Chapter 13
Mason
I’m standing in the living room, staring at Megan as she eagerly points out the new decorations she picked up on her trip into town, a trip I thought was just for groceries.
“It’s…it looks great,” I say, my voice coming out a little too high-pitched to sound natural. I clear my throat, trying to recover.
The stuff is mostly white, a few brown things, and then…purple. And pink. A lot of it.
She’s still talking, waving her hand toward the mantle like she’s hosting her own HGTV show. “I thought the dark purple would make it feel more cozy, you know?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
Then she heads toward the linen closet, and my stomach drops. I know that look.
“Now,” she says, grinning, “I saved the best for last.”
She pulls out a rolled-up rug and sets it on the floor. I freeze as she unrolls it. It’s pink. Not fully pink, but a lot of it. Bohemian style, little flowers everywhere.
“Oh.” I nod slowly. “It’s a little early to be shopping for the nursery, Meg, don’t you think? I mean, what if we don’t have a girl?”
She blinks at me, confused. “Nursery? Mason, this is for in here. The living room.”
“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Okay, got ya. Yeah, I mean—”
“It’s cute, right?!” she asks, eyes bright.
“Adorable,” I say, biting my tongue hard.
My dad’s voice echoes in my head—happy wife, happy life—like it’s on a loop.
“I just need help putting it in place,” she says, kneeling down.
“Right. Sure thing.”
I slide the coffee table out of the way and grab the other end of the rug. A tag flutters loose as we roll it out, landing face up in front of me. I glance down and stop cold.
“Two ninety-nine?” I say, picking it up. Then louder, “Two hundred and ninety-nine dollars?! Tell me that’s a joke.”
Megan’s face goes still, like she didn’t expect me to notice. “No. Rugs are expensive, Mason.”
“Holy—” I start, but clamp my mouth shut when I catch her expression. She looks…embarrassed. Small. Like she didn’t mean to make me mad.
I exhale, trying to reel it back in. “Alright,” I say finally, forcing a laugh. “No more rugs after this one though. This one better last a lifetime.”
That gets a smile out of her. It’s soft, real.
“Deal,” she says, leaning in to smooth out a corner.
I grin back, but mine’s mostly to cover the frustration boiling in my chest.
As she fusses with the edges, humming like everything’s perfect, I look around my once neutral living room, seeing the thin glass, the florals, the pink rug, and I realize this is what marriage looks like.
It’s a lot of compromise.
And, apparently, a lot of pink.
* * *
The next morning, Megan’s up before the sun.
Her alarm goes off at six, and less than five minutes later she’s already moving through the house, curling her hair with one hand and sipping coffee with the other. She’s got a teacher workday—some kind of meeting before the kids come back tomorrow—and I don’t have to be in until later.
She kisses me goodbye on her way out, and when the door shuts, it’s quiet and the faint smell of her perfume lingers in the air. And then my eyes land on that pink rug in the middle of the living room. The thing practically glows in the early morning light.
By eight thirty, I’m pulling into Jesse’s driveway. He’s got the hood up on his truck, a rachet in one hand, frustration written all over his face.
“Morning,” I call, climbing out of my truck.
He straightens, squinting against the sun. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Interior Design himself.”
I stop midstep. “What?”
He smirks. “That rug, man. Megan sent Ella a picture last night.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Of course she did.”
“She said she was ‘making the cabin cozy.’” Jesse grins.
I groan. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pink, Mason.”
“Not all pink. Just…enough to ruin my masculinity.”
Jesse throws his head back, laughing. “Welcome to marriage. Whatever’s yours is hers now.”
I shrug. “I just wish it wasn’t costing us three hundred dollars.”
“Three hundred?” He chokes on the words.
I choose not to repeat myself.
“Anyway,” I say, stepping closer to the truck, “what’s wrong this time?”
“She cranks, won’t turn over,” he says. “Fuel filter or pump.”
“Well, did you check them?”
“Nope. That’s why you’re here.”
I laugh, stepping up on a bucket to get a better look.
A few minutes later, Cody’s truck rumbles in. He hops out looking like he’s ready to rescue us from our own stupidity—standard older-brother energy.
“Alright, I can’t stay long, both girls have doctor’s appointments I’m going along to.” He walks closer, nodding at me. “Mase, saw the rug. I picked you for a duller pink kinda guy.”
Jesse barks out a laugh.
I punch Cody in the arm. “Shut up, man.”
“Probably doesn’t even bother you,” he teases.
“I mean, she redecorated quite a bit. A little more than I thought. Moved the bear, which…I gotta talk to Dad. He helped with that one.”
Both of them laugh, because of course Dad helped.
“Well, you either deal with it or say something,” Cody says.
“He’d never say something,” Jesse adds.
“Not mean,” Cody says, “just honest. Tell her how you feel.”
“That what you do?” Jesse presses. “Mr. Matching Christmas Pajamas last year?”
“I’ll have you know that the bribery on her end for that was immaculate,” Cody fires back.
Jesse just shakes his head and lets it go, and we get back to work on the truck.
A few cusswords from each of us every so often, tools clattering…just a typical morning.
Finally, Cody says exactly what I’m thinking: “Why don’t you just sell this thing? It’s—”
“I’m not selling it,” Jesse snaps.
“Why? You could buy a—”
“I don’t care,” he cuts in. “Ella would kill me.”
“Oh, now who’s whipped?” Cody says.
Jesse shrugs. “I’m not disagreeing with her. This truck holds a lot of memories. I’m not selling it.”
Cody groans. “That’s real cute and all, and I’m sure you’d win husband of the year for it, but it’s—”
“The truck stays.” Jesse wipes his brow. “You guys can bury me in it. I don’t care. It’s staying.”
I look at Cody—he’s smiling, shaking his head like there’s no helping Jesse.
Another fifteen minutes pass.
“Try it now,” I say.
The engine coughs, sputters, then roars to life.
“There she goes.” I grin, wiping my hands on the rag.
Jesse kills the ignition and steps out. “Alright. Thanks, guys.”
Cody checks the time, already heading for his truck. “Yeah, I’ll send you the bill then.”
We laugh, watching him drive off.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders. “I should get back home too. Make sure Megan didn’t get rid of my bathroom reading material or something.”
Jesse laughs hard at that as I head toward my truck, already wondering what color she’ll try to sneak in next.