This is Not a Fairytale

by Kate, Rebecca

  I found Mason in the dining room with a PB&J in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, and Ash mirrored that image across from him with his own PB&J, though his was cut into cute, crustless squares. Mason gestured to a third plate in front of the chair that sat between the two of them. Though I wasn’t very hungry, I sat and began eating it out of politeness.

  Ash finished his first and ran off to play without cleaning his plate, as he always did. Mason sat back and watched me finish my plate. “Day drinking, are we?” he asked. I didn’t like his tone, so I rolled my eyes. So, what if I was?

  Again, I find myself asking, “Is there a reason you’re here, Mason?” He didn’t say anything, so I continued. “You have no right to judge me. You don’t understand.” That he couldn’t ignore. He immediately sat up, moving closer to me and challenging me with a stare.

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. Ash is going to grow up without ever remembering his father, just like Leah grew up without remembering her mother.” I felt like I had swallowed my tongue as he tossed the truth in my face. But he continued.

  “You’re going to be alone dealing with all this shit without a companion in life, and it’s fucking depressing. Tell me I don’t understand that.” That tiny vein I knew that meant he was mad, made its appearance as it often did when I took out my misplaced anger on him.

  “I’m getting déjà vu. Me drunk, you sober and telling me how to live my life. Do you feel sorry for me, Mason? Are you just about ready to ride in on your white horse and save me only to break me afterward? I’ve got news for you. I’m allergic to horses, and I’m my own hero. I’m the one that wakes up with my son every day and keeps going. I’m all I’ll ever have and all I’ll ever need.”

  I was being cruel. I don’t know what it was about him, but I felt somewhat bad for him for having whatever trait he had that put me in such a bitchy mood. I had found comfort in the rush it gave me to bicker with him. It made me feel alive again. He looked genuinely hurt and softened his features. “You called me that night, Scarlet. You asked for my help.”

  “Well no one called you this time,” I said, feeling triumphant. I was no damsel in distress. I may have needed someone to fix the fence and change out the rotted pipes, but that didn’t make me a damsel in distress. I could have easily googled how to fix the things that needed fixing in my home. I only didn’t because he was already doing them at the time.

  “I get you, Scarlet. I really do. I even get why you’re pissed at me, and believe me when I tell you it takes a lot more to break me, so do your worst. I’ll still be here for you. A few weeks ago, we sat in that kitchen over there.” His arm shot out to point at my kitchen floor. “You described a scene where you made a child and planned this life with someone and had it all taken away from you. You cried over the heartbreak of having to do everything alone, and I got you. You told me that you feared the hard times, and mourned the good times you wouldn’t be able to share with Fredrick.

  “I lived that life, and you know what? I was alone. But I also wasn’t. Your parents helped me every chance that they got. They became that support system they saw that I needed, and it wasn’t as hard with them. I’ll never be able to repay them for being my best friends and the village I desperately needed to take care of my child as a single father.

  “The least I can do is be there for you now the way they were always there for me. So, you can throw the past in my face, and you can pretend you don’t want me here. Hell, you’re welcome to pretend you didn’t want me back then either if it makes you feel better. But I am always going to be there for you. The simple fact is I told you once that I would love you the right way, and I stick to my word, Scarlet.”

  I had nothing to say to that. I wanted to love this man for having such clear reasoning. I also wanted to cry because he was here for me out of obligation and loyalty to the friends that had treated him so well his entire life, and that deeply buried love I had always had for him hoped there was that tiny chance he was here to win me back. I had always wanted to be loved by him. I guess beggars can’t be choosers though.

  I would have to get used to the platonic love he had and be grateful for whatever I got. Mason left me sitting in my dining room speechless as he got up, cleaned our plates and left. I never questioned his help again. I knew the truth after that day, and I just accepted it for what it was.

