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I knew his dad was a soldier, and that he died before Mason was born. But hearing him talk about the man he never met is heartbreaking. Mason knows I’m a sympathetic crier and pushes a stack of napkins my way before I even feel the tears dripping down my cheeks.
I sniff. “Sorry. And thanks.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says fiercely.
“Okay.” I wish I could blow my nose in a way that doesn’t sound like a foghorn, but here we are.
Mason smiles, so maybe foghorns aren’t so bad.
“I don’t think Mom ever got over his loss. And it wasn’t easy being a single mom with so little support, financially or otherwise. I didn’t want to be a burden, so I compensated by trying to help her however I could. By the time I was four or five, I pretty much took care of myself. Sometimes, I took care of Mom too.”
The way he sayssometimesmakes me feel like he meansmost of the time.
The idea of a young Mason, feeling like a burden and wanting to help his brokenhearted and just plain broken mom, just about cracks me in half. My throat is locked up too tight to give him any comforting words, and I’m not sure words are what he wants anyway. So I reach across the table and grab his hand, squeezing it as hard as I can, not letting go as he continues.
“She has a problem with alcohol, problems with men, problems with money. I’m trying to find a balance, you know? I want to be there for her; I want to help. Therapy has helped me see that more often than not, the help she wants isn’t the help sheneeds. And when I try to do things for her, it only enables the problem.”
“I’m so sorry, Mason.” I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.
I ache for him. I lost my dad too, but I at least got to know him. We had years with him. Dad helped shape my life, shape me.
No, he wasn’t perfect. He was way too hard on John, especially about things like grades. More than once Dad got kicked out of sports events for yelling at refs. But he loved Mom, loved me and John, and most of my memories of him are good.
Our home life before and after he died has been stable and full of support. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to lose my dad and then have my mom fall apart too. She grieved—I was old enough to remember hearing sobbing behind Mom’s closed bedroom door. She wore out more than one pair of pajamas, and I think went a whole month without washing her hair. It took a few friends and a good bit of time to help her rejoin the world again.
But never did I question her love for us. Never did she make us feel like we needed to be her parent.
“Thank you for sharing about your mom,” I tell him. Our hands are still clasped—he’s not getting his back without a fight—and I smooth my thumb over his skin.
“Thanks for listening.”
“I’ve never heard you say so much at once.”
He chuckles. “You’re as good at listening as you are talking.”
“Is a compliment buried in there somewhere?”
“Maybe. I’m working on taking a more active role in my relationships. Not letting my people pleasing tendencies mess them up. Especially with my mom … and John.”
“Ugh. You had to mention he who shall not be named. But seriously, while I think it’s good if you feel you need to make changes, I don’t see you as a people pleaser. I see you as a man who puts others first. You have a big heart.”
I can tell he has a hard time taking the compliment. The struggle is in the way his jaw tenses and how tightly his free hand grasps the edge of the table. “Thank you.”
“Whatever happens with your mom, you always have a place with us, Mase.”
Mason nods, then links our fingers, staring down at our joined hands. “I’m more thankful than you know for you and your mom and John. You’re the reason I know what family is.”
And suddenly, I realize why Mason might be slow to discuss his feelings for me. Why we seem to be moving forward, but at the pace of a sleepy snail. Mason has a lot more on the line if things don’t work out between us.
He’s risking people who feel like family. Maybe he’s risking the only family he has. And suddenly I feel terrible for any impatient thought I’ve had about Mason moving slow or giving off mixed signals. Something bigger is at stake for him.
“Things got worse when I moved back home after her surgery,” he continues. “It’s why I jumped at the chance to stay at your brother’s place.” Mason gives me a smile that I feel all the way down to my toes. “Imagine my surprise to find you there.”
“Good or bad surprise?”
“Goodandbad.”
His voice turns teasing, so I stamp my feet in mock outrage and squeeze his hand a little too hard.
