To manage the hormonal surge seeing him has unleashed, I say, “I think I found a girl for you.”
His smile vanishes. He cocks his head and examines my expression for a moment, then says softly, “Oh, yeah? Who?”
“Her name’s Stephanie. She just signed on with Perfect Pairings today, but I think you’ll really like her. I was going to send you an email about her next week after I vetted everything.”
“Next week,” he repeats, sounding doubtful, like maybe he already has plans to be out of town. Or maybe I’m misreading that, and he’s hoping I’ll send him the information sooner.
“I suppose I could expedite things.”
For a moment he seems deep in thought, working his jaw and gazing at me steadily. Wheels turn behind his eyes. Then he seems to decide something, because his shoulders relax and he exhales.
“You doing anything right now? We could grab a quick bite and go over it.”
“Well, I did have important plans to bathe my herd of kitties and read them The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss before bed, but I suppose I could reschedule.”
Gray eyes alight, Mason says with a straight face, “A group of cats is called a clowder. Or, if you’re talking about kittens, a kindle.”
When I merely blink at him, he says, “But I give you credit for the excellent customer service. You’re really going above and beyond.”
“Don’t you forget it, pal. When I find you a wife, I expect a fantastic reference letter.”
He looks like he’s about to say something. Whatever it is, he decides against it and holds out his arm instead.
I take it, pretending I have no desire at all to squeeze the bulging muscles under my hand, and we head out of the theater into the balmy spring night.
20
Maddie
Mason leads me away from the theater and we start down the street, arm in arm. “No Dick tonight?”
He chuckles. “That sounded all kinds of wrong. But no. I took a taxi here. Dick’s at home. Probably watching Sports Center in his underwear and eating a frozen dinner in front of the television.”
“He lives alone?”
“Yep. Got divorced twenty years ago. Never remarried.”
“Oh no! I’ll have to think of someone for him. What’s his type?”
Mason glances down at me. The streetlights cast a lovely golden glow on his hair. “You ever think some people might not like being married?”
“Meh. Those people just married the wrong person. Everyone has a true soul mate somewhere out in the world. That one person who gets you,” I snap my fingers, “like that. Who you feel at home with. The hard part is finding them. After that, marriage is a walk in the park.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”
I inhale, enjoying the scent of night blooming jasmine in the air. “My parents had the best marriage I’ve ever seen, so I suppose I am. Living with two people who loved each other more than anything else was definitely an experience. Don’t get me wrong, they loved us kids, too, but…”
“But what?” Mason prompts, riveted.
I try to think of the right way to put it. “Some people make their children the center of their universe. But in my parent’s case, they were the sun and we were the planets that revolved around them. They were complete unto themselves. Even if we’d never been born, nothing would have been missing from their world. We were a welcome addition, but not a necessary one.”
My sigh is wistful. “That’s what true love is: your own private galaxy where you’re whole and happy, everything makes perfect sense, and you never have to feel alone again.”
We walk for a moment in silence, until Mason says, “Bullshit.”
His hard tone startles me. “Excuse me?”
An elderly couple passes us, bickering. Mason waits until they’re out of earshot to speak again.
“Just what I said. That definition of true love is a fantasy fueled by romance novels and Disney movies. Nothing is perfect, especially not relationships, and there isn’t a person alive who can make another person whole.”
Insulted, I say, “What’s your definition, then?”
He stops and turns so we’re facing each other on the sidewalk. Looking down at me, he’s all burning eyes and blazing intensity, anger rolling off him in waves.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it. But I sure as hell do know that the higher the pedestal is that you set your idea of love on, the more you’ll be disappointed when reality fails to meet it.”
“People fall in love every day.”
“They fall out of it every day, too.”
“There are plenty of marriages that last entire lifetimes!”
“There are way more that die within a few years.”
I’m so riled up I want to stamp my foot, but I know that would be silly. And driving my heel down onto his toes would be downright rude. Instead, I try to convey my anger with my eyes.
If only they had a pair of built-in lasers.
“So you’re going to go into a marriage expecting it to be temporary? I’m trying to find you a wife so you can dump her in a few years? Why are we even bothering?”
“I already told you.”
Exasperated, I throw my arms in the air. “To make your dang agent happy?”
He looks at me long and hard, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flaring. “Sometimes we do things we don’t want to do for other people because it makes them happy. Or it keeps them safe.” Looking me up and down, his eyes flash. “Or because it’s the right thing to do for them, despite your own feelings.”
His voice grows tight. “You know what? That’s my definition of love. Putting someone else’s best interests before your own, no matter what it costs you.”
“And what about your future wife? What about her best interests?”
He snaps, “She’ll be well compensated for her time.”
I snap back, “What if she doesn’t want your money, Mason? What if what she really wants is you?”
His voice rises. “Then she’s got something wrong with her head.”
I say through gritted teeth, “You blind, stubborn, impossible man. There are a million women out there who would love nothing more than to be with you and share a life with you, and not because of your blasted money!”
I hate it that my voice shakes, but I keep on, because if I don’t get this out, I’m liable to explode.
“You’re intelligent, handsome, funny, and talented. You’re kind and sensitive, too, even though you go to great lengths to hide it. Yes, you’ve got a problem with your temper, and your manners are rough, and maybe you’ve got other problems I don’t know about, but like you said—nothing is perfect. And nobody is, either.
“And if you would just pull your dang head out of your dang butt and stop being so committed to the idea that you’re a piece of crap, you’d see that any woman would be lucky to have you!”
We stare at each other. The air between us is living fire.
Then I whirl away and continue down the sidewalk, sucking in deep gulps of air and trying my hardest not to scream in frustration.