Her smile falters as she looks to James for backup, but he sits stiffly not listening. His eyes are cast toward the mountains. That grin is tucked away behind a pensive line set to his mouth, as if he were caught off guard by something.
“Hey, how’s photography going?” I ask, jumping to save her from Jules’s inquisition.
“I don’t get out to shoot much anymore, with work and everything.” She smooths down nonexistent flyaways. “It’s a hobby. Growing up and everything.”
“You’re incredible, though. We could go hiking while you’re here.”
“I didn’t bring my camera with me.” Ivy’s sparkle from a minute ago is replaced with a fake smile. The same kind of plastered-on look I use when someone asks about my marriage.
Mason rests one ankle across the other knee and jumps in to say, “I think it’s admirable you’re focused on your career, Ivy. Marketing’s tough. You need every edge if you want to move up.”
“Absolutely,” Tom agrees, reaching over to grab Jules’s hand. “But balance is important. Jules kicks ass at work and still makes time for what she loves. You’ll never see her give up her reading time.”
Jules leans in to whisper something in his ear. It’s hard to make Tom blush, but his toffee-colored skin flushes a burgundy red. He leans back and winks at his wife. Even after fifteen years together, and two kids, they flirt with the giddy ease of first love.
“Well,” Mason continues his lecture, ignoring Jules and Tom, “I think you need to get your master’s. It’s a shame you didn’t do it directly after undergrad. It gets harder each year to go back.”
“I’m looking into it, Mase. I’ve heard your thoughts on it. Extensively. And I’ve stopped focusing on my photography as you suggested to give more to work.” Ivy sighs and looks over at James again. He’s at least looking back at her this time, and she leans against his shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach out to touch her. Rather, his eyes cut to mine, but when he sees me watching, his gaze shoots to the mountains.
“Ivy, life is more than a series of responsibilities. You can have fun, have hobbies, and still keep those things that make you smile. Don’t give up things you love,” I say, offering a gentle smile.
While I might not have hope to cling to, she’s too young for this kind of resignation or listening to her brother’s misguided advice. Mason works fourteen-hour days and fills most evenings with networking events. Beyond watching sports, not much else holds his attention. Not exactly the epitome of work-life balance.
“Oh yes, Syd can tell you all about her fun hobbies. Reading. Running. Ice-skating. All sorts of thrills.” Mason sips his whiskey, a shit-eating grin on his face. So pleased with how clever he is.
“And what do you do for fun, Mason?” a calm, deep voice asks.
Firelight flickers as James’s voice comes out of nowhere. His face is pensive and serious as he studies Mason, clearly catching the sarcasm in my husband’s words, and from the look in his eyes, he isn’t impressed.
“You know,” Mason replies, trying to keep it light, “guy stuff. Watching sports. Going out.” He lifts a hand toward James for a high five.
James doesn’t move.
Mason’s smile fades, saving face by running his hand through his hair, playing off the dismissal. His eyes narrow to a glare that gives him away.
When I look at James, he doesn’t look away. He returns my stare and gives the slightest nod. This time I’m the one who breaks, searching the mountainside.
“As much fun as this has been,” Jules says, “who’s up for a game? Monopoly?”
I’m quick to rise, eager to escape. “I’m always game to win.”
Ivy bows out, claiming she wants to catch up with her mom. Mason, unsurprisingly, mumbles something about a basketball game and disappears. But James joins, jumping in next to me as we dig through the cabinet for the game.
“Prepare yourself,” I say. “These two don’t play Monopoly. They go to war.”
Something sly curls on his lips. “I can handle some competition. Don’t underestimate me. I play to win.”
Oh fuck. That smirk. That’s going to be a problem.
Mason and Ivy cross my mind, but I shove it aside. This is nothing. Harmless. A crush.
“Tom, get your hands off the money. I’m the banker,” Jules says, slapping his hand away and whipping my attention back to the game board.
“Okay, because there are children present,” Tom coughs dramatically and throws Jules a look. “We’re going to draw game pieces from the bag. That way it’s fair and no one fights over the coveted car.” He holds out the little velvet pouch. “James, you pick first.”
James dips in, his expression comically serious until he pulls out the car and grins, a dimple flashing crooked and unfair. “Hope you’re ready to get your asses handed to you. I’m the king of Monopoly.”
