Page 35 of Mason

But then I see two guys carrying a small love seat in and I try to remember which suite might be vacant. It’s not even end of the month. I side step the moving van and jog up the steps, holding the door open so the movers can get through. The loveseat they carry is pink suede, with large black polka dots. My nose curls up in disgust.

That’s definitely more Renee’s style.

I freeze.

Of course it’s something my sister would buy because it is my sister’s.

I follow the movers up the stairs to my floor, and then wait patiently as they shove the butt-fuck-ugly thing through the narrow opening. Renee has removed the door, leaving everything I own out on public display.

Not like anyone casing the joint would score a big payday, but I’ve seen the movies. Like that girl in Coyote Ugly who stashes her life savings in the freezer. I do not have extra cash lying around, but if I did, I would not hide it in the freezer, or under the mattress, or even in a safe behind an inconspicuous piece of art, a la Oceans 11.

Renee is directing traffic with a spatula when she spots me. Her mouth drops open into a blood-curdling squee and she tackles me with a hug that would make boa constrictors jealous. My neck feels like it’s about to pop off my head, but it doesn’t matter—I don’t even care that her ridiculous pink polka dot couch is in my apartment—because I am absolutely relieved to have company. Especially this company.

She holds me at shoulder length and searches my face. “No tan.”

“It was two days,” I say, which is technically a lie.

“What kind of a boss makes his employees work through perfectly good tanning hours?” She squints and leans in closer, giving me an up close and personal view of the nose ring threaded through her skin. “Are those bags under your eyes?” She shakes her head, sending a mass of black Medusa-esque curls around her shoulders. “Unacceptable, Liv. It’s a good thing I’m making your favorite for dinner.”

That’s another trait Renee shares with her mom—a natural cooking instinct that would impress Gordon Ramsay. Her famous spaghetti sauce takes all day to simmer, relentlessly teasing unsuspecting victims with the scents of herbs and homemade tomato sauce. I inhale its scent now, and my mouth begins to water.

I side eye the stacks of boxes piled beside the kitchen. “Have you buried the dishes, or should I borrow plates from heavy metal Craig?”

She lifts a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Don’t bother. I banged on his door at midnight because I can only hear Enter Sandman so many times, and I think I interrupted something.”

“Is he cute, at least?”

She scrunches up her small button nose. Everything about Renee is petite, and perfect, even the symmetrical freckles that dot both cheeks. “If you’re into the Muppets. He kind of looks like Animal.”

My laugh is interrupted by one of the movers, who is holding a naked mannequin close to his chest. “Is there somewhere special I should put this?”

Renee points to the closet. “Anne can go there. I’ll make room for the rest.”

“Uh. How many are there?” I ask

“Six.” She shrugs, like carting mannequins around is no big deal. “And no, we can’t kick any of them out, especially not Nancy—she’s the prettiest. Besides, I need them for school.”

I imagine a half-dozen full sized plastic women hiding behind furniture, peering out from the closet, toppling into the hallway, and a shiver runs down my spine. “Like that isn’t going to give me fucking nightmares.”

* * *

Spending the day helping Renee unpack, organize, shift, and move takes my mind off Mason, but now, as she starts the finishing preparation of her spaghetti and the sun dips behind the skyscrapers across town, I’m finding it harder to focus.

I inhale the steaming plate of pasta she sets in front of me, wafting the scents of lemon and rosemary under my nose. “God, it’s like you know all of my biggest food weaknesses before I even tell you.”

“Your stomach is an open book,” she says, with a wink. “But you, are not. I’ve been patient Liv, but I know when something’s going on. Spill it.”

I sprinkle freshly-grated parmesan over the heaping noodles and reach for the bottle of red wine my sister obviously bought for the occasion. “First, let’s drink.” I pop the cork and pour us each a generous glass. “Because you’re not going to believe this.”

I begin with my job interview, explaining my elevator faux pas. Renee clinks her glass against mine. “Classy.”

“As fuck,” I say, grinning.

I skip over the part where Mason spanks me in his office, and lead right into our flight to Hawaii, our hotel tryst, and then finally, our romantic evening. Renee has barely touched her meal, her eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“You’re having sex with the Mason Wood?”

I absently twirl spaghetti noodles around my fork. “Yep.”