Page 41 of Making It While Faking It
The only men I’ve ever seen look at each other with such love and appreciation until now are my dad and Xan. Hercules and Mason are definitely bonded. Their eyes are glassy as they just stare at each other, choked up. And nobody says a word because we can feel their emotions deep in our bones. Even I want to cry about the eventual end of their unbreakable friendship.
Mason pulls his shoulders back as he inhales. He’s sitting up tall when he reveals, “It’s cancer. I have terminal brain cancer.” Funny how he said that without his voice cracking. The ease with which the acknowledgment glided off his tongue implies that he truly has come to terms with his condition.
Lake sets her hands in prayer and points the tips of her fingers at Mason. “We cried our hearts out, and now we’ve decided to live the rest of our days together to the fullest.”
Hercules stares at Paisley with this lost look of nonacceptance.
“Anything you want or need, just let us know,” Achilles says.
“Well, I’m not quitting my job,” Mason says with a soft laugh. But the way his gaze falls to the table is a sign that he’s unsure about the claim he just made.
Lake laughs. “Because that job of his is his mistress.”
Mason looks at her with tired but flirtatious eyes. “Your lips are my mistress.”
Tears stream down Lake’s cheeks. I’ve watched them build in her eyes and was wondering when she would release them.
“Sorry,” she says, dabbing her cheeks and eyes with her cloth napkin. “What a bomb you dropped, Lover Boy.”
She and Mason chuckle. It’s obviously their attempt to lighten the mood.
Eyebrows up, Mason stares at his barely eaten crab cake. “I probably should’ve waited until the last course to blow tonight’s dinner.” He turns to Hercules with a smile. But Hercules, who presses the balled knuckles of his fist against his pursed lips, is unable to return the expression.
Second course:herb-crusted lamb chop with creamed beets, raspberry, and red wine sauce.
The rain has picked up,and droplets blast the window as if they’re trying to break the glass. The sound is unsettling but not so much that it disturbs me from cleaning my plate. The good friends at the table have all agreed to banish any more talk of cancer, at least for tonight. Mason, Hercules, and Paisley are now engaging in nerd talk. They’re discussing several projects for which Mason is happy he’ll be alive to see to the end. I feel Achilles’s energy trained on me. I bet he’s wondering if I know that they’re discussing TRANSPOT.
Third and final course:Pan-seared scallops topped with mini potato fritters and doused with a white balsamic wine gravy.
We eat it.I’ve noticed that Mason is very intense about work. Give the wheel to him, and every conversation leads back to LTI. I don’t think it’s because he’s trying to divert our attention from his condition either. I think he’s a true workaholic times ten.
The wind has turned stronger, and there have been reports of subway closures. To show our appreciation, Achilles and Hercules dispatch their cars and drivers to take all the servers and Barbara home.
Meanwhile, the men and women break off. We insist that the three men go into the barroom. I think Hercules and Achilles want to have a frank conversation with Mason about his condition and the future.
The ladies head into Paisley’s special den. It’s not a very girly space. A glass desk and black leather chair are nestled against the tall window. The desk has papers and books about computer science on top. Paisley has pulled a lot of time in that chair and at that desk. I wonder if she has truly been out of town for all of those weeks. However, she has a matching sofa set on the opposite side of the room and full coffee bar, which is where we lounge.
Paisley makes us what she calls her “special vanilla honey latte” as Lake and I make ourselves as comfortable as we can on the sofa. I find the rain and wind beating on the window while this high in the sky unbearable. But I have so much catching up to do with my cousin and friend that I try to ignore the anxiety that’s trapped in my shoulders and back.
“So, how are you holding up?” I ask Lake, caressing her face gently.
“We’re fine,” she replies in a high-pitched, overly optimistic tone of voice. It’s the kind of voice people use when the opposite is the truth. “Yep, we decided to move forward as if everything is okay in the world. Otherwise, we’ll be unhappy, and Mason and I are gleefully in love and blissfully happy.” Her sigh is layered with sorrow. “This is what Mason wants. And I want what Mason wants because he should be happy, right? Right.” She ends that short soliloquy with a forced smile.
I twist my mouth thoughtfully as I regard her body language. For some reason, I’m gettingdo not proceedfrom her. “Right,” I barely say.
When she snaps her attention from me to smile vacantly at Paisley, I know for certain that she doesn’t want to hear any comment I might have on how they’ve chosen to deal with her fiancé’s condition.
Paisley avoids looking at me and thereby answering the question in my eyes which asks,How worried about Lake should we be?She’s treating Lake with kid gloves. And I guess I’ll follow her lead because she’s better at it than I am.
“How’s married life, Pais?” Lake asks, stretching her legs on the cushion of the chaise and crossing her ankles. She has the appearance of repose, and I find it reassuring. Lake usually functions at a higher state of emotional intelligence than rest of us. Maybe she and Mason have unlocked the secret to how to stay blissfully happy during the short time they have left together.
Paisley carefully carries two coffee cups to us. The rich scent of espresso makes love to my senses.
“It still baffles me how I could be so lucky,” she says as she carefully hands Lake a cup and then me.
“They’re so good together,” Lake says.
Paisley trots back to the bar fetch her own cup of coffee. “I know, right? From high school to this, it just blows my mind.”
