There are hints of bell peppers, provolone cheese, small-but-crispy bacon bits and I don’t even know what spices. The whole experience of it is almost enough to make me want to stay awake.
“The reason,” I say, swallowing, “that I’m still talking about Chris—”
“Oh god,” he groans.
“The reason I’m still talking about Chris is that, tired and irritated enough to seriously consider your untimely demise as I am, I care about you more than that,” I tell him. “I know you were mad at him, and I’m sure you probably still are, but you can’t pretend like it doesn’t affect you. I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe that’s how you deal with things, but I think it’d be better if you let it out.”
“There’s nothing to let out,” he says. “He broke the law for a long time and it caught up with him. I don’t know that there’s really anything else to say about it.”
“All right then,” I say, walking out of the kitchen on my way back to the bedroom. “I’m going back to bed, then.”
“You said ‘then’ twice,” Mason teases.
“My mind and my ears are shutting down now, thank you,” I tell him. “Good night.”
“You’re taking the mush—” I close the bedroom door behind me.
I set the stuffed mushroom on the nightstand and I collapse back into bed. If it weren’t for the knowledge that the beautiful culinary work sitting next to me will become inedible if I just leave it and fall asleep, I wouldn’t bother opening my eyes again.
After the food has gone from plate to belly, though, I am out.
* * *
I wake a few hours later, this time far less hostile. The only problem is that now my mind’s clearer, I’m beginning to think there’s another possible explanation to why Mason’s so blasé about Chris being taken away.
Getting out of bed, I rub my eyes as I walk to the door.
There’s the metal clink and clang of Mason’s barbell, and I find him out on the corner of the back porch on his weight bench.
“Need a spotter?” I ask, walking past the lawn chairs toward him.
“Sure,” he says, “just as long as you can lift this thing off of my struggling, but useless body in the event I misjudge my strength.”
“I’ve seen you lift weights,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure I could out-bench you.”
He wheezes laughter, the bar swaying a little above him as he lifts it and sets it back in place.
“You almost don’t need a gym membership at all,” I tell him.
“I need a new setup,” he says. “The bar’s hollow. My dad used it. See how it’s gotten all bent and rusted over the years?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at what he’s showing me, just wanting to keep him talking.
“The weights won’t come off,” he says. “I’ve tried bending the bar back straight, but it’s too old, too worn down.”
“You’ve never really talked about him,” I say.
“Yeah, well he left when I was just little, so I don’t really remember him,” he answers. “Mom said he was an ass, though, so maybe it’s just as well.”
“Do you know anything about him?” I ask. “Where he lives, anything like that?”
“No,” he says. “I don’t really care, either. If he wants to come home, he’ll come home. I can’t say he’s going to get a very warm welcome if he does, though.”
“This is where your—”
“Yeah,” he interrupts. “I’ve lived in the same house all my life. The parents somehow paid it off, although that might have been something grandpa did. He went bankrupt indulging my mom. Anyway, other than property taxes and utility bills, this place is free to own.”
“Why aren’t you reacting to what’s happening with Chris?” I ask. It’s blunt, but I think it’s clear enough.