Page 98 of Summer Lessons
“Do you want to come to the farmer’s market with me? There’s a couple—one by Sunrise Mall and the other one is out in Roseville—and—”
“I usually just go to Whole Foods. I’m not as excited with open-air markets as everyone else seems to be.” This was no more than the truth, and Mason was damned if he was going to end up with another Ira, who hauled him from one thing that he absolutely loathed to another.
“Oh,” Hugh said, seemingly lost. “So this weekend—”
“I’m cooking for my brother and his boyfriend and a couple of friends of ours,” Mason said, because Skip and Carpenter had planned this with him on Monday. He knew they were humoring him by planning a dinner party on Saturday night, but he was so depressed about Saturday without Terry that he was letting them. “What were you planning to do?”
“Nothing,” Hugh said, and this thought apparently made him a little sad, but Mason couldn’t fix that. He could barely fix himself.
THE NEXTFriday Hugh brought him salmon risotto, expertly prepared. He said something about a music festival at Fair Oaks Park—something about chickens that Mason didn’t get, although the damned things seemed to be everywhere. Mason and Dane were taking advantage of their last weekend before soccer to go visit their parents on their anniversary, though, and Mason had to give his regrets.
Well, they were polite regrets. He didn’t see Hugh as the kind of guy who would go to a chicken festival and play all the stupid games and buy too many tchotchkes and spices he might never use. Mason was that guy. He really didn’t want to put anyone else through that.
MASON ANDDane took their parents out to dinner at Baumé for French food because that was their mother’s favorite. Dane had argued fiercely for Wakuriya in the car on the way down, but they needed reservations much further in advance.
The service was excellent, the food superb…
But the conversation?
Not Mason’s favorite.
“So,” his mother said, tracing her finger through the sauce on her plate after the first course. “Your new young man…?” She smiled coquettishly, and Mason thought for the thousandth time that she was the prettiest woman in the world. The gray in her hair and the lines around her eyes only made her more Mom.
“Is no longer mine,” he filled in, looking at his brother to help. It was only fair—Mason had toned down the severity of Dane’s meltdown that March. Dane owed him.
Dane apparently didn’t think so.
“Terry finally moved out of the house at the tender age of twenty-five, and Mason told him they should take a break while Terry figured out what he wanted from life. This is fine for Terry, who can apparently go out and hump like a champion if he wants, but it’s depressing as hell for me, because Mason’s broken heart is fucking bleeding all over the kitchen.”
Mason stared at him. “You are no longer my brother.”
“Whatever. If you actually cared about me, you’d go date someone and at least try to pretend you were happy.”
“I don’t feel like dating. Remember the last time you suggested I date? I think it was in December. And that brings us to now, when I don’t feel like dating.”
Dane narrowed his eyes. “You’re leaving out the part where you went and fell in love with someone completely unsuitable who, by the way, I’m pretty sure loved you back.”
Mason glared back. “How would you like to be the first person assaulted with a fork in Baumé?”
“Now boys,” Roger said, his voice tinged with impatience. “I’m really more interested in hearing about the good things in your life.”
“The good things?” Mason thought about it. “I may be able to get Dane’s boyfriend an entry executive job at Tesko and get his adorable best friend a job as his assistant.”
“Dane has a boyfriend?” his mother said, looking at Dane in shock. Well. Dane had been phoning home for the past two weeks—apparently he’d neglected a few details.
“I hate you,” Dane muttered.
“I got Carpenter and Skipper better jobs for better pay, and Skip can go to school,” Mason sallied. “Hate me now.”
“He may not take the job,” Dane said staunchly, and Mason rolled his eyes.
“He’ll do anything to look like your hero. Jesus, you two are stupid.”
“Tell us about him, Dane,” Roger said eagerly, and while Dane glared at Mason, that did not stop him from launching into an epic poem about the mighty hero and slayer of psychological dragons that was Clay Carpenter, muscular and scruffy god with an MBA and champion of the working class. In fact, his dissertation on Carpenter’s virtues kept them rolling through the next five courses.
Of course, in mentioning Carpenter, he had to mention Skipper and Richie and their gargantuan brown dog who, Mason suspected, kept crapping in the neighbor’s yard on the other side of the ravine. He also had to mention soccer.
“So you’re not playing soccer this season?” his mother asked, concerned.