Page 11 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Willow
THREE HOURS EARLIER
I decide on the middle faucet. Mostly because Zach is always right. It takes me just over three hours to install it and the new water shutoff levers under the kitchen sink. The book said it would take a novice thirty to forty minutes. The man at the hardware store said it would take no more than an hour. Neither one of them mentioned the need for Teflon tape. Nor the number of times I would return to said hardware store for the correct sizes of completely random stuff that no normal human being ever knew went in to making water mysteriously come out of the faucet.
I am now convinced that plumbing is just straight-up magic. I have no idea how water travels up the pipes. Or how it stops running just because I turn a knob. And why doesn’t it then back up and explode from the pressure when I stop it from flowing? I mean, it exploded earlier when I barely did anything.
I wipe my hands on my pants and slosh through the remaining water on the floor to grab a diet soda from the fridge, holding the cold can against my warmed cheeks. I can feel the grit on my face from lying under the sink. Which is another thing that no one tells you: grit gets everywhere during home renovations. I don’t even know what grit is, but I know I have it everywhere on my body. Layers upon layers of dirt and grit blended with the sweat on my face. So much so, the bandage slides right off my forehead.
I sit down on an overturned bucket and crack open my soda, draining most of it in one large gulp. Then wait for the burp. One of P-Tink’s party tricks. If we ever had parties that is. When you burp, she will launch herself into the air in front of you, bite at nothingness, and catch the burp. It’s super fun when it’s just me and her after a few beers.
She does not disappoint, the minute I burp, she launches and catches. Yelps in satisfaction, turns in a circle four times, and settles in beside me on the floor. Happy to lie in and lap up the water at the same time.
“What would Granny Violet think if she could see us now, P-Tink?” I ask my dog. She barks in response. She and Granny Violet never met, but they are a lot alike in personality: tenacious, loyal, nosey, and vocal. I like to think that if reincarnation exists, Granny Violet has come back to me by way of Princess Tinkerbell—though Granny passed over a year ago and P-Tink and I have only been together a little over a month.
A local rescue was holding an adoption event outside a grocery store a few days after I’d moved to Bainbridge Island and I happened to be out of diet soda. P-Tink was being paraded around amongst a bevy of admirers, standing tall, with her shiny coat, bushy tail, and big blue eyes. Part Siberian Husky, part diva; I looked at her, she looked at me, and that’s all it took. She slipped her collar, glued herself to my side, and we’ve not been apart since.
I finish off my soda and toss my can toward the recycle bin. It bounces off the edge and lands on the floor. P-Tink hustles over to pick it up and drops it neatly in the bin. That’s her only other party trick. Which is convenient since I’m a poor shot when tossing things at the trash and recycle bins.
My phone buzzes with a call. It’s my half sister, AshLynn. I can’t imagine what she wants with me, we aren’t very close and we definitely don’t talk much.
I send it to voicemail.
She calls right back.
What if something is wrong with my dad?
I answer. “Hey, Ash. I’m surprised—”
“Willow, I’m so glad you answered! Are you at home?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Great, I’m coming to visit, text me your address.”
“What? Why? When?” I rub the spot behind my left ear.
“Soon, silly. We’re just outside of Seattle.”
“We?”
“Mason and me. Text me! See you soon!”
“Who’s Mas—”
She disconnects the call. I look at my phone, willing it to go back in time, to before I answered. Better yet, to a time when I send the second call to voicemail as well. It’s not so much that AshLynn and I don’t get along . . . actually that’s exactly what it is.
I’m sure it’s the same for AshLynn, she doesn’t need me, she’s got plenty of friends. I can’t imagine why she would come to visit me. Plus, the whole Granny Violet inheritance issue turned my whole family against me, but that’s a story for another time. Besides, our family doesn’t do impromptu visits. We do scheduled visits, planned weeks in advance. Months even. To give us all plenty of time to agonize over the fact we’ll have to see one another and be civil. Or maybe that’s just me.
Regardless, what’s AshLynn up to?
“I guess we’ll know when she gets here, huh, P-Tink?” She wags her tail, slapping it in the water on the floor.
If they are just getting into Seattle, I should have an hour or so of sanity left depending on the ferry schedule.
And who the hell is Mason?
This is not a good time for a visit.
