made herself.“That must be exciting.”
“It’s challenging.High stakes.”
“But exciting, right?Or are you one of those people who pretend not to get excited about things?”She waggled her eyebrows at my father.“Like someone else I know.”
“I get excited about things,” I said defensively.
“Oh yeah?When’s the last time you did something that scared you?Something that made your heart race?”
Last night.Kissing Beau in the middle of a crowded dance floor.Feeling his hands on my body.Hearing him say, come home with me, and wanting to say yes so badly I could taste it.
“I’m not sure,” I lied.
Caroline studied me for a moment, her expression softening.“Mason, can I tell you something?And I know we just met, so feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”
“Caroline—” my father started, but she waved him off.
“I spent twenty years married to a man I liked but didn’t love,” she said.“Twenty years playing it safe, doing what I was supposed to do, making the smart choice.And you know what?I was miserable.Not obviously miserable—I had a delightful house, a good life on paper.But inside, I was dying a little every day.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“The best thing I ever did was admit that safe wasn’t the same as happy.And when I met your father—this wonderful, terrifying man who made me feel things I’d forgotten I could feel—I decided I was done playing it safe.”She glanced at my father, her smile tender.“Sometimes the scariest choice is the right one.”
My father was looking at her like she’d hung the moon.
“Anyway.”Caroline released my hand and picked up her fork.“That’s my unsolicited life advice.Now eat your tiramisu before it gets soggy.”
I ate mechanically, barely tasting it, her words echoing in my head.
Sometimes the scariest choice is the right one.
* * *
I stayed longer than I’d planned, listening to Caroline’s stories, watching the way my father’s entire demeanor had transformed in her presence.He laughed—really laughed, the kind that came from his chest.Dad touched her constantly, little gestures of affection that I’d never seen from him before.Hand on her back, fingers brushing hers across the table, a kiss on her temple when she made a terrible pun.
