Kiran
We sit at the table with big steaming bowls of chicken and stars. Mason doesn’t complain. In fact, he says it’s a favorite. We’re down to soup and bread. There are other things in the cupboards and fridge. Weird things such as jicama and seaweed tofu and agave nectar that I have no idea how to cook.
“Dana has some interesting taste in food.”
He chews on a crescent roll. “Yeah, tell me about it. She’s a health nut. Or maybe just a nut. Luckily, I have the local pizza place on speed dial and an app that will call them for me on command.”
“We need to go grocery shopping.”
“I’ll pass.”
I stir little noodle stars around the broth. “Besides therapy, when is the last time you went out?” Even the walk in Charleston only lasted one city block before Mason said we should turn around. He focused so hard on each step I didn’t want to disrupt his concentration. So we didn’t speak the whole way.
“Can’t remember.”
“Maybe you should. Isn’t that what your therapist suggested?”
“I’m not comfortable with strange places yet.”
“This is your local grocery store. You probably know it better than me. Besides, I’ll be there.” Didn’t he trust me? The way his shoulders tense, I’m not sure. “We can bring Molly too.”
“Why are you doing this, Kiran? I don’t need you to fix me.”
“I didn’t realize you were broken. Are you really going to spend your life in a shell?”
His mouth tilts. “Girl, are you comparing me to a hermit crab?”
“If the shell fits. This is coming from a former barnacle, so get over it.”
He drags a hand over his hair. I envy how it all falls back into place so beautifully, two errant strands fork over his forehead in model perfect form.
I stack our dishes to take them to the sink. I almost walk away and then remember I need to push my chair back in. Never move anything. Dana’s warning comes back. I slide the chair into place with my hip.
“Why are you trying so hard, Kiran?”
Because you’re worth it. “Because I want you to be happy.”
“I’m not who I once was. You have to realize that.”
“Yeah, not completely. Either am I. But it doesn’t mean I stop caring about you or that I don’t want to know the new you.”
“The new me is an asshole. I don’t feel like a…”
“A what?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to the shed.”
This is becoming a common theme. If I push too hard, he retreats. “I’ll go by myself then.”
After I rinse our bowls and place them in the dishwasher, I do a quick check to make sure I’ve put everything away. He’s left. Most likely, he’s out in the shed doing whatever he does.
After grabbing Dana’s keys and my purse, I head through the back door to the garage. I reach to hit the open button on the garage door, but stop myself when I spot the tall, lean shadow. Mason is running his hands over the image of the bird on the Trans Am’s hood.
“Any requests?” I ask. I don’t open the door. It’s dark and hot in the garage. Tiny dust motes float around us.
“No.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Contemplating.”
“Oh.” I reach to hit the open button, but his deep, husky voice halts me.
“I’ll go with you.”
“I’m glad.” I fist bump the air to celebrate my small triumph.
“Don’t sound too happy. It’s kind of a joke that going to a fucking grocery store is such a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Mason. Thank you for coming with me.”
He shrugs, his smile tight and nervous. “I figure you might need me. I’m an expert at telling if fruit is ripe.”
“I’ve never had my own personal fruit feeler-upper.”
“At least I’m good for something.” He says it sarcastically with self-deprecating humor that is part of Mason’s personality, but his smile isn’t genuine. There is nothing funny in the statement.
When I take a few tentative steps toward him, I bump into a ladder.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just clumsy.” My God, it’s dark, but there is a little light peeking from the small window. This is barely a taste of his world, and I can’t even manage to walk a few steps. How is he so graceful?
I stand close to him, blinking my eyes to adjust to the low light. “What were you going to say earlier? You don’t feel like a…what?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it. Tell me now. What don’t you feel like?”
“A man.”
“It’s not true.”
“You can’t tell me how I feel, Shenoy.”
“Can I show you something, Mason?”
“If you’re going to give me some goddamn feel-good speech, you can save it, sister. I’m not in the mood.”
“No speech.”
I move a step closer to him until only a tiny sliver of a gap stands between us. I place a hand on each of his broad shoulders and gently work my fingers into his skin. His body doesn’t relax, but it does feel less stiff. I work my way down his front. I skim the pads of my fingers over the soft, faded fabric of his T-shirt. His breathing increases. I reach his jeans and run my fingers over the muscles right above the button. The tempo of his breathing increases, matching mine. When I see the large bulge under the dark denim, I stand on my tiptoes and lean close to his ear. “Feel like a man now?” I whisper.
“Woman, I don’t know if you are pure evil or a genius.”
“Maybe an evil genius.” I pull away before I get carried away. I’ve made my point… I think.
“Coming?”
“It’ll take more than that,” he mutters, following me.
I get another idea. I tell myself not to press my luck. Not to push too hard. Yet, I still go on.
“Want to take the Trans Am?”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Swear I’m not.”
