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My dad nodded approvingly. I was speaking from the heart and making Frank proud. But Paula had an axe to grind.
“Mason loves you, Janie,” she said slowly. “But you left him during his time of need.”
I needed to clarify.
“First things first,” I said peremptorily. “So you know about me and your son?”
The older woman nodded, her face neutral.
“Your dad told me, Janie, and at first I couldn’t believe it. Not when … well, never mind. Let’s just say it was shocking to find out that our kids wanted to associate intimately,” she choked a little.
“And?” I pressed.
“But your dad convinced me,” she continued, nodding at Frank. “You’re adults after all, and it’s not against the law. We can’t dictate what our grown children choose to do together.”
I was a little taken aback. It sounded as if Paula had accepted the fact that Mason and I were a couple -- or were once a couple -- with surprising ease. But my stepmother wasn’t done yet.
“More than anything, I want my son to be happy,” she said in a firm tone. “And he’s not. It’s not just that he hasn’t done any public appearances. It’s that he hasn’t stepped out, period. Mason’s become a hermit, hiding from life. He’s young, he’s healthy and full of promise, and I can’t let my son go on like this.”
I interrupted here.
“But where does that leave me?” I asked. “I mean, he cheated on me, at least sort-of. While we were dating, Mason took up with Vanity. He admitted it himself. They were exchanging texts so it’s not like she was some stranger.”
Paula nodded. “They exchanged texts, but Janie, you took that as the be all end all. Mason never dated that floozy. If anything, she was just a desperate older woman trying to get some attention. And people make mistakes. After all, look at Anthony Weiner. The New York politician tanked his own career by chatting with underage girls online. Please remember the fact that Mason never met up with Vanity.”
I nod.
“I get it, but still.”
My stepmother sighed.
“Janie, Vanity is crazy,” said Paula, pulling a book out of her purse. “This proves it.”
I looked on with surprise because the book was a big, hard-back one. The cover was hot pink with a picture of Vanity on the front styled to look like a 40’s movie star, her hair done in glossy blonde waves. The title was, Breaking Through the Looking Glass: Male to Female, Vanity Style.
My mouth hung open, stunned. Wow, this chick had written an autobiography? She clearly a lot of baggage.
But Paula paged through to a well-worn passage, and I could see it was in the chapter titled, “Mason and Me.” His mom directed my attention to a few choice items.
“Janie, read this here,” she said, pointing. “Vanity goes on and on about her relationship with Mason. She claims he acted in a porn film with her, and that they used to frequent McDonald’s together. She also claims he was doping and that she’s the only one who knows which drugs he used. You know those things aren’t true about my son.”
I’m ashamed to say, but I actually took some time to think it over. I was hurt after all, and I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. But it didn’t take long because Paula was right.
There was no way Mason would do porn because he’s not that kind of guy. Nor would he ever touch a thing from McDonald’s because you don’t win gold medals by eating fake cheeseburgers. And doping? No way. Olympic athletes are subject to random drug testing any time of day, and at any location too. Vanity was absolutely, certifiably delusional.
As a result, I started feeling sorry for my nemesis. I could see this was Vanity’s desperate cry for attention, a swan song of sorts, even as she tried to capitalize on her five minutes of fame.
Slowly, I shut the book.
“Paula, thanks for coming over. I know what I have to do,” I said with finality. “Mason’s waiting.”
The older woman nodded, and I saw my parents out. As the door shut, my heart thudded because I knew I’d been wrong, and that redemption would come in the form of my stepbrother, my lover.
21
Mason
Life was awful until Janie risked her reputation by coming forward. I’d been holed up in my condo, avoiding the wreck my life had become and hoping I could tune it out with a shit-ton of alcohol and endless baseball games on TV. But a ring from my cellphone woke me from my stupor on the couch.
Fuck, it was Jim. I was so tempted to chuck my phone against the wall rather than talk to this asshole, but I relented at the last moment.
“What?” I growled into the receiver, none too pleased.
“I’m glad you’re so cheery,” came Jim’s high-pitched voice. “Anyways just calling to tell you good luck with rehab, big boy. Everyone loves a good comeback story.”
