Chapter Thirteen Mason （In Daphne’s Body）
S omehow, Sunday family dinner with the team ended up getting moved from the team house to Maeve and Daphne’s place.
I’ve yet to decide if this is a good or bad idea, but my gut says it’ll be terrible because I’ll now have to listen to my teammates flirt with Daphne when, unknowingly, they’ll be flirting with me.
This is going to be a disaster.
For food, I planned something simple that Daphne will be able to pull off, cooking in my body. Besides, I spent the last hour prepping everything that could be done ahead of time to help her even more.
Potato chips are in bowls on the counter. Gluten-free pasta salad’s already made and ready in the fridge. Drinks are lined up on the top shelf, next to a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade.
All Daphne has to do is grill hot dogs and the hamburgers that are ready to go. I gave her some pointers since she’s never grilled before and had her watch a YouTube video that she said helped a lot.
I think she’s excited for another challenge. It makes me want to come up with a thousand more things we can do together that will pull out this side of her.
Maeve and Jackson have been outside, practicing their cornhole skills, thankfully living in their own love bubble and keeping their distance from us. It gave Daphne and me the privacy we needed to plan everything out.
“Hey, make sure you set some pasta and chips aside for you,” Daphne tells me, walking back into the kitchen from the bathroom.
“Wait, why? It’s all gluten-free.”
She looks at me like I’m stupid, and I suppose when it comes to the details of living with celiac disease, I am.
“Tell me. Please.”
“It may be gluten-free right now, but it’s likely to get contaminated when people start dishing up.”
I hang on her every word, eager to learn everything I can so I can make sure I never accidentally hurt her.
“Hold on.”
She grabs two paper bowls—a must-have for a grill day since it just doesn’t taste the same if you eat it on fancy dishes—and starts scooping out pasta salad.
“If the spoon were to touch a hot dog bun right now while I’m doing this, it would get mixed in with the rest of the food.
Same for chips. Someone eats a hot dog or hamburger and grabs a handful of chips, gluten is now all over that, and everything’s contaminated. ”
Damn. Honestly, I just never really thought about how specific everything had to be. These last couple of days, she’s been handing me what to eat and telling me what to avoid. I haven’t had to think about it too much.
“Got it,” I state, mentally memorizing every word she says.
“So, now”—she fills up the other bowl with chips—“you don’t have to worry about someone messing your food up. Just make sure to keep them tucked away and covered so no one gets confused.”
I nod as a question pops into my mind. “Do I get any buns? Or do I just eat them without it?”
“Yes, you get buns.” She grabs a grocery bag from on top of the fridge.
“For hamburgers at least. I’ve never found a hot dog bun that even compares to the real thing.
Most crumble and fall to pieces just from being touched.
But these?” She holds a sealed pack of rolls up.
“These are the best things ever. I use them for sandwiches, hamburgers, you name it. I’ve even cut hot dogs in half and eaten them like that on a bun. ”
I read the label. Schar ciabatta rolls . Yellow and white on clear packaging. Noted. I’ll remember that for later.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her, leaning against the kitchen island, studying her intently.
“As in cooking or like existentially because I’m still stuck in your body?” She rests her hands on the counter.
I bite back a chuckle. “Both.”
“I feel fine about grilling. It seems pretty straightforward. And as for this?” She gestures between us. “I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever find a way to switch back.”
Her eyes water, and my heart sinks.
“Don’t cry. I promise you, we’ll find a way. Somehow.”
She blinks away the wetness and the walls that usually exist in her stare. “This transferring school thing would have been a whole lot easier if I could’ve spent this year avoiding you.”
My chest twists with a blade at her raw confession. I know this has been hard on her. Even more so that I’ve never given her any kind of explanation, which she deserves.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Daph—” My voice is pained, and I’m abruptly interrupted when Maeve and Jackson walk back inside.
Of course they come in right when we’re about to have a real conversation.
“Tonight is going to be amazing!” Maeve sings and prances over to me, throwing her arm around my shoulders. “And we’re all going to have so much fun.”
She eyes Daphne extra hard on the word fun .
As if on cue, the front door swings open, and Ross and Chet walk in like they own the place.
“Party’s here!” Chet cheers, lifting two cases of beer into the air as Ross laughs beside him. “Oh, this place is beautiful!”
