Page 47 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Mason
“Could we stop? For just a minute?”My voice is close to a yell, but I don’t do anything to change that. I shut my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose trying to calm myself.
These people are out of control.
When I open my eyes again, all five heads at the table are turned toward me, mouths agape, eyes wide.
“Everyone is talking at once,” I say. “It’s impossible to focus. Can we just go one at a time? Please.”
“Of course,” Jonathan says. “I should have thought of that.”
“Well, naturally, I should go first since I have questions about the wedding that need immediate answers,” Cassandra says.
“I’m sure I can answer all your questions, Mommy,” AshLynn replies. “There’s no need to involve everyone at the table.”
“But surely Mason has opinions on what you do.”
“I can assure you, I have zero opinions,” I say. “Especially on thewedding.” I air quote the last word for AshLynn’s benefit. Because I’m still unsure as to why she’s continuing on with this wedding-planning bullshit. She knows there is no wedding. I’m sure as hell not marrying her—we don’t even like each other. She has nothing to gain by allowing her parents to continue to move forward with the planning, knowing it’s just going to be cancelled.
Unless she doesn’t care if they waste time and money on this.
Speaking of.
I signal the server for another pitcher of mimosas, as we’ve flown through the one she brought already.
“Mommy.” AshLynn directs her statement at the entire table, even though it appears as though she’s addressing her mother.
“Did I tell you that Mason is an artist,” AshLynn says, placing her hand on my thigh. “And his work is fantastic.”
“Oh, I’d love to see it sometime,” Willow interjects. “I’m a closet art nerd.” She reaches up and rubs the spot behind her ear again. I’ve seen her do it a few times now, but I don’t think she’s aware that she does. I remove AshLynn’s hand from my thigh and place it in her lap. I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing now, but it’s not going to work.
“No closet about it,” AshLynn adds turning to me. “She’s a straight-up nerd, the older the art, the better. All that Goth-like Renaissance stuff. Ugh.” She shudders to prove her point.
“It’s not Goth,” Willow says.
“Whatevs,” AshLynn mumbles only partially under her breath.
“Mason,” Cassandra says. “How many grandchildren do you plan to give me?”
I choke on my mimosa; Willow reaches over to pat me on the back. It’s the second time she’s had to do that during this meal.
“He wants a lot of kids,” AshLynn says.
I never said that.
“Like, six, right, Mason?” AshLynn asks.
What the fuck?
“I don’t recall having that conversation, AshLynn,” I grit out.
“Oh, sure you do. Remember last night, on the beach, when Willow’s dog lost her ball?”
Shit.
“Oh, yeah,” I say humorlessly. “Now I remember.”
I was wrong before, whatever game she’s playing, apparently I’m playing too.
