Still, if he does have the kind of past it sounds like he did, is he really going to be able to handle a real, serious relationship?
I almost don’t notice when class ends.
“Hey, Ash,” Nyla, one of my acquaintances from class says, walking over to me. “Got anything going right now?”
I’m so lost in my thoughts it takes me a few seconds to process that I’m being talked to, a few more to process what she’s asking.
“Uh,” I say, pulling out my phone to check the time. “No, I’m free. What’s up?”
I don’t know why I had to check my watch. I know what time my class gets out. I’ve really got to figure out a way through the clutter.
“Wanna grab some lunch?” she asks. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk over the last little while. You’ve been pretty busy with your boyfriend.”
Not in the last week or so.
“Sure,” I tell her. “I could eat.”
“Great!” she beams.
Nyla and I don’t know each other very well, but after we hit it off in a class we had together last year, we’ve tried to get together every once in a while for food and a chat.
We chat a bit about classes and professors and current events on campus at first, but once we’ve gotten our food and we’re sitting down, the conversation stalls.
I’m eating my watery penne pasta with its flavorless marinara sauce on top and Nyla’s looking away every time I glance in her direction.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No,” she says. “Well, kinda.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You just look like you’re totally somewhere else,” she says.
Yeah. I suppose I am.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “So, what’s new with you?”
She starts talking about a new boyfriend and I’m tuned out again. I start to get a little nervous as it sounds like she’s in the middle of asking me a question I wasn’t listening to, but an incoming text saves me.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I really have to check this.”
“It’s fine,” she says, and I check the message.
It’s from Mason.
It says, “We need to talk.”
Okay.
Everyone knows that phrase only means one thing. It’s the pre-breakup breakup that kind of softens the blow when the axe comes down.
“Nyla, I’m sorry,” I tell my classmate. “I’ve got to go. Something’s come up, and I—”
“It’s all right,” she says. “I hope you find the answer to your problem.”
I smile. “Thanks,” I say.
I get to my car in a daze.
With everything going on with his brother and with the extra training he’s doing, I know Mason’s been having a difficult time balancing everything, but things were starting to go so well.
By the time I’m pulling up to Mason’s house, I’m about as prepared as I can be for what’s to come.
I get to the door and lift my arm, though I hesitate a moment before I let the motion complete itself, knocking on the door.
I’m consciously taking slow, deep breaths.
Mason is a deceptively nice guy, so I don’t expect any screaming or rending of garments, but then again, you never know.
The door opens to Mason, standing there smiling.
“Hey,” he says. “Come on in.”
“I got your message,” I tell him as I come through the doorway. “You said we needed to talk.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Notice anything different?”
I look around and the difference is obvious.
Where once there were beer bottles and tortilla chip bags, now there is a clean, well-kept home.
“What happened?” I ask.
Mason laughs. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”
“It was getting there,” I tell him.
“Care for a drink?” he asks. “I don’t have anything too exciting: I think just water and orange juice.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Well,” he says, sitting down on the couch, “I think I’ve asked for a lot of understanding without giving you a lot of candor on my part.”
“Okay, you’re kind of talking like a lawyer right now,” I tell him. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” he says, “nothing like that. I just wanted to let you know that it’s almost over.”
“What is?” I ask, leaning forward a little too far, my hands on my knees as I wait impatiently for his answer.
“The whole situation with Chris,” he says. “I’m done trying to clean up after him, and just as soon as he comes back—whenever that’s going to be—I’m going to tell him he’s got to go.”
“What happened?” I ask. “I thought things were going better with you two?”
“I thought they were,” Mason says. “Well, I hoped they were. As much as I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, just one more time, I wasn’t surprised when it happened.”
“What did he do, though?” I ask, finally leaning back a little in my seat.
“He’d spent the day out looking for a job—I know because I made him take me with him—and after we got home, we got to talking,” he starts. “He hadn’t been hired, but he’d had a couple of successful interviews and things were really starting to look up for once. He told me we should go out drinking to celebrate his new chapter or whatever, but I’m not too into that. When I convinced him that I wasn’t going to go, he convinced me to fund his little celebration. It was a hundred bucks. I don’t know why I expected to get it back.”
“He stole your money?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “I haven’t seen him or heard from him since he left for the club that night. It’s only a hundred bucks, but at the same time, it’s a hundred bucks.”
“That’s screwed up,” I respond, still waiting for the conversational turn.
“I’ve been distant with you since Chris showed up,” Mason says. “In some ways we’ve been moving forward, but in others… All my life, I’ve just gotten so used to ignoring my past and trying to minimize it when it shows up passed out on my couch in the middle of the night. The problem with that is that I really like you, Ash,” he says. “I’d love to see where things with you can go, and I just want to let you know that I’m not going to try to hide my past by pulling away from you anymore. That’s not fair, and I’m sorry.”
“Hmm,” I respond. “Thanks. To be honest with you, I was expecting a very different kind of conversation.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Well, you sent the relationship killer text,” I answer. “Next time you use that phrase, I expect you to be breaking up with me, because that false alarm crap isn’t going to work for me.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Next time, I’ll put it differently.”
“So?” I ask.
“So what?” he returns.