Resolution (Mason Family 5)

But over the past few months, something has changed.

Since I buried my mother and the well-wishers went home and stopped calling—went about their normal life as though mine wasn’t just completely thrashed—a deep sense of loneliness has embedded in my bones.

It’s not just spatial loneliness. It’s not having anyone to call at the end of the day, and no one to call in early December and demand a list of options for Christmas dinner.

There is no one to call who will love me and console me whether I’m right or wrong. I’m not building memories with anyone, and no one in the world shares my past experiences.

This kind of emotional loneliness is different. And it’s fucking hard.

“I don’t know if I want kids,” I say when Rusti slips her phone back in her pocket.

“Well, that’s a change from your usual stance.”

I shrug as I ponder the thoughts rolling through my brain.

“When I say this,” I say, “I don’t mean you.”

“This is starting off well.”

I laugh. “You know I love you, and I know you’re there for me, and we’re family and all of that—yada, yada, yada.”

“I love when you yada, yada, yada me.”

I smile, but my laughter drifts away. “I … I miss having a family.”

A lump pops in my throat, causing the word family to get stuck. I bat my lashes and hope the tears that burn like fire don’t spill over.

Stop being a baby.

Rusti watches me warily for a long few seconds. Then she reaches out and flicks the tip of my nose.

“Ouch!” I say, smacking at her hand.

“That’s so you don’t cry.” She winks at me. “Get mad instead. You’ll thank me later.”

I rub the tip of my nose. “You’re a jerk.”

“No, I’m your best friend, and best friends don’t let best friends cry in public.”

I laugh and nod. I know she doesn’t mean that. There’s nothing wrong with crying in public. But she knows that if I start down the rabbit hole of missing my mother and wondering why my grandfather—the only relative I have in the world—doesn’t want much to do with me, I’ll be digging my way out for a week.

And that will be what pisses me off.

We move forward a few spaces toward the hot dog guy.

“Just for the record,” I say. “My grandfather hasn’t called to schedule dinner with me like he said he would.”

“And, just for the record, you should be busy if he does call.” She shrugs in her Rusti way. “I don’t care how much money the man has, Dara. If he doesn’t make you a priority, especially knowing that he’s your only grandfather, then don’t prioritize him.”

“I know.”

“He’s not family by default. He’s a genetic similarity.”

She bumps my shoulder. When I look over at her, she’s flashing me a devilish grin.

“Rusti …” I warn without even knowing what she’s about to say.

Her laugh is loud. It’s bright. And it picks me up and lifts me out of the headspace I was falling into.

“Speaking of genes,” she says before biting her lip. “I know a dark-headed stud that probably has some good genes that you—Ow!” She laughs. “What are you shoving me for?”

The man in the fedora looks over his shoulder. The feather in his cap flutters in the breeze. He quirks a brow, shakes his head, and then faces front again.

“Will you quit it and behave?” I ask.

She laces her arm through mine.

We wait a few more minutes before we get to the cart. We place our orders, and then Rusti pays for our lunch. As we walk away, I thank her.

“You can pay me back,” she says, taking a bite of her hot dog.

“I’m happy to, but really, it was two dollars.”

She grins. “Not financially.”

“I’m not taking boudoir photos for Zack. He has to earn those.”

“Not that. Although …” She quickly considers, then dismisses the idea. “I was going to say that you could pay me back by having a good time at the wedding tomorrow night.”

I give her a look. “I plan on it.”

“I mean it.” She takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. “I’m happy—surprised—but happy that you agreed to go. You never do anything spontaneous or fun.”

“I do too,” I say automatically, even though I really don’t.

Rusti ignores my protest. “This is a good sign, a solid step in the right direction.”

“And what direction is that?” I ask before biting off the end of my hot dog.

“Toward … happiness. Forward progress. Resolution to all the pieces of your life that have been dangling for the past year.”

We walk quietly back toward our cars, eating our meals and lost in thought.

I’m not sure that this wedding will be a step in any direction, nor do I believe it has the power to offer resolution to anything in my life. It’s not even my wedding. But I do hope, maybe even pray, that something good comes out of it.