If I look at another line in this textbook I think my brain is going to explode. I've been studying nonstop since the moment I woke up, and my stomach is caving in. When Mason texted all I saw was an opportunity for food.
And maybe to see him.
A part of me has been missing him, and missing Mason is a dangerous thing considering he doesn't even permanently live here anymore. Danger can also be exhilarating which Is what I'm choosing to focus on considering I invited him over for dinner.
Two adults just catching up and having dinner.
The front doorbell rings and I stand up, straightening out my sweats and hoodie. I chose comfort today and almost every day that I don't work. Since exams were happening I had the week off from work which was a blessing in disguise. I think I'd take the rush of the hospital and long hours over the panic of studying anyway.
"Hey," I greet Mason.
He smiles and I move over letting him in. I watch him as he looks around the house. He's wearing dark faded jeans and a jacket over a long sleeve black shirt. His arm is still in the sling and I remind myself to ask him how much longer that's going to be. Even though he's dressed casually he still drives my head wild.
"Your Dad home?" When he turns to look at me I clear my throat and step around him.
"No, he's out meeting some friends. Thought it'd be good for him to get out of the house." I push my notebooks off the couch giving him a place to sit.
I wouldn't call our living room small, but it wasn't nearly the size of Masons' own house. The moment he enters it though, it feels as though we've entered Alice in Wonderland and taken a bite of the "eat me" cake. His presence fills up the room and reminds me of just how much of an impact he has on a space.
All six feet and five inches of him.
"We never really talked about your mother and how your father's doing. We don't have to if you don't want to, but I'd like to hear it." The couch dips from his weight and he leans forward resting his elbow on his knee.
We're sitting on opposite ends of the couch and I find myself wanting to move closer to the heat of his body, but I don't.
Friends remember.
"Maybe another time." I try to smile. "I've had enough depressing talks this past month that will last me a lifetime." I reach forward, taking a sip from my water bottle. I feel his eyes follow my movements, dropping to my lips when I drink.
I gulp.
"Yea, yea." He clears his throat.
I wonder if being back in my house is weird for him, like the first time I visited his home. Like coming back to a place that was as familiar as the back of your hand but now different and forgotten.
I watch him look around, taking in the living room. He scans the pictures on the walls and the frames on the side tables. He stops on one of my father, mom, and me before looking away.
I remember the first time he told me about his own mother, and what had happened to her. I remember the devastation and guilt he held from it. I consistently told him nothing was his fault, and that he is not to blame for his mother's actions. Her choices were hers, her own mind working against her.
"Big test?" He grins, pointing to my stack of books.
"Unfortunately. I have exams coming up." A reminder of how little I've actually been studying but it doesn't matter, that was another day's problem. This moment's own problem was how I was going to get through this night, with my friend.
"I still can't believe you're going to be a PA. I remember how excited you were, all the hours you racked up in college while still going to class. Determined, like always." He speaks with admiration and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
"No need to butter me up Mason, you're already in my house." I joke but he just grins, eyes never leaving mine. The air around us grows thick and my gaze drops to his mouth before I turn away clearing my throat.
"I am, aren't I." He swallows. "Why am I?" He gazes at me accusingly but his lips pull up in a smirk as if to say, what am I really doing here? I've been asking myself that same question all afternoon since I texted him inviting him over, coming up with no real answer.
I shrug. "To eat dinner with a friend."
He looks at me like he sees right through me so I reach for the takeout menus under the coffee table and toss them on his lap.
"You choose." The small pamphlets land on his lap and he clenches his jaw. Both of us keep eye contact, in a silent battle of who's going to break through the tape first. Which one of us is going to cross that line, and bring the other one with us?
It wouldn't be, it couldn't be. We were friends once before we dated, we just had to navigate that normal again. At least for the limited time, he planned on staying here, which is the biggest blinking red light on why this is all deep down a really bad idea.
He doesn't say anything else for a moment but then shuffles through the menus settling on a Thai place in town. We both come up with our order and he calls it in. I find myself staring at his hand as he talks, his narrow veins running up his forearm whenever he moves on the call. Million-dollar hands, hands that I knew well.
I need water.
"It'll be delivered in twenty. Want to watch a movie?" I nod my head and pray to anyone who is listening to remind me why we broke up in the first place, why I shouldn't just be the one to break the line.
I wondered, for a split second, if what my Dad had said at the restaurant was true. That we were meant to find one another again, that this was a second chance. And I was afraid, so afraid because it got harder each time we were in a room together to say what we both bite our tongues from saying.
"Here." He hands me the remote, making himself comfortable. I reach for the blanket behind the couch, settling on the other end and draping it over me. I look over to him once more before turning towards the random movie I settled on, wondering if these twenty minutes until the food gets here will go by fast.
It doesn't.
It feels like for twenty minutes I was hyper-aware of every little movement he made, every shift in position. I don't even know the plot of the movie we're watching and I don't think I really care. We settle around the kitchen island to eat, talking about our favorite dishes and what we miss about food in our college town.
