Lemonade (WLGYL #2)

Chapter 21 - Past

"Emma, this is an emergency." Jessie pointed to the two tops she had laid out on her bed. "Which shirt do I wear tonight?"

Jessie only turned nineteen once, and she was sure to make it count. We were in our hometown for the weekend, one of our first times back together in months. Caleb was at school, getting ready for midterms. I missed him too, but we'd FaceTime him later.

There was one Masterson I didn't quite want to see.

He was back too, wanting to see Jessie on her birthday. I couldn't blame him for that, but that didn't mean I was ready to see him. It had been a few months since our breakup, and even though I had noticed him in passing since then, there was never a need for conversation. I hadn't seen him yet — he was seemingly avoiding the house since I showed up.

"The red one," I said, pointing to a spaghetti strap crop top.

"Hmm," Jessie contemplated. "Good choice." Red made her tan skin pop, and she knew it. Even in October Jessie couldn't lose a tan.

"So, what exactly is the plan tonight?" I turned my brain off of Mason Masterson, and back onto Jessie and her birthday.

"Em, keep up, I've told you this three times already!"

I laughed. "I'm sorry, Jessie, your plans are always a mile-a-minute, too fast for me to comprehend."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Okay, so we start at O'Reilly's — we'll have to use our fakes — then we'll end at Jester's since they never card anyway."

Crawling to our hometown bars didn't totally seem like my ideal night — I knew they'd be riddled with kids from our high school — but I would do whatever Jessie wanted.

"Sounds like a plan, Stan," I said.

Jessie grabbed the shirt and gave me a big smacking kiss on my cheek. "I'm gonna finish my makeup. Go make a drink!" she said, before heading towards the bathroom.

I nodded, a smile on my face. I loved college, and I loved California, and I loved my friends. Amara was my best friend there, but she wasn't Jessie. They were different, and I loved them just how they were, but Jessie knew every single thing about me. It was hard to beat history sometimes.

It had been a while since I had been in the Masterson house. I had visited home, of course, but my visits didn't always coincide with Jessie's or Caleb's. I paid extra attention to the frames lining the wall against the stairs: baby pictures, family pictures, vacations. Everything that made the Mastersons who they were. I saw pre-teen Caleb with glasses and braces, holding a boogie board. Fourth-grade Jessie on skis with her dad in Colorado. Mrs. Masterson holding a drink at Margaritaville in Mexico. And I saw baby Mason with chubby red cheeks and messy hair; he'd clearly just woken up from a nap. My heart swelled. It would always have a place for him. For all of them.

"Hey, Mom?" I paused. I would know that voice anywhere. I had just seen his chubby cheeks on the wall. Mrs. Masterson responded, the rest of their conversation muffled, but that didn't distract me from the inevitable.

Mason was home.

Part of me desperately wanted to hide in Jessie's room, but I didn't want to be a coward. I couldn't avoid him for the rest of my life, not if I wanted Caleb and Jessie and their parents still in it.

My movements slow, I made my way down the stairs. In the kitchen, I saw him. His back was to me, his hands rummaging through cabinets and bags of chips. "Mom—" he turned around, his jaw slack. "You're not my mom," he finally said.

"I would hope not," I said, not sure I trusted what else would come out of my mouth. It was our first conversation in months. He'd called me when I first started school, left a voicemail and everything. When I called back, he never responded. Now, there was nothing left to say.