  I didn’t have the luxury in my life to worry about things like that. I needed to take care of my son, and I needed to get back to work. The lucky and unlucky thing about making a living writing is that you can take days off when you need them. That becomes a problem if you don’t have the motivation and self-discipline to get back to it in a reasonable time frame.

  Mason stuck around, as I knew he would. The fence was fixed, and the sink no longer leaked, the lights were all full of life, and the doors no longer creaked when opened. But Mason offered support any way he found I needed. Some days he cooked me dinner with ingredients he found in my fridge. Other days he simply offered an ear and let me talk about whatever I needed to talk about. Some days he even ran around the yard with Ash while I typed away at my laptop, trying to get some work done.

  Out of love and respect for Fredrick’s life and the life we shared, I began to put his part of our story into the work I had originally written about Mason. Bringing him to life on paper healed something in me that I think was broken before he even died. I poured my heart out, and some days I could barely see through the tears as I typed furiously at the keys.

  Once I finished giving Fredrick’s life the justice it deserved in my story, I continued to write about Mason. The draw I felt for Mason set my keyboard on fire when I confronted it like I was forced to do. Having him around, and detailing things about him in a book made it plain as day obvious how attracted to him I still was.

  I didn’t know if he was single, but I assumed he wouldn’t spend every moment outside of work with me if there was another woman in his life. I knew Emma had left him a months ago because Leah had mentioned it in passing. But that still didn’t mean he was single. I tried not to think about it though. I wanted him.

  I was playing with fire wanting him like I did, but loneliness made people lose all reason. It made that fear of getting burned quiet down to a whisper, and I could ignore a whisper. He hadn’t been over in days, and I knew it was just a matter of time before he came around to check up on me. Because it was Saturday, and I knew he didn’t have work, I figured that day was as good of a day as any to play with fire.

  I stood naked in front of the mirror in my bathroom. I raised my arms and watched how my breasts lifted to how they sat when I was younger. I turned and assessed the way my thighs crinkled with cellulite. At the young age of thirty, I wasn’t bad looking by any means. I had curves that I still loved, and my breasts certainly kept their healthy plump. But I couldn’t help comparing my body to that of its younger version from last time Mason had seen me naked.

  Would he notice those changes too? Would he miss the way I used to wear my confidence in my youthful glow? Would he see the tiny marks that told the story of how my son came to be in this world? With Fredrick, I automatically assumed he looked upon them with pride since he had put those marks there, giving me our son. Mason had no ties to those marks though. He had no tie to the child those marks helped create.

  It was always scary baring yourself to another person, but once you had children your body changed in many ways that you couldn’t deny or try to hide. He had seen my perfect skin before, and he had wanted me if only for that second we were together. I just had to blind faith that he would see me now for who I was and his feelings wouldn’t change.

  I found a simple black dress I often felt sexy in and smoothed it over my curves. It was a little short on me and showcased my legs in a way that made me feel beautiful. I spread lotion on my freshly shaved skin, and brushed my dark hair out to cascade down my back. I applied a few coats of mascara and some blush, adding healthy color to my skin in an effortless l
ook that brought out my eyes without looking like I was trying too hard.

  Then I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop to continue writing. Sure enough, Mason did not disappoint. He showed up like a fly to my web and played right into my hand. Letting himself into my house, Mason walked right into the kitchen and began looking around for me.

  The moment he spotted me, he paused. His eyes drank me in for an entire minute. “Is this a bad time? Were you going somewhere?” Mason asked, analyzing my black dress that hugged me just right.

  “Where would I go? I’m a mother now. Who would watch Ash if I went somewhere?” He didn’t answer me, so I continued. “Unless you would—”

  “Watch Ash while you went out?” he asked, finishing my sentence. I nodded.

  “Would that bother you, if I wanted to go out?” I challenged. He took entirely too long to answer as he looked me over with an intensity that just about spoke for him. Then like a light switch, his features changed and he answered me back.