“When did you learn to drive a stick?” he asks.
“Last week.”
“What the hell are you saying, Kiran?”
I have no freaking idea, Mason. Just spouting off a stupid idea.
“Answer me, please,” he says in that low voice I would follow anywhere.
“Ever since therapy when you told me how much you missed it, I’ve been watching every single YouTube video on driving a stick shift. I hoped it would make you happy to sit in the car again and feel the engine. Now that I think about it, it’s the dumbest idea in the world.”
He tilts his head. “You really think you can do it based on videos?”
“Yeah, the grocery store’s only two miles up the road according to Google maps. It’s up to you, though.”
He walks right past me into the kitchen. Cursing myself, I lower my head. I should have quit. Why would he want to be a passenger in his own car?
A jingling sound snaps me out of my wayward thoughts. Mason shakes a set of keys at me. “Be careful with her.”
“I will.”
He whistles and calls for Molly. She comes running behind him. “We’ll c’mon, girl. We don’t have all day.”
I sit in the driver’s seat, adjusting and readjusting everything. Now that I am sitting here about to drive his baby, I’m nervous. He’s placed so much trust in me. I pray my ten hours of YouTube tutorials are enough.
“You got this, Shenoy.”
I wish he had the same confidence in himself that he has with me. The car roars to life. I drive slow and cautious until I get the hang of the pedals and clutch. I have to admit there is something empowering about driving a stick shift. A sense of control I enjoy. He places his hand on my wrist.
“Honey, you need to stop riding the clutch.”
“Sorry.” I lift my foot and curl my hands on the steering wheel.
We arrive at the grocery store unscathed. “Nice work, Shenoy. You’re a natural.”
“Thank you.”
I notice the ice cream shop next to the grocery store. It has a huge red and white striped awning. The sign reads The Creamery – Best ice cream in South Carolina. Maybe even the world.
“Mason, is that the ice cream place you told me is better than Kirby’s?”
“That would be it.”
“Let’s get a scoop.”
He gives me a look that says no all over it. “Let’s just get our groceries and go.”
“Seriously, Mason, the closest thing to junk food Dana has is dehydrated pineapples. You can’t expect a girl to survive on that stuff. I need ice cream.”
“Okay.”
The bells chime over the doorway. The air conditioning blasts, blowing the ends of my hair up as we enter the shop. The girl behind the counter turns toward us. Her rosy lips inch up in a huge smile…at Mason.
“Mason!” she shrieks, moving past the counter and running to him. “It’s Lana.”
She wraps her arms around him. He stumbles. Molly rushes behind him, ready to break a fall if needed. I grab his arm, but he catches himself.
“I missed you,” she says, backing away. She smoothes down her pink mini skirt and adjusts her white tank top. Probably not a great idea to wear a white tank sans bra when you work in an ice cream parlor with subzero temperatures.
“Hey, Lana. It’s good to see you too.”
“Who is this cutie?” she asks, bending down to pet Molly. I cringe, wanting to yell out Dana’s rule number eight. Never pet a service dog unless you have permission from the owner. They are at work, and the attention will just distract them from their duties. But I keep my mouth shut.
“That’s my best friend, Molly.”
Lana stands. Somehow she’s wedged herself between Mason and me. She twirls a strand of her long red hair. “You’re making me jealous.” She laughs at her own joke, her hand against Mason’s arm.
“Hi,” I say to remind everyone I’m still here.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Lana says, turning her attention back to Mason.
“Lana, this is Kiran. She’s helping out while Dana is gone.”
Okay, a minute ago I was a sexy evil genius. Now I’m the girl helping out. I shouldn’t be hurt by his description, but hurt is exactly what I am.
“That’s nice.” She gives me a side glance. “Bless your heart.”
The phrase sounds more like a curse than a blessing.
She takes Mason’s hand between hers. “How have you been? I called you, but Dana said you were busy each time.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m so sorry, Mason.”
“Thank you, Lana.”
“In case you didn’t know, you’re still super hot.”
He cracks a smile. Maybe Lana’s direct approach was better than what I did.
“Um…thanks. I would tell you that you look great too, except well, you know.”
She laughs as if he’s the funniest thing since episode 19 of The Big Bang Theory.
“Hey, Mason!” A man in a long white apron comes toward us.
“Is that you Jeff?”
“It is.”
“Thought I smelled trouble.”
Jeff claps Mason on the back. They manage one of those almost-there embraces men do. Mason gestures to me. “This is my friend, Kiran.”
At least he promoted me to friend status.
“Jeff and Lana’s parents own the dairy farm that’s the basis for this fine establishment,” Mason explains.
“Lana, don’t just stand there. Take their order,” Jeff says.
“I’m gonna make Mason something special,” Lana says. “Wait till you get a taste of what I’m serving.” She twirls around, skirt flaring.