He lights up when talking about college, his old friends, and his old routines. I'm sure he's been on a whirlwind of change since graduation and it was nice to settle into some familiarity. At least a semblance of it.
"You remember that one night you were craving a cheese pizza from Franks? And it was like two am in the morning." He says, dropping his fork and looking up at me with a smile. "You had been out with your friends that night and I had to pick you up after one too many rounds of green tea shots." He points a finger at me.
I shake my head. "I do remember that, but I also remember you making me an awful version of my favorite pizza instead." Memories of that night come flying back, a random thirsty Thursday with my friends from class turned into a night at the bar. All the pizza places around us had closed including Franks. Which I'm guessing is when Mason decided he was going to be a Michelin-rated chef and make me a pizza from scratch.
"Hey! You weren't complaining then. You told me I was the best person ever," he mimics me in a fake drunk voice. "And then you kept me up until five am, making practice the next morning impossible." He ducks his head, both of us knowing why we were up until five am.
His lips on mine, skin on skin. His head between my legs and my hands tugging at his hair–all glimpses of why.
"It's not like you ever got up on time for practice anyway." I joke, hoping to change the subject.
"You made it too hard." He replies, successfully not changing the subject. I look up at him from across the table, his hair is a mess and I'm feeling like we are no longer talking as friends, something he loves to do.
"Stop trying to flirt with me, Mason," I say with a hint of sarcasm, but I mean it. If he continues talking and looking at me the way he does, I'm afraid my heart won't make it out. The distinction between where I'm supposed to stay versus not crossing becomes blurry.
He stands to his full height eyes on me and breathing a bit heavier than he was before. I hold my own breath when he makes his way around the table to stand next to me. He's inches apart and I'm wondering if he can see the stain on my sweatpants from earlier or the acne scars on my forehead. I wonder if he's thinking the same thoughts or ones that will get us in trouble.
"I wouldn't have to try Del." Lifting a finger, I watch as he brushes a piece of my red hair away from my face leaving me breathless. "We never really talked about our kiss." He crosses his arms and leans a hip on the island. Wanting to be at a more fair advantage I stand up straight, mirroring his body.
"There's nothing to talk about." I look away. "It was just a kiss, a lapse in judgment like I said." I try to sound convincing, just like I've been doing in my own head for the last week or so since it happened.
"Is that what you think? Or is that what you're telling yourself?" I feel him step closer, so close I can smell his unfamiliar cologne and the thought makes me sad. I wonder if he still wears the one I used to love, the one I'd buy for him on Christmas or his birthday.
It doesn't matter.
"I meant it when I said I wasn't sorry. I meant it when I said that I should've done it sooner. If you had let me." He leans in and I finally turn to him trying to stay strong, resisting him.
"Answer me this, why did you invite me over for dinner? Just the two of us? And don't give me the friend bullshit, I know you, Delilah. I know us. This means something." He clenches his jaw and I watch his eyes frantically scan my face for me to give him anything. I don't think so, and I find the hem of his shirt on his neck more interesting than eye contact.
"Stop. Don't, okay? Let's just go back to the movie." I step away from the island but don't get far before Mason is whipping his body around to reach for my arm with his left hand. Stopping I turn to him ready to rip my arm away but I don't.
"When you are ready to stop pretending to yourself, I'll be here. You can't get rid of me Delilah. I walked away once before because that's what we both agreed was best, I won't walk away again. At least not without a solid answer this time." I think I need to lie down.
He's got a grip on my arm and an even stronger hold on my heart. I want to go back to two months ago and not agree to dinner with him again. I want to go back and change the trajectory of our lives so that we wouldn't be here in these situations.
"I'm not lying to myself, Mason. I'm not lying to you. I've been upfront with you from the beginning, I'm not going down that road again." I step back, freeing my arm from his grasp. He drops his grip and clenches his jaw. "I care about you, there is no secret there. I want to be friends with you, I want you to feel less alone throughout all of this but us? We can't." I breathe out, finishing my mini rant.
He looks at me seriously, his brows furrowed in concentration. I watch as different emotions pass through his eyes. I prepare myself for him to keep going, to keep pressuring me into an answer he knows is the truth. He could always read me, read right past what I was hiding.
"Okay. Fine, just friends." He says friends like it's a bite of venom but he nods and backs away. "I'll head home. Don't worry about paying me for the Thai, my treat." He reaches for the money I left on the table for him and places it in my hand.
I don't say anything more as he gets his things together and leaves, the door closing shut behind him. If studying all day was not one to bring a full-fledged headache out, that conversation definitely was. I slide down my island, back to the cool wood, and drop my head into my arms.
I was scared and a coward. I know deep down that there was more to it than that, but from what I could scrap our very encounter we've had—I'm scared.
I lost him once, then right after lost my own mother. I didn't want to lose anyone else and in order to do that, I couldn't gain anyone. It's how it had to be for my own sake, my own well being.
I think I deserve a glass of wine.