Chapter 16

The second my fuzzy, purple slippers made contact with my toes, the world seemed a little less shitty.

And going out sounded a little less appealing.

Fuzzy slippers had that effect on me.

When I had given up all hope of salvaging the night, my phone buzzed to life on top of my dresser. The vibrations danced across its smooth surface.

Skater Boy:Nope, what's up?

Me:I could use a drink. Do you want a drink?

Skater Boy:Another bad day?

Me:That's putting it lightly.

Skater Boy:Worse than the other day?

Me:Yes.

Skater Boy:I could have a drink.

I glanced at my slippers, and my toes curled in protest of leaving their cozy haven.

Me:Would you mind coming to my place?

Skater Boy:That works.

Me:Feel free to join me in my misery whenever.

Skater Boy:Ha. On my way.

I poured myself a glass of deep red Cabernet and shuffled back to the kitchen table where I had left the unopened envelope. I wanted to rip it to shreds, to destroy all evidence of its existence.

A knock at my door pulled me out of my trance and back into reality, where I still clung to the envelope. I placed it back on my wooden table, taking care not to disturb the neat stack of organized mail.

The first thing I noticed when I swung my door open was the skateboard tucked under Mason's arm.

"Does that board seriously go everywhere with you?" I asked.

He tapped the grippy surface of it, "Yep."

"Thanks for coming to hang."

"Nice slippers," he said as I closed my front door.

"It's a slippers kind of evening," I said. "Do you want a glass of wine? Beer?"

"Sure," he said, pointing to my glass. "I'll have whatever you're having."

I poured him a glass, the surface of the dark wine glinting with ruby highlights. I motioned for him to follow me to my couch, where he settled into one corner, and I sank into the other.

"It's weird to invite someone that you barely know over to, well, vent to them. It's weird, isn't it weird? I'm sorry. You probably think I'm the most self-centered brat you've ever met."

When he tugged his hoodie over his head, the fabric caught on the hem of his T-shirt, revealing his toned abdomen.

"No worries," he said.

"You're a man of few words."

"I know the moments when words are needed," he explained, "and when they are not. Sometimes, all you need to do is lend an ear."

"I like that," I said.

He propped his feet up on my ottoman and took a sip of his wine. "So, jump right in," he said.

I retrieved the envelope and tossed it into Mason's lap.

"Spoiler alert," I said, "it's an invitation to my ex's housewarming party."

He examined the envelope. "But you haven't opened it yet. How do you know?"

"He told me."

"Open it," he said, handing it back to me.

My stomach churned as I peeled back the envelope. Inside was a shimmering invitation that glinted in the light. I couldn't help but grimace at the elaborate display.

Maybe I was just jealous.

Nope, it was tacky.

"Well, at least it's not a wedding invitation," Mason whispered.

"It looks like one," I joked.

I pulled up the calendar on my phone and began to check my plans for the date in question.

"Wait," Mason said. "You're not considering going, are you?"

"I have to!" I screamed.

Mason's face twisted into a look of surprise and confusion, taken aback by my sudden outburst.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scream."

"By all means, scream as much as you want," he shrugged. "And no, you don't have to go."

I shifted my position on the couch to face Mason, preparing to reason with him.

"Oh, but I do," I said. "If I were only his ex-girlfriend, I would be under no obligation. But he tricked me!"

"How so?" he asked.

"I am his real estate agent now, not just his ex-girlfriend," I explained. "It would be unprofessional to skip out. It isa housewarming party, which is kind of my area, especially since I sold him the house."

"You did, but that doesn't require you to attend his personal function."

"He invited me solely to be a dick," I said, "to make me look bad. If I go, I prove to him, to everyone, that I don't care about him. It's the professional thing to do."

"Are you trying to prove it to yourself or to everyone else?"

"Oh, I don't need to prove anything to myself," I said. "My heart knows the truth."

He rose from the couch in one fluid motion, both of our empty wine glasses resting on his outstretched hands, and strode to my kitchen. His presence was so comfortable that I forgot we had just become friends. It felt like he had been coming over for years.

"Why spend a fucking minute of your time trying to prove anything to anyone?" he asked. "People will always find a way to manipulate the narrative. As long as you know your truth, that's the only thing that should matter."

"I know it doesn't make sense," I said. "It's just something I have to do."

"You do you," he said.

I stared at the invitation.

I needed a subject change stat. Brett had occupied most of my brain's bandwidth over the past few weeks.

I glanced at Mason's shoes. "Tell me what it's like to be a skateboarder."

I knew nothing about the sport.

"What do you want to know?"

"How long have you been skateboarding?" I asked.

He shrugged, "Since I was eight."

"Is it scary? I feel like it's scary. The board isn't even connected to your feet. How do you get it to move with you?" I shrugged. "It just doesn't make sense. I've only seen a few clips, but I feel like I'm unaware of some secret to skateboarding. Otherwise, it would be nearly impossible."

"No secrets," he laughed. "I promise."

"How does it work then?" I asked.

"My board and my body follow the same trajectory at the same rate of speed," he explained.

But it still didn't add up for me.

"You'll have to come watch sometime," he said when he saw the look of bewilderment on my face.

"That would be fun," I said.

"You're welcome anytime," he shrugged.

"What's your favorite trick to do?" I asked.

He didn't even have to think about the question. "Nollie heel flip," he replied.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I'm assuming you've heard of an ollie," he said.

I nodded.

"A nollie is a nose ollie," he explained. "You push down on the nose of the board with your front foot while your back foot slides backwards to achieve lift-off."

"Gotcha," I said, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

The amused look on Mason's face told me he knew I was clueless.

He propped up his skateboard and gestured to the open space in my dining room. "Can I?" he asked.

"These are hickory hardwood floors," I said.

"And?"

"You probably couldn't ding them up if you tried. Go ahead."

He shook his head, chuckling, and then stepped onto the board. His front foot snapped down on one side of the board, which popped the other side.

"A nollie heel flip is just incorporating a heel flip into the nollie trick," he said. "After I do the nollie motion, I'll incorporate a board flip. I'll let the board spin under me, catch it over the bolts, land, and roll away clean."

He executed the trick perfectly, just as he had explained it.

"Have you ever considered giving skateboarding lessons?" I asked. "You just explained that so well. I'm tempted to give it a go in my slippers."

"Are you interested in lessons?"

"Heavens no. But you could turn some kiddos into skateboarding machines."

"It's not the worst idea I've ever heard," he admitted.

"That's what I'm here for," I said, "supplying not the worst ideas you've ever heard, but not the best either."

I stumbled over to my kitchen, surprised by how hard the wine hit me.

"Oh shit!" I yelled.

Mason rushed over to me. "What's wrong?"

"I forgot to eat dinner," I said with an apologetic smile.

"Want to order pizza?" he asked.

"Always!" I said as I clapped my hands.