Part 8:
Me, too. When they returned to the others, Mason looked relieved. On the drive home, Sophie fell asleep on Elena’s shoulder. Ethan stared out the window. Mara held Elena’s hand. That night, after the kids were in bed, Mason found Elena on the back patio. Thank you. He said for today. I didn’t do anything. You were there.
That’s everything. Elena wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. Your kids are incredible. They are. Mason stood beside her. And they’re getting attached to you. I’m getting attached to them. Elena. Uh, I know what you’re going to say. Don’t get too comfortable. This isn’t permanent. I should keep my distance. Actually, Mason said quietly.
I was going to say the opposite. Elena looked at him. What? Stop trying to keep your distance. Mason’s voice was rough. Stop acting like you’re just passing through. You’re part of this family now, whether you planned it or not. Mason, I mean it. The kids need you. I need you. He paused.
And I think maybe you need us, too. Elena felt tears on her cheeks. I don’t know how to do this. Neither do I. Mason smiled slightly. But we’ll figure it out. He went back inside. Elena stood in the cold for a long time, thinking about families and choices and the strange way life could break you open just to fill you with something better.
Spring arrived slowly, melting the last of the winter snow and bringing with it a fragile sense of possibility. Elena had been living with the Carters for 3 months now, and the arrangement that was supposed to be temporary had settled into something that felt permanent, though nobody said it out loud. She enrolled in online classes at the community college, determined to finish the degree she’d abandoned when David convinced her she didn’t need it.
Business administration with a minor in psychology, practical, useful, something that was hers. Mason had insisted on paying her tuition. They’d fought about it for 2 days before Elena finally gave in, but only after he agreed to deduct it from her salary in small increments. She needed to feel like she was earning it, not just accepting handouts.
You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, Mason had said, exasperated. Says the man who argued with me for 40 minutes about grocery budgets. That’s different. You were trying to use your own money. It is my money. You pay me to manage the household, not to buy groceries. Groceries are part of the household. Elena Mason Sophie had walked in during that particular argument, took one look at both of them, and announced, “You fight like married people.
” They’d both gone silent. Sophie had grabbed a juice box, and left, completely unaware of the bomb she’d just dropped. Now, standing in the kitchen on a Tuesday morning, Elena tried not to think about that comment too much. tried not to notice the way Mason’s hand brushed hers when he handed her coffee.
Tried not to read into the fact that he’d rearranged his entire work schedule so he could be home for dinner most nights. “Big day today,” Mason said, scrolling through his phone. “Ethan’s science fair and Mara’s art show and Sophie has that field trip.” Elena checked her color-coded calendar on the wall. “I’ve got Sophie’s field trip.
You’re covering the science fair and we’re both going to Mara’s show tonight. When did we become people who need color-coded calendars? When you adopted three kids with completely different schedules. Fair point. Mason sat down his phone. Elena. Yeah. Have you thought any more about what you want to do long-term? The question had been coming up more frequently lately.
Elena poured herself cereal, buying time. I’m still figuring it out. You’ve been figuring it out for 3 months. and and I’m wondering if maybe you’re avoiding the answer. Elena bristled. I’m not avoiding anything. I’m trying to build a foundation before I make major decisions. That’s very rational. Why do you sound skeptical? Because you’ve been using rationality as a shield since you got here.
Mason leaned against the counter. At some point, you have to stop planning and start living. This from the man who plans his daily schedule down to 15-minute increments. That’s work. This is different. How? Mason opened his mouth, closed it. I don’t know, he admitted. But it is. Before Elena could respond, thundering footsteps announced the arrival of all three kids. Elena.
Sophie burst in wearing mismatched socks and an inside out shirt. I can’t find my permission slip. Kitchen drawer. I signed it yesterday. Oh. Sophie deflated slightly. Thanks. Ethan appeared next, holding his science fair project like it was a bomb. Do you think this is good enough? Elena studied the carefully constructed volcano. It’s perfect.
It’s basic. Everyone does volcanoes. Not everyone does them well. Yours actually works. That’s the bare minimum. Ethan Mason’s voice held a warning. Your project is great. You have to say that. You’re my dad. I don’t have to say anything, but I’m saying it because it’s true. Ethan didn’t look convinced, but he stopped arguing.
Mara drifted in last, headphones on, lost in her own world. Mason tapped her shoulder. She pulled off the headphones. What? Good morning to you, too. Morning. Mara grabbed an apple. Are you actually coming tonight? To your art show? Yes. You said that last time and then had an emergency meeting. Mason’s jaw tightened.
