Page 36 of Letting Go at 40

Amelia’s gaze is locked in on Mason and when I glance back at him, I see he wasn’t watching me.

He’s admiring my sister.

+ + +

I might have closed the door to my bedroom a little too hard. Being that it’s down the hallway from the kitchen, the sound resonates toward the party gathered in the open concept kitchen combination sitting area.

However, I needed a quick exit and a moment alone to collect myself.

I shouldn’t have reacted to Mason and Amelia eyeing one another. She’s a beautiful woman. Vibrant. Young. Or at least younger than me. Successful. Stylish. Worldly. While I’m successful in a different way—marriage and family—in comparison to my sister, there is no comparison.

And I hate that I’m comparing us, because I love my sister.

But I don’t love the idea of Mason and Amelia together.

Hastily, I tug a new dress off a hanger in my closet. I’ve already removed the soiled dress and tossed it over the hamper for the dry cleaners.

As I stand before the closet, the door to my room opens. I jerk the new dress against my body like a shield.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” I snap as I turn to find Mason standing within the room. His gaze lands on me, barely covered by the dress in my hands.

“I did knock,” he states as he checks down the hall before shutting the door, closing us both inside the room.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” I step toward him and stop, still clutching the dress to my chest, hyperaware that I’m only wearing a bra and underwear before him.

“Is there a problem?” He keeps his eyes on mine. His shoulders are tight. Tension is visible along his neck.

“You’re in my room,” I remind him as if he isn’t aware. He followed me.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I need to get dressed.”

“No, I mean, do you want me to leave the house? Do you not want me here?” The strain in his voice has the wind in my anger sail lowering a bit. He should be here. These are his people too. And I shouldn’t be upset that he was watching my sister. He can flirt with whom he wants to. He can kiss whom he pleases. He can even fuck someone.

I just don’t want it to be my sister.

My shoulders lower while my fingers squeeze tighter at the fabric pressed against my chest. “No. You should be here.”

“But do you want me here?” We stand a foot apart but miles away from one another, so when he steps closer to me, he’s too close. But I don’t move back.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Mason.”

He flinches at the directness of my tone, and his expression pinches, pained possibly. Thickness fills my throat. The kind choking off the truth of what I want. I do want him here. I want him shadowing me again. I want him looking at me, not Amelia.

Instead, I say, “I didn’t mean to imply I don’t want you here. You should be here. These are our friends. These are Ben’s friends.” The mention of my late husband causes Mason’s head to snap back. Perhaps we need the reminder.

This was the bedroom I shared . . . with Ben.

This was the private space of our married life.

This is also the room where I kissed Mason.

My eyes drift to the space behind Mason. The expanse of wall that I’d stood against. The area where we fell into one another for a brief moment. A lapse in judgement, I remind myself, and draw my gaze away from the spot.

Only when I peer up at Mason, he’s followed my glance, and is looking over his shoulder at the same location in my bedroom.

His head snaps back, turning to face me. “Ben asked me to watch out for you after he was gone. I haven’t done a very good job.”