22. Mason #2
“If this is some ploy to boss me around all morning, I want it on record that I didn’t have a choice,” she says, going to put her bag down on a table and then thinking better of it when she sees its current state. “And I’m not into that kink.”
“Trust me,” I tell her, handing her a fresh trash bag and motioning for her to give me her bag to put somewhere safe and not exposed to all the diseases that are currently probably having a rager in this room, “if I wanted to boss people around, I’d pick someone who listens.”
She makes a face before actually thinking about it. “Yeah, no, that would make more sense. I guess I just didn’t know if you were smart enough to realize that.”
“You’re on cup duty. Start over there.” I point to the cluster of side tables by the windows. “Everything that’s plastic or paper goes in the bag. Anything that’s glass, put on the counter. And if you find my dignity anywhere, let me know. I lost it around midnight.”
“Oh, trust me, I saw it run out the front door last night when you were letting the girls use you like a human stripper pole on top of—“ She looks around and then points to the pool table. “—that table right there. It ain’t coming back.”
I smirk and go back to pulling empty beer cans out of the bookshelf. “You wound me, girl.”
For a while, it’s just noise and movement—trash crinkling, bottles clinking, and music turned loud enough to keep the energy going. The house slowly shifts from ‘crime scene’ to ‘college pigsty,’ which is about the best we ever get around here.
“Do you guys ever…clean when you haven’t been threatened by the school?” Simone asks after a bit, moving over to the coffee table to stack cups.
“Define clean,” I say.
She shoots me a look. “Like…wipe things. Use soap. Mop.”
“We use the Swiffer sometimes,” I say. “You’d be surprised what a candle and Febreze can do.”
She makes a fake gagging sound. “Y’all are disgusting.”
“You’re the one hanging out in a frat house on a Saturday morning, babe,” I tell her. “Bad decisions all around.”
She just rolls her eyes, immune to me.
“I didn’t volunteer to be here. Madison sentenced us,” she says. “This is like…Greek jail.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to hell.” I gesture around. “Population: us.”
She starts wiping down the coffee table with disinfectant wipes that someone finally found under the sink. “I don’t get how you can live like this.”
“Easily,” I say. “I normally just stay up in my room where it’s actually clean and only come down here for the booze, parties, or pool table.”
She squints at me. “You have a weird relationship with that pool table.”
I just shrug, smiling at her. “So what’s it like at Gamma then?” I ask. “You guys have chore charts or something?”
“Yeah, actually,” she tells me. “We have house duties. Rotating schedule. Kitchen, bathrooms, living room, yard, etc. We have…standards.”
“Wow.” I toss another cup into the bag. “Imagine having those.”
“You should try it sometime,” she says. “Could change your life.”
“I think it’s too late for me.”
We move around each other easily, bumping shoulders here and there, trading off trash bags when one gets full, and talking shit about the state of this place.
“So, you like it?” I eventually ask. “Gamma?”
She nods, pushing her hair out of her face with her wrist since her hands are full. “Yeah. It’s…a lot. But I’m glad I rushed. I like having a lot of people around. It feels like a huge built-in family.”
I watch for a moment as she keeps messing with the loose curls from her bun that are falling into her face and obviously irritating her.
Eventually, I stop what I’m doing and walk over to her, stepping behind her and stopping her from moving by putting my hands on her shoulders.
“Here,” I say, pulling the strands up and tucking them back into her hair tie, “watching you struggle was bothering me.”
She turns and glares at me, inches from my face.
“Thank you.”
“That sounded hard to get out,” I tease.
She laughs and then moves around the couch, leaning over to grab some cups from behind it. Her phone starts ringing in her back pocket, and she straightens up, pulling it out.
I point at her. “No phones during punishment. House rules.”
“Relax,” she says, squinting at the screen. Her whole face brightens in an instant. “This employee needs a break.”
I shake my head, smiling, and wave her off.
She answers and turns slightly away, but she’s close enough that I can still hear.
“Hey, you,” she says into the phone, all soft now. “Yeah, I’m at the Sig house. They destroyed the house last night, so Madison dragged us over to help them fix it.”
She glances at me like she’s amused. Then, on the phone, says, “No, it’s just Mason and me right now. The Sig guy I told you about. Everyone got paired up like a buddy system to get bossed around.”
The Sig guy I told you about.
She’s quiet, listening for a second, then looks up at me. “Tyler said, ‘What’s up, man,’” she relays.
I nod automatically. “What’s up?” I say toward the phone like he can hear me.
She covered the bottom of the phone with her hand for a second, muffling her words. “No, I’m not telling him that,” she mutters, then sighs and rolls her eyes, giggling. “You’re so annoying.”
Now I’m curious.
“What’d he say?” I ask.
She pulls the phone away from her face just enough to look at me. “He told me to tell you to keep an eye on me. Make sure I’m not getting into any trouble, as if I need a babysitter.”
I snort. “I’ve seen her fall off a table, dancing,” I say loud enough to try to get him to hear. “A babysitter would be useful.”
She flips me off, and it makes me laugh at how serious she’s trying to make her face right now.
“Simone Sitter is my new title,” I tease.
She groans. “Don’t call it that. That sounds terrible.”
I suck my teeth sarcastically. “Too late. It’s already on my résumé.”
She goes back to the call, shaking her head, voice back to that soft tone, and I try not to listen.
The conversation seems to go from a happy tone to a serious one, and I watch Simone’s face drop a little by the end of the conversation.
“I know,” she murmurs. “I miss you too. Yeah…I’ll call you tonight after the Gamma meeting. Okay…love you.”
She hangs up and slips her phone back into her pocket, letting out a slow breath.
“Everything good?” I ask, grabbing another full trash bag and tying it off.
“Yeah,” she says quickly. “He’s just being…Tyler.” She shrugs it off. “Let’s finish, so Madison can release us from this torture.”
We go back to work, and I keep bossing her around, giving her a hard time about missing spots or being too slow, but every time something’s too heavy or too nasty, I handle it, not wanting her to do it.
“Can you grab that cup off that top shelf?” she asks, pointing up at a ledge above the TV.
“I feel like you’re always using me for my height,” I say, reaching up easily and grabbing it.
“Gotta get something out of this friendship,” she teases.
“Wow,” I say, playfully shaking my head. “Using me for labor. You’re just like my father.” The joke slips out before I can stop it.
She glances up at me. “Are you and your dad…close?”
I snort. “Yeah. Super close. We bond over him telling me everything I do wrong and constantly reminding me that he never wanted me. It’s a very healthy and beautiful relationship.”
Her lips part a little, like she isn’t sure if she’s allowed to laugh at that or not.
“I’m…sorry,” she says finally. “That sucks.”
I shrug, stacking up a pile of plastic plates. “It is what it is.”
We go back to silently cleaning, and I don’t like it. I like talking to her. I like knowing more about her.
“Do you have parents who love you?” I ask, trying to be funny and lighten up the mood.
She shakes her head, laughing at me. “Um, yeah…you could say that.”
“What does that mean?”
She tries to lift a full trash bag that probably weighs a ton, and it doesn’t budge.
I walk around the couch to her and move her hands, take the bag, and set it near the door with all the others that need to be taken out.
“Spill.”
She shakes her head a little. “No, it’s nothing bad. I mean, my mom loves me…and I think my dad does too.”
“You think?” I ask, hating how her voice sounds small, saying that.
“Yeah,” she shrugs. “I mean, he’s around. He loves me how he knows how to, providing and giving me a home with a mom and dad in it who are together and don’t really argue too much…well, he doesn’t ever argue at least; my mom can definitely get feisty.”
“So it’s genetic?” I tease.