Page 112 of Making It Burn

“Mr.Beau.”Her eyes moved to Mason, and something warm flickered in her expression.“Mr.Mason.”

“Gracie.”I hugged her carefully—she felt more fragile than I remembered.“How are you?”

“Still breathing, which is more than I expected at my age.”She stepped aside to let us in.“Your mother’s in the living room with the guests.Fair warning—she’s in rare form today.”

“When isn’t she?”I muttered.

Gracie’s hand caught my arm as I passed.“That one,” she whispered, nodding at Mason.“I knew the moment I saw him helping you move.That’s the one, I thought.That’s the one who put that light in your eyes.”

My throat tightened.“You were right.”

“I’m always right.”She patted Mason’s arm.“You take care of my boy.”

“Always,” Mason promised.

We followed the sound of voices to the living room, where my mother presided over the gathering like a queen holding court.She wore a white gown with green and red accents, and a string of pearls at her throat.My father stood by the window with Mason’s father, Frank, both of them holding glasses of scotch and looking remarkably comfortable.A gigantic, tastefully decorated Christmas tree dominated the room.

And then there was Mason’s stepmother—God, Caroline looked radiant.She was perched on the edge of my mother’s favorite chair, attempting conversation with Mom using all the warmth and enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t yet realized it was a losing battle.

“Beau!Mason!”Caroline spotted us first and practically leaped up.“Finally!I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“Traffic,” I lied, accepting her hug.“You look amazing, Caroline.”

“Thank you!Marriage agrees with me.”She pulled Mason into a hug, then turned to me and whispered, “Your mother is...something else.”

“That’s one word for it,” I whispered back.

“Beau.”My mother’s voice cut through the room.“You’re late.”

“By five minutes.”

“Punctuality is a sign of respect.”

“Catherine, they’re here now.”My father crossed the room, shaking Mason’s hand warmly.“Good to see you, son.Congratulations on the partnership.Well deserved.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please call me Robert.We’re practically family now.”My father clapped Mason on the shoulder, and I saw Mason relax slightly.“Frank and I were just discussing the merger at his company.Fascinating stuff.”

“Glad someone finds it fascinating,” Frank said, joining us with a smile.“Mason’s heard me talk about it enough to write a brief on it.”

“That’s what sons are for,” my father said.“Pretending to care about their fathers’ work.”

The two of them laughed, and I watched Mason’s expression soften.Over the past year, I’d watched my boyfriend—my partner—build a relationship with his father that I’d never quite managed with mine.They talked.Really talked.About work and life and feelings, of all things.

It was beautiful to witness.

“Shall we sit?”My mother gestured to the seating arrangement she’d no doubt spent hours perfecting.“Gracie will serve eggnog, and then we can discuss this...celebration.”

The way she said “celebration” made it sound like “root canal.”

We settled into our assigned seats—Mason and I on one sofa, Caroline and Frank on another, my parents in their respective chairs.Gracie appeared with a tray of drinks, and I caught her eye as she handed me a glass.

“Hang in there,” she mouthed.

“So,” my mother said, crossing her legs elegantly.“Partner.That’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young, Mason.”

“Thank you, Mrs.Thatcher.”