  “Of course not.” He sighed and looked me in the eyes as he said, “Of course not, Scarlet. You look beautiful. You should go out and have a good time.”

  “Well, thank you. But I don’t actually have plans tonight. So how about if I just hang out with you instead?” I asked, shutting my computer and standing to face him completely. His answering grin told me he both liked that idea and was onto my little act. He looked shy and hopeful, and that was a lovely feeling. I knew because I felt it too, along with a hundred butterflies that always took flight in my stomach when he looked at me, truly looked at me.

  “I was thinking of making spaghetti. Is that okay?” he asked, making his way to my sink to clean the dishes still sitting there from Ash’s and my breakfast.

  “Sounds good,” I said, grabbing a bottle of red wine and pouring out two glasses. We moved like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen. He diced garlic while I washed tomatoes. He stirred the bubbling sauce while I checked the pasta.

  We moved past each other like a synchronous dance, brushing by one another and anticipating the other’s step. Never getting in the way, just working in harmony to make the most delicious spaghetti I had ever tasted. Even Ash agreed and finished two entire plates. Though he did end up wearing most of the sauce, but the parts that did make it into his mouth he seemed to enjoy.

  After dinner, I put Ash to bed, and Mason and I sat and watched a movie, and then he left. I wanted to be disappointed that the night ended there, but I would be lying if I said that wasn’t one of the best nights of my life.

  Fifteen

  Mason didn’t come back to my house for an entire week after that night, and when he did, I decided enough was enough. I wanted him, and I could tell that he still wanted me. The chemistry between us was enough of an indicator that we had something worth exploring. The way we worked well together to get things done around my house and to cook was an indicator that we could have something more than the platonic thing we had going on and the physical thing that I wanted so badly.

  Everything about him made me want him, and I was through taking it slow. Life is short. I knew then more than ever that you didn’t get near as much time as you wanted with a person. You had to take chances and go after the things you wanted when you wanted them.

  Mason walked in my front door wearing a plain navy T-shirt and dark jeans, and immediately went to the garage to take the trash out. He often did this when he was around my house close to trash day. Ash just so happened to be taking his nap, and I took that as a sign.

  I grabbed the bin of strawberries, rinsed them and began cutting them up. Mason wasn’t far behind. He went to the sink to wash his hands. “I’m cutting up strawberries. Open,” I said, bringing one up to his lips. His eyes stayed on me as he did as I asked, and then his lips closed around my thumb and first finger.

  I pulled them out slowly and watched as his jaw worked on the berry. I had big plans with that man, but I also felt nervous looking at him in that moment. I knew that man was it for me. When I looked at him, I felt different than I ever had before. He was the start of the rest of my life, and he had the power to hurt me in a way no one ever had before him.

  I loved his soul, I loved his heart and his personality. I had to tread lightly because there were no promises in life. That possibility that he didn’t feel the same for me as I had always felt for him was a very real thing. He had been coming around to my house for weeks now, and he hadn’t given me any indicator that he was interested, beyond the black dress incident.

  Still, I couldn’t help but notice how hungry he looked taking another strawberry out of my fingers, and I wanted more than anything to be the woman to feed that man. “Can I help you with anything? Are you fixing a snack for Ash?” he asked in a casual tone as he wiped his hands on the kitchen towel nearby.

  “He’s sleeping. I wanted a snack for myself. Are you hungry?” I said, looking up at him.

  “I could eat,” he answered. I didn’t know if he meant that to come out so sexy, but my skin broke out in goosebumps at his words. I bit my lip to keep from grinning at the visuals his words gave me.

  We stood around the island in my kitchen, eating various pieces of fruit and smiling shyly at each other. I brushed past him, purposely making contact as I grabbed a paper towel, and then the moment broke when we heard my son waking from his nap, calling for me as he always did.

  Mason was back to his safe, friendly self when I returned with Ash. I understood why, but it was disappointing to break the connection we had. I knew nothing would happen while Ash was awake, but I was growing more and more impatient by the minute.

