The man beams and wishes him a happy birthday before launching into a story about Lake St. Clair. I watch Hunter nod along like he’s genuinely invested. When Hunter introduces me, Mr. Ellison pats my arm like I’m a stray dog Hunter brought home.
I let Hunter guide me from room to room. The more people we meet, the more I notice how he smooths out his edges—more polished, more agreeable, more… preppy. It makes my stomach twist, like I’m watching him slip into a version of himself I don’t recognize.
Eventually, we push through the crowded hallway into the kitchen. Shiny stainless steel appliances line the walls, including not just one, buttworefrigerators. At the marble island, a couple stands together, unmistakably his parents.
His mom is slender, her skin tone slightly darker than Hunter’s. Her black hair is styled in a glossy wave, diamond earrings catching the light. She looks like she should be on the cover of one of those lifestyle magazines.
His dad is broader, with graying blond hair and sharp features. He’s dressed in a navy blazer and a red tie, which makes him look like he belongs in a country club rather than his sons’ birthday party.
Hunter clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Hi.”
His mom gasps, sweeping him into a hug and kissing his cheek. “Happy birthday, darling! We’re so glad you could make it.”
His dad just nods, a curt acknowledgment. Definitely not the affectionate type.
Hunter gestures toward me. “Mom, Dad—this is my friend I told you about over the phone. Mason—these are my parents, Mayumi and Victor.”
Friend. It’s not wrong, but it still feels diminishing.
Victor shakes my hand, firm and practiced. “Nice to meet you.”
Before I can respond, Mayumi wraps me into a hug. “Welcome to our home!” she says. She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes soft and intent—the same warm brown as Hunter’s. “We’re so glad Hunter made a new friend in Claremont Shores.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I reply, forcing a polite smile.
“Of course,” Mayumi says with a dismissive wave. “I had the maid prepare the guest room upstairs for you.”
I blink at her, caught off guard.The maid.The words land like a brick in my stomach. That’s not a real thing in my world.
My brain scrambles for the right response. “Oh. That’s—great. Thank you.”
“We’ve missed having you home, sweetheart,” Mayumi says, turning to Hunter. “We even bought supplies to make s’mores on the fire later.”
Hunter’s face breaks into a toothy grin. “My favorite!”
Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “When he was little, Hunter always insisted on s’mores instead of cake for his birthday,” he explains to me.
The warmth between them lingers for a moment before Mayumi checks her watch. “We should excuse ourselves—the caterers just arrived.”
Victor nods, already reaching for her hand. “We’ll let you boys settle in.”
“Alright,” Hunter says quietly, watching them disappear down the hallway.
The party noise seeps back in—laughter, music, the clink of glasses. We leave the hush of the kitchen and merge into the sea of bodies. Hunter breathes out and lets his hand drift to my waist, guiding me forward. His touch barely lingers at the small of my back, fingers hovering above my shirt, but it’s enough to keep me afloat.
***
The patio hums with chatter, every seat filled with people laughing too loudly, drinks balanced precariously on end tables. In the center, a gas firepit flickers in the dark, painting orange shadows on surrounding faces. The cool nighttime air carries the scents of freshly cut grass.
Hunter and I have squeezed onto a teakwood loveseat, clutching half-empty champagne flutes. Landon sits in the chair next to us with his girlfriend, Kara, perched comfortably against his side.
Across from them, Derek—the childhood best friend Hunter once told me about—shares a seat with his fiancé, Oliver. Derek is a short, chubby, happy-go-lucky guy with a mop of thick red hair and a lumberjack beard. Oliver is his complete opposite—dark brown skin, slender, tall, and quiet.
Normally, I hate parties. Too many voices, too many bodies crammed into one space. But with Hunter pressed against me, I don’t mind. My arm drapes along the back of the loveseat, fingers brushing the slope of his shoulder.
“Don’t fret, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve arrived!”
The commanding voice cuts through the laughter. A blond man strides in, muscles stuffed into a shirt two sizes too small. Designer sunglasses rest on his face, even though the sun vanished from the sky hours ago. His arm hooks tight around the waist of a petite brunette girl.