“Hold up a sec,” Mason says.
“Yeah, sugar?”
Mason reaches his hands out and takes my wrist. “What would you like, Kiran?”
I glance at the board. “I’ll have a scoop of the green apple ice cream.”
Jeff raises his eyebrow. “You sure? It’s a unique flavor combination. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but some of our patrons claim its way too sour.”
“Sounds perfect.” It will definitely fit my mood.
Jeff ushers us toward a booth.
“Cutler, you never sent me an RSVP. Are you planning to come on the fishing trip?”
“Sorry, man, I don’t really trust myself around hooks just yet.” He drums his fingers against the tabletop. “Or boats or large, deep bodies of water.”
“I’ll make sure it’s safe. C’mon, bro, it’s my birthday and I want you there.” Jeff smiles at me. “Tell him he should go.”
Mason shakes his head. “It’s your birthday. The last thing you need is to be watching out for me.”
“The last thing I need is not having my best buddy there.” Jeff nods in my direction. “You can bring Kiran if it’ll make it easier for you.”
“Kiran doesn’t fish.” Mason tilts his head. “You don’t fish, right?”
“Right, but I can watch YouTube videos on the subject.”
Mason laughs. “Yeah, you are a quick study.”
I decide to leave them alone to catch up. Obviously, Jeff is excited to visit with Mason. “I’ll be right back.”
I use the restroom. On the way back, I linger to check out the display of all the interesting ice cream flavors. Lana is preparing some complicated concoction for Mason.
“So, how do you know our Mason, or did you just answer an ad?” Lana asks in a way that makes it very clear “our” Mason is not my Mason.
“We’ve been friends for a while.”
She lowers the visor on her head. “Can’t be that long. He’s never mentioned you.”
“You know him well I take it?”
“Oh sure, my brother and Mase have been best friends forever.”
I glance at the table a few feet away. Mason and Jeff are still chatting away. “They seem close.”
“Mase and I are close too. We’ve been on and off since high school.”
“Oh.” Oh.
“Yeah. Even when he left for the Marines, we always got back together again.”
Even though it’s freezing in here, my insides are on fire.
She leans toward me, dropping her voice as if we’re confidants sharing a secret. “I plan to ask him out again. I won’t let his disability stop me.”
I’m speechless… And suddenly I strongly dislike ice cream.
Lana has three huge scoops in a banana boat container. She spoons hot fudge on top. Despite all these crazy emotions, a warning shoots up like a red flare. “Excuse me, is that for Mason?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’ll get yours in a minute.”
“No, it’s not that. Mason can’t have chocolate.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. He’s allergic.”
She sets down the hot fudge ladle. “That’s right. I forgot.”
“What the hell, Lana. Are you trying to kill him?” Jeff asks.
“Calm down, man. It won’t kill me. Just gives me a killer headache.” Mason clears his throat. “It’s no trouble, Lana. I’ll just have a plain old scoop of vanilla if you please.”
She throws her creation in the garbage. I would have felt sorry for her except she curls her mouth somewhere between a smile and sneer. She places a scoop of vanilla in a bowl. She does the same with my green apple.
I bring our bowls to the table. Mason takes out his wallet. All the bills are folded in different directions so he can tell the notes apart.
“Your money’s no good here, Cutler,” Jeff says, placing a hand over Mason’s wallet.
“Let me pay you.”
“No can do, brother.”
They argue for a minute before Mason finally concedes. I place Mason’s bowl next to him and hand him his spoon.
“Think about coming fishing, Cutler. It’s only one day.” Jeff glances at the Cuckoo clock over the ice cream display. “Man, I’m sorry, I’d love to catch up more, but I promised my dad I’d meet him at the farm.”
“No worries,” Mason says. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Jeff turns to me. “It was nice meeting you, Kiran.”
“You too.”
Jeff gives Lana instructions to wash the back floor on his way out the door. She sighs before disappearing into the backroom.
“Mason, if you want to stay here, I can do the grocery shopping and come back for you.”
“Why?”
“So you can catch up.”
His expression is one of puzzlement. “Didn’t Jeff leave?”
“Yes.” I lean forward. “I meant with Lana.”
“No thanks.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go outside and finish our ice cream. If memory serves, there are a couple benches out there.”
“There are.”
He slides out of the booth. “Well, c’mon, Shenoy. Ice creams a melting here.”
We find a bench under the shade of a large oak tree. We sit close enough, mainly because the bench is small. I’m still wound up from the conversation with Lana. Not for the first time, I think I built up those eight days in my head.
Mason shoulder bumps me. “I can’t believe you remembered I’m allergic to chocolate.”
“Of course I remember. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”
He chuckles. “You did shed a few tears at the time. Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Well, that is my job.”
“Are you okay, Shenoy?”
“Fine.”
“Why did you think I wanted to hang with Lana just now?”
“Because she’s your ex.”