“Thank God. I was worried tonight would be a dud if you didn’t show up,” Daphne scoffs and crosses her arms.
Hmm, my arms actually look huge in that position.
Chet walks over to the fridge and opens the door before immediately closing it and setting the cases on the counter next to it. “We’ll have to find some room for these bad boys.”
“Are the two cases in there not enough?” I chuckle, and Chet lights up with excitement at my tease.
I quickly remember that he thinks it’s Daphne giving him shit, not me. Oh God, this fuck probably thinks I’m flirting with him.
Chet winks at me and wets his lips. “Clearly, you haven’t seen me at a party, shortcake.”
I laugh, and it takes everything in me not to actually gag from hearing one of my best friends say that while winking at me.
I push off from the island, not even entertaining his comment. “I’ll be right back.”
The front door swings open, and Zach and Brock walk through. The noise level instantly increases by ten.
Taking a moment to have a bit of peace before everyone else shows up, I slip upstairs and head into Daphne’s room.
When I plop down on her bed, a jolt of pain shoots through my abdomen. Oh my God, that was weird.
It happens again, but this time, it lasts twice as long, an aching throb following the jolt.
What the hell?
Repositioning myself on the bed, I stretch out, lying flat on my back, and I wait.
Nothing happens for another minute, but then—fuck—it’s back.
Oh God, did I accidentally eat something I shouldn’t have? Is the gluten attacking me?
My panic skyrockets as the pain lingers longer and longer each time. I take controlled breaths in and out, and the pain deepens somehow, feeling like an earthquake happening inside of me. Now my lower back even hurts too.
Holy shit, I think her body is shutting down.
My eyes start watering, and I wonder if I’m going crazy since that’s the only reasonable explanation. Her body is malfunctioning and producing tears.
I know I’m frustrated, but the lump in my throat and tears on my cheeks seem excessive.
Ripping my phone from my pocket, I call Daphne, and she answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
I whisper-shout into the phone, “Get up here right now. I think I’m dying!”
“What?” She scoffs and walks away from the sound of loud conversation. “I’m coming.”
She ends the call, and I hold my lower abdomen, breathing carefully and holding the stuffed skunk, Pepper, from her bed for my sudden need for emotional support.
The door bursts open, and Daphne rushes inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m dying. I think my organs are shutting down.” I sniffle, the tears not slowing. “And your eyes are watering like crazy.” My voice cracks, and I don’t think this could get more humiliating.
Until she bursts out laughing, her head tipping back and hand flying to her chest. “Oh, this is great.”
With my voice soft, I yell at her, “What is the matter with you? Fix this!”
With her hand covering her shit-eating-grin, she walks over to the side of the bed and sits down, planting a gentle hand on my leg. “I didn’t think I was going to have to have this talk with you, Mason.”
“I’m so goddamn confused,” I mutter breathlessly.
She giggles. “You’re not dying. I promise.” She presses her lips together, fighting back a laugh. “You’re getting your period. I’m guessing the pain you’re feeling is just little warm-up cramps that I get a couple of days before my actual period comes.”
The world fucking stops.
There’s no way.
There is no way that she goes through this?—
My brain finally registers what she said. “Hold the fuck up. Did you say warm-up cramps ? They get worse than this ?”
“Is this the first time you’ve noticed that pain, or has it happened before?”
“This is the first time.” I rub my stomach, trying to soothe the ache.
“Then, yeah, those are little pregame cramps. The real ones will start in a couple of days, give or take.”
“Nope, nope, nope . We’re not doing that.” A tear rolls down my cheek. “Oh, dear God, make this stop.”
She giggles again, and even though I wish I were making her laugh some other way, I’m glad that this pain is worthwhile for something.
“It’ll go away. They usually come in sporadic waves.
This will pass.” She walks over to her nightstand and grabs a bottle of pills.
“Here, take two of these. It’ll help.” She grabs a tissue and hands that to me too.
“However, the pills won’t help with the hormone spikes.
You’ll have to manage those on your own. ”
The world seems heavier than before with this newfound knowledge.
I knew that periods existed and that women experienced them every month, but I didn’t think that they hurt this damn much. They should be resting at home the entire time, not out playing sports, going to work, expected to perform the same as they do when they’re not going through it.
I have gigantic respect for this, more than I did before. I wish everybody could experience this pain once just to understand what our mothers, sisters, and other women in our life go through.