Chapter Fourteen

Mason

Considering how busy my parents are, it’s really amazing how few holidays we haven’t spent together over the years. Although, this year was a little tight with Mom just back from a shoot in Morocco last night. Thanksgiving dinner is hitting the table a bit later than usual on account of her jet lag, but no one seems to mind.

When I picked up Emmet at the dorms earlier, I was prepared for him to ask questions about Walker. But…nothing. Which made me simultaneously relieved and disappointed. I want to hear what he thinks about her. But I don’t want him to mention her to my parents—not yet anyway. It seems wrong to tell them about her before I tell her about them. Not that I haven’t tried. Multiple times.

Walker and I have seen each other nearly every day for close to two weeks now. Each time away from Mayhem, where one of her sisters might spot us. Or where someone else might spot us and tell one of her sisters. She’s adamant that she doesn’t want them to know about us yet. Mainly because she refuses to admit that we’re a “thing.” Though how she can think we’re anything else after all the making out we’ve been doing is beyond me.

Right now, my parents and I wait patiently as Emmet adjusts his place setting—glass with water on the left. Glass three-quarters full of ice on the right. Small fork on the right. Napkin on the left. It’s a routine that’s been routine for as long as I can remember. When he’s got everything exactly the way he likes it, he looks up and smiles.

“Good to go, son?” my father asks.

“Good to go,” Emmet echoes and digs into a holiday treat prepared just for him, turkey potpie with diced sweet potatoes inside.

“So, Mason,” Mom begins between bites of her salad. “I’ve been asked to submit my guest list for the premiere of the new movie in March. And I’d really like you to be there,” she says. “Your father is going to escort me. I’ve invited Emmet but—”

“I don’t like movie theaters,” my brother says, matter-of-factly.

“We know, Emmet. Mom just likes to make sure you know you’re welcome to come,” Dad assures him.

With all the people and the noise, an event like that would be a form of torture for my brother.

“So, will you please join us?” Mom asks.

As much as I support my mother’s career, I’m not really comfortable with these swanky red-carpet affairs. It was only my ex-girlfriend, Cassandra, who got me to go. And now that she and I are no longer together, I don’t see any reason to go. Mom’s got more than enough support there. Besides, if everything goes the way I’m hoping, I’ll have a more official relationship with Walker by then. And there’s no way I’m going to subject her to all that Hollywood nonsense.

“I’ll be pretty busy then, Mom. That’s when midterms are. I think you should count me out.”

“Honey, are you sure?” she presses. “I just thought you might like to bring someone…special.”

I put my fork down and look at her. She couldn’t possibly mean—

“No, I’m sure. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

It’s like I haven’t even spoken.

“Because I came across Cassandra on Facebook the other night…”

The only way I can hide my irritation is to not say a word. Because the first thing that comes out of my mouth isn’t going to be pleasant. Before I can find a way to extricate the expletives from that reply, my brother has jumped in to answer for me.

“Maybe he wants to bring Walker.”

All three of us look at Emmet at once. He just pokes at his potpie, unaware of our stares.

“Emmet, what are you talking about?” Mom asks. “Who is Walker?”

“She’s Mason’s girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Who?”

“Emmet!”

My brother winces when all three of us speak at exactly the same moment.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say quickly. “Not officially anyway. Not yet…”

I realize with sudden, clear understanding that I want very much for her to be exactly that. For her to be mine. And for me to be hers. And for the entire world to know it.

Even as I’m having this little epiphany, my parents look stunned.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dad asks.

“Uh…because I’m twenty-five years old and I don’t need to ask for permission to go out on dates.”

My mother purses her lips. “Mason, where did you meet this Walker person? And what kind of a name is that anyway, Walker?”

“She gave him a ride home from the bar,” Emmet supplies helpfully. “I told him you wouldn’t like any girl named Walker. You like Cassandra.”

I take a long, deep breath and try not to be annoyed at him for the big old can of worms that he’s just opened and thrown out in the middle of the table.

Quirked eyebrow from my mother.

“She’s a…barfly…then?” she asks, the single word dripping with disdain.

“She is not a barfly—” I start to object but get cutoff.

“Flies don’t live in bars, Mom,” Emmet explains. “At least, not at this time of the year. They’re most prevalent in the summer months.”

“Yes, thank you, Emmet,” she says. “Now, Mason—”

“She’s a bartender,” he adds for good measure.

Crap.

“I see,” my father says slowly. “And you’re…dating this Walker?”

“Sort of. Maybe. Like I said, it’s not anything formal at the moment.”

“Does she know who you are?” Mom asks.