  I asked Mason to watch Ash while I got some writing done, and he agreed as he always did. I wondered when that treatment would end. Surely he couldn’t spend the rest of his days helping me in order to pay my parents back for helping him all those years. He had to know it wasn’t necessary to keep it up forever.

  The understanding that this wouldn’t last forever only made me appreciate the time I did have to get things done though, so I wasn’t about to waste time. I edited the work I had already completed and continued the story once I got to my previous pause. But I found myself distracted every time I looked over and saw Mason on the floor with Ash, racing their cars on a track and laughing.

  I joined in on the fun, not wanting to miss the moment of bonding with my son. He was having a blast with his fire-red racecar. I made eye contact with Mason every now and then, and the matching grins we sent each other made my heart beat so fast, I was sure he could see it right there in my chest.

  We ate sandwiches and chips for dinner, and then I read Ash three stories at his request and tucked him nicely into his racecar bed. Ash fell asleep almost instantly, and I sat on the edge of his bed and just watched him sleep for the longest moment.

  “I miss that age.” I startled at the sound of Mason’s voice from the doorway and turned to smile at him. “Leah was so much fun, and life was so much simpler. Back when trains and tea parties were the only things that mattered,” he said, smiling softly.

  “Want to watch a movie?” I asked, hoping he would stay.

  “I’ll make some popcorn, you pick out the movie,” he answered. I did so and then met him in the kitchen. He was just putting the popcorn in a bowl when I came up to him and ran my fingers along his shirt.

  “I love this shirt on you. It’s a great color.” My hand traveled along his shoulders and chest as he turned to face me. I stilled and shot him a look, trying to appear flirty and not nervous like I felt. Mason grabbed my wrist just hard enough to get my attention while also being very gentle. My skin burned, hyper-aware of where he was touching it.

  “Hey. I see you. I. See. You. You don’t have to work so hard to get my attention, Scarlet. You already have it. A beautiful black dress, a brush up here, some strawberries there. I am very aware of you.”

  My heart was racing, and I felt lightheaded. “Then why haven’t you done anything about it? You keep coming around, and it doesn’t ever fee
l like you’re affected.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard, ‘good things come to those who wait?’”

  I nodded. “Sure, I have. But I’ve also learned the hard way that life is short, and we don’t get as much time with people as we need.”

  “I’m not him, Scarlet. I’m not going anywhere. I’m healthy, I’m strong, and I’m here. You don’t have to rush with me. I’m not going to leave you.” I could feel a single tear falling down my cheek.

  “But why even wait?” I asked honestly. He sighed.

  “I don’t want you to have regrets in life. You’re still grieving. I’m still shackled to a lot of future drama for you. And I’m taking care of you as a husband would. How do you know you won’t wake up one morning and realize your feelings for me are just because I’m here for you right now? What if you want to start fresh and you realize how wrong we are? You forget I’ve been through a lot in my life too. What if I’m trying to prevent another beautiful woman from falling for me and then leaving me when I don’t live up to your expectations?”

  “You know, I’m getting real damn tired of other people deciding what’s best for me, and what I should have and when. I know what’s right for me and what is not. I’ve been intimate with a man that everyone else loved except me. I know what it feels like when it should be right but is so, so, so wrong. I also know what it feels like to be with someone that everyone else would think is wrong, but in his arms, in your arms, I never felt more beautiful. I’ve been with good men and I’ve been with a man I should never have given so many second chances to. I know what regret feels like, and I know when I want something and when I don’t. I want you, and I want the opportunity to fight for what I want. You’re worth fighting for, Mason.”

  He didn’t give me the option of elaborating on what I meant because without warning he cradled both sides of my face in his large palms and backed me up against the wall as he kissed me passionately. I wrapped both arms around his shoulders, and he palmed my butt and lifted my legs around him to pin me against the wall.