Page 63 of Off Plan
According to Kono, the pint-sized brunette married to Taffy’s boyfriend Orry’s brother Tim, nighttime thunderstorms were pretty rare this time of year.
Marius Wynott, on the other hand, who had about fifty-seven books on the subject of weather on the Gulf Coast, told me this kind of storm pattern came around every ten years or so. “They call it shipwreck weather!” he’d said, which was just super, super comforting.
But when Juju Irvine, Lety’s sister-in-law, who worked the cash register at the Concha, had started complaining, Lety had waved a giant spoon in the air like a magic wand, and solemnly declared, “Cuando lluve, deja que llueva,”like this was the final word on the matter.
“Just means, ‘When it rains, let it rain,’ Doc,” Bubba had said mildly, like he was used to his wife making pronouncements he thought were mostly nonsense. But as far as I was concerned, Lety’s words had power.
Bad things were gonna happen. You could sit around trying to predict them, or dissecting what had caused them, or wishing them away—for example, while lying flat on your cold bathroom tiles as an infomercial blared in the other room, subliminally convincing you to get a home gym that folded under your bed—but ultimately, you couldn’t control it, so why bother. Why not just accept what you couldn’t change and move on?
I mean, let’s be honest, I would literallyneverbe able to live that way, but I admired people who could be all Zen and not overthink shit and have it work out for them. WhenIdidn’t overthink things, I ended up stranded on Crazy Island, making out with a guy.
I shifted onto my stomach and elbows on the hard tiles and stared down at my phone screen. Not sure why I was staring since I’d more or less memorized the picture already. My lips were pressed to Fenn’s cheek, and he looked a little startled, but not unhappy, I didn’t think. Meanwhile,Iwas grinning like a fool because I was a little drunk from the beer, a little drunk on my own boldness, and a whole lot drunk on just being with Fenn. That fact was far easier to accept than it would have been even a couple of days ago.
I wanted Fenn Reardon. Simple as that.
I wanted him the way I wanted my next breath—the kind of wanting where it physically hurt and made my heart pound in fear to considernothaving it.
And I’d been right that I’d needed to kiss him again to prove it to myself. When I could close my eyes and remember the exact feeling of his bicep against my chest when I’d leaned in to kiss him, or the way his fingers had felt sliding down my back, or how his big, calloused hand had fit perfectly around my cock, or how every movement of his lips on mine made electric sparks zing through my bloodstream, it was pretty hard to pass off the attraction as loneliness or adrenaline.
Thatwas how someone else’s hands on you weresupposedto feel.Thatwas the answer to the question I’d never thought to ask.Therewas the heavenly chorus, the puzzle pieces clicking, the feeling people fought wars over… and possibly the feeling people abandoned their fiancées and jetted off to Belize for. That was the passion Victoria said I’d been missing, but which Fenn seemed to have no problem unearthing.
It was very, very real.
But when symptoms came on as fast as my attraction to Fenn had, who knew if or when they’d resolve? Maybe I’d wake up in the morning, or next Tuesday, or sometime in November, and my feelings for Fenn would have faded back to normal friendship. Wouldn’t I feel foolish if I’d rushed to acknowledge my new sexual orientation publicly, only to have to change it back again? “Poor Mason. He’s been so confused since Victoria left,” people would say to themselves. “How gross that Mason Bloom’s jumping on a trend and trying to get social cred,” they’d think. “What kind of idiot doesn’tknowwho he’s attracted to after thirty-five years?” they’d wonder. “Isn’t he supposed to be adoctor?”
And they’d be right.
I’d never suggest a patient change his future plans based on a condition he couldmaybehave. Every day in my practice, I weighed the risks of action versus the risks of inaction. I remembered to first do no harm. And yet, I’d forgotten every fucking part of that back down on the beach. I’d gotten so caught up in how good it felt, howrightit felt,that I hadn’t considered any of these important, responsible things. Fenn had been right to pull back and protect himself from the quivering mass of anxious uncertainty that wasme.
Mason Bloom Takes Control and Lives Fearlesslywas doomed before it began, really. I might have changed my job and my wardrobe and my state of residency and even who I found attractive, but ultimately, I was the same person I’d ever been.
Still unsure. Still afraid. Still paralyzed by thinking, thinking, thinking.
The phone rang while I was holding it, and a picture of my best friend’s grinning face appeared where the image of Fenn and I had been.
After a heart-pounding second of completely forgetting how technology worked, wondering whether Toby could see what I’d been looking at, and how the hell I would explain it if he could, I remembered that this wasn’t science fiction.
Besides, it was only Toby, who’d probably understand better than anyone.
Maybe even better than me.
I swiped the screen to accept the call.
“Chubby baby Jesus and all the heavenly angels, he lives!”Toby said, before I had a chance to even say hello. “Are they keeping youprisonerdown in that resort, Mason, sweetness? Cough once for yes, twice for no. Coughthreetimes if your captors are adorable and I should change into something devastating before I fly down to rescue you.”
I snorted. “Hello, Toby.”
“Do notHello, Tobyme, Mason Bloom! How many times have I called you in the past week? Hmm? Two?No. Four?No.It’s beeneight times, Mason. Eight times, these poor little fingers had to dial your number, not knowing if you were dead or, worse, alive but with a new best friend! I even wondered if somehow I’d gotten your number wrong, and I had to call Yiannis to see if he had a better one!”
“Yiannis? Who in the world is Yiannis?”
“Who’s—” He made a disbelieving noise. “Youwoundme, Mason. You really do.Yiannis is the host fromDavio! Remember, last time you visited, when Yiannis got us the patio table and later that evening I, ah, compensated him appropriately for his kindness? Thirty-inch neck, adorable Greek accent, hung like a horse?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Tall guy? Dark, curly hair?”
“Mason.” Toby gave a long-suffering sigh. “Your descriptions are deplorable.”
“Yes, I’m a constant disappointment to you,” I agreed sadly. “And after you made the huge sacrifice of calling Yanny just to try to track me down and everything.”