“You mean does she know who you are? No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Dad responds. “Son, you know how careful you need to be. There are plenty of unscrupulous women out there who might try to be with you just because of this family’s wealth and status in Hollywood.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I pick up the fork again and point it in his direction—for emphasis, of course.

I’d never try to stab my father with a salad fork. He’s a big guy. It’d take a full-sized carving fork to take him down.

Besides, I know he means well. He’s just doing a crap job of conveying that.

Mom reaches out and puts a hand on mine. The hand holding the fork, I note. “Edward, Mason knows. Now, honey, tell us about this…this Walker. What is she like? Is she a student?”

I so do not want to do this right now, but my mother is like a dog with a bone.

“She’s one of four sisters who run their family’s pub over in Mayhem. O’Halloran’s? Like Emmet said, she gave me a ride home when I was stuck. We hit it off. She’s funny and sarcastic. We have a great time together. And she was really comfortable with Emmet…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupts, putting a hand to her temple dramatically. “She’s met Emmet? You took her to meet Emmet?”

“I did.”

I was about seven when my parents packed us up and moved here to Brussels, Minnesota. Emmet was five and struggling. After doctors had determined he was “on the spectrum” our parents decided that Hollywood wasn’t the ideal environment to raise us. They wanted us to have a normal life. A life with some privacy and anonymity so we could just be kids—so that we could just be a family—while Emmet got the support and attention he needed away from the spotlight.

And we had a great childhood.

But then came Cassandra, and everything changed. She was a hot young starlet who I met on the set of one of my mother’s films. We hit it off right away and began an intense, long-distance romance. It was exciting. And hot. And I thought I loved her right up until the day she showed her true colors…and broke my freakin’ heart so badly that I haven’t been able to even look at another woman. Until now.

“What were you thinking?” Dad hisses quietly, as if lowering his voice will make my brother less likely to hear the conversation happening right in front of him.

“I was thinking that Walker and Emmet would hit it off. And they did, right, Emmet?”

He doesn’t look up from his plate, where he’s maneuvering a piece of turkey away from the potato it’s touching.

“Uh-huh. She was nice. I liked her much better than Cassandra. Mason, too.”

I pick up my brother’s thread. “Look, you guys know me well enough to know that I would never bring someone to meet Emmet who didn’t have…the right kind of temperament.”

At least, I wouldn’t now. I made that mistake once, and that was enough to make me cautious for the rest of my days.

“So why wouldn’t you bring her to meet us?” Dad asks.

“For the same reason I’ve been afraid to tell her about Mom,” I tell him frankly. “I’m afraid it’ll scare her off. And I…I really like this woman.”

Mom takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and speaks gently. “Honey, I don’t want you to think for a second that a girl you’re interested in is not ‘worthy’ of the family. You know better than that, don’t you?”

That would be the ball landing in my court.

Do I?

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I think you’re right to be concerned—you know as well as anyone in this family that things can get pretty intense for the people around us—the people we care about. It takes someone with a special constitution to be able to navigate the Hollywood waters.”

She’s not wrong. But she is.

“I understand all that,” I agree slowly. “But, let’s face it, Cassandra was always the target of the press. I was just along for the ride. Since we split, I haven’t seen so much as a high school newspaper reporter lurking around.”

They look at each other, sharing some form of unspoken communication. Then they look at me.

“Mason, we’d love to meet Walker whenever you care to bring her over. Just…just be careful, okay?”

“Be careful of what?”

“God knows we don’t need a paternity scandal…” my father adds.

I snort and laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation. They’re speaking to me as if I’m a freshman in high school. “Seriously? Would you like to give me the birth control talk again while I’m here?”

“The most effective forms of birth control—when used with one-hundred-percent accuracy, are contraceptive implants, intrauterine devices, and the birth control pill…” Emmet begins with what I’m certain is a lecture I have no interest in attending, especially with my parents.

“Yeah, I think I’m about ready to head out,” I declare, standing up and stretching. “This was great, thanks. I’ll pick up Emmet on Sunday night to go back to campus.”

“Wait! You’re not going yet!” Mom protests. “You haven’t even had your pumpkin pie!”

“I’m really pretty full and I’ve got a big project due next week that I’m kind of anxious about. But if you save me some, I’ll have it with you Sunday, okay?” I offer by way of an olive branch.

“Fine, fine,” she says, leaning in for the kiss on the cheek that I offer her.

“Good night, Dad,” I mutter as I lean down and we exchange a semi-awkward hug, and then I give Emmet a pat on the shoulder.

“Good night, Mason. Please call if you need anything. Or if you want to talk…”

“I’m fine, but thanks. And thanks for dinner. I love you guys,” I call over my shoulder even as I’m walking out of the dining room to the hall that’s going to take me to the front door. Which is going to take me to my car. Which is going to take me to her.