“Ex? Where did you hear that?”
“From her.”
“Is that a note of jealousy I’m detecting?”
No Mason, it’s not a single note. It’s a whole freaking symphony.
“It’s just jarring running into your ex-girlfriend.”
“She’s not my ex. To qualify for ex status, you have to be going out in the first place.”
“You never went out with her?”
“Maybe two dates back in high school. When I was home on leave a few years ago, we went to the movies with a whole group of people. I wouldn’t count that as a date. She’s my buddy’s kid sister. That’s all.”
“Were there other girls?” I blurt the question as soon as it enters my head. I’m not even sure if I want him to answer.
“I had a few dates over the years.”
“Anything serious?” I hear a horrible screeching sound inside my head. Probably, the metal on metal of broken down brakes that can’t seem to stop the awkward questions.
“No. I didn’t even go out with the same girl twice. Matter of fact, the only relationship I’ve ever had in my entire life would be the eight days I spent with you. If you quantify that as a relationship.”
“Oh.” Oh.
“What about you?”
I scrape the bottom of my paper cup with the colorful plastic spoon. I’m so unprepared to answer the same question I posed. “I did what you said. I lived my life and went on a few dates.”
“Anything serious?” When I don’t answer, he bumps me again. “C’mon, spill it.”
“I had one relationship.”
His mouth tightens. “How long?”
“About six months.”
Mason takes out a plastic bag of treats and feeds Molly. “Who was he?”
“Are we really doing this?”
“In all fairness, you started it.”
True. I take in a sharp breath. “His name was Vic.”
“For Victor?”
“For Vickram. A friend at school set us up. She probably matched us because we were the only two Indians in all of Iowa. Or at least, it seemed that way.”
Mason chuckles, but the sound falls flat and hollow. “Go on.”
How much more detail does he need? “He was nice. Papa loved him.”
“He met your father?”
“When Papa and Linda came to Iowa to visit me, they took us out to dinner. Of course, Vik had all the prerequisites that mattered. He was pre-med, well-bred, and wealthy.”
“What happened? He sounds perfect.”
I’m not sure how to answer. Do I tell Mason he never made me laugh? He didn’t make my pulse hum with excitement? In short, he wasn’t Mason. “Maybe on paper he was perfect, but he wasn’t perfect for me. The feelings weren’t there. That was unfair to me. It was really unfair to him. So I broke it off.”
Mason doesn’t respond except to say we should get on with grocery shopping. We head to the store and fill up the cart. On the ride home, the silence is unbearable.
“Sam’s selling the store,” I say to fill up the empty air.
“Why? He loves running the store.”
“Yeah, but he’s decided to move on. He’s moving to Seattle with his sister. He’s selling it all, including the inventory.”
“I hope whoever buys it takes care of his books.”
“Me too. Sidney says hi by the way.”
“Oh, yeah? You’re still in touch?”
“We’re closer than ever. She’s getting married in a few months. I’m one of her bridesmaids.”
“No kidding.”
“No joke. I have a big poufy peach dress with a bow over the butt to prove it.”
He smiles, a big hearty smile. “I bet you can pull it off.”
“I don’t think so, but it’s what she wanted. The wedding is going to be at the Wilshire.”
He’s quiet for a while. Maybe he’s remembering that promise he made to me the night we went swimming. One day I’ll take you to the revolving restaurant on top of the Wilshire Hotel, and we’ll dance.
“Do you remember Rob?” he asks.
“Rob, one half of the Jorgensons?”
“The very one. We exchanged info and kept in touch too.”
I swallow something bitter. He kept in touch with Rob, but not me? Of course, there were reasons for that. Maybe not logical ones, but I had agreed to them nonetheless. “How is he? How’s Melanie?”
“They’re doing well. They have two little boys now.”
“Wonderful.”
“Are you okay, Kiran?”
No, I’m not okay, Mason. I’m pissed about the fucking years we lost. I’m pissed about the barrier between us now. The one he set up. Before I can rationalize myself off the ledge, something darts in front of the car. I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the deer. The vehicle screeches. I scream. Molly barks. The deer prances as if it doesn’t have a care in the world. Thank God there wasn’t a car behind me, or there would have been a collision.
“Kiran!”
I pull over to the side of the road to calm down. I turn to him. “I’m sorry. A deer ran past us. We missed it, but I had to hit the brakes fast. The car is fine.”
“Fuck the car. Are you fine?”
“Besides the fact I almost hit Bambi? Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”
He expels a low breath. “Now I am. You handled it well.”
I look down. “Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“You can put your arm down now.”
Across my body is Mason’s arm. It’s extended, straight and rigid, veins flaring, muscles flexing. It has to hurt. He must have held it up as soon as I began our screeching halt. Just like he did back in Jasper the day he let me drive that other car of his.
Mason, the protector.
Some things don’t change.