How to Steal Mason's Heart

TEN

After confronting him about his bruises, we never talked about it. I never brought up about what happened last Tuesday but when I did, he would suddenly close himself off around me, his expression guarded, void of any emotion.

He phoned me early on a Saturday morning to get dressed because he said it was urgent. My face was dripping in my saliva while my curly hair looked like I hadn’t been showering for days. It was in a perturbed mess. A homeless man even looked more attractive than I did.

“So what makes you wake me up on such an early morning?!” I complained once I set foot on his house. It was a surprise it was a little messy, some medicine bottles scattering on the floor. Jason was picking them up and placed them inside a medicine cabinet.

He gave me a refreshing smile, vacuuming all of the dust on the floor. I took off my shoes and placed them inside the shoe rack while he grabbed a mop and started cleaning up the floor. Sweat beads trailed around his forehead.

“We’re going to Walmart today!” he exclaimed, clapping his fingers like a conductor starting an orchestra. I walked towards the kitchen to where he was in, grabbing the mop that was encircled around his hands, and did the chore that he was doing.

“Hey!” he yelled, stealing the mop away from my clutch, keeping it inside the bathroom, where other cleaning materials were also stashed.

He held my hand on his, my stomach fluttering against my will, his rough palm tickling my soft one. He led me towards an old truck, which was definitely older than I did, the colour of the truck peeling off, and rust starting to dominate over it.

“This was my mom’s prized possession,” he said out of nowhere as he let me inside his mom’s car, the smell of air fresheners attacking my senses. A wistful smile was on his face as he roared the engine to life, his eyes distant once more as if he held a memory that was too unpleasant for him.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked. I noticed I never saw his mother inside their household and during Greyson’s fourteenth birthday, I only saw his father who looked like the carrier of the Ward genes. Greyson, Jason and Mason resembled their father a lot but he had more prominent features most especially his hair was greying while his forehead was etched in wrinkles. He had blue eyes and brown hair just like the three of them but was tanner than them.

Jason stiffened at my question, gripping the steering wheel with much force than he had on. He did not look at me in the eye, his vision focused on the road, the tresses of trees passing by the windows. I held his hand that was on the car’s gear but he immediately recoiled away from my touch as if I was burning him.

“She’s out…” he trailed off, sounding so broken, “somewhere.”

My mouth was sealed shut after his reply, not interfering him about his personal life. He held too much secrets I wanted to know and I was dying for him to tell me because he looked so burdened around it.

No secret was held private. It would always be out in the open sooner or later.

He parked the truck in Walmart, the large sign hanging on the building. He grabbed a cart and the automatic doors allowed us to enter, varieties of products were sold lying on different containers. He smiled brightly as he went to the vegetable section, different arrays of greeneries splashing our vision.

He grabbed a celery and inspected it with his blue eyes, scrutinizing every detail of it. I stood holding the cart, waiting for him to place the green vegetable on the cart but he discarded it, scrunching his nose in disapproval.

“The celery looks fine, Jase,” I told him. He turned his back away from me, a grin slipping off his features.

“It’s not as healthy as it looks. And did you just call me Jase?” he replied, sounding like an expert as if he was Chef Gordon Ramsey from Masterchef.

I flushed to where I was standing, my lips about to part but my voice disappeared, disabling me to retort at his answer.

He poked my belly, making me glare at him. I poked his cheek and he poked my belly again, while I flinched with the tickles, my mouth producing a rich laugh out of my throat.

“S-stop it Jason!” I chastised in between laughs but he wouldn’t stop until a voice cleared its throat, making him stop from what he was doing.

Courtney’s mother stood tall and proud with a basket slung on her elbow, filled with fresh milk, cereals and meat, with a stern look on her face. Mrs. Dunst wasn’t an intimidating person but right now, she looked scary, based on her lips thinning and her green eyes gazing at us sharply.

“Mrs. Dunst,” I greeted and she smiled warmly at me but as her eyes flickered over to Jason, her expression had gone cold.

“See you on Thanksgiving,” she warmly said towards me but her eyes went daggers once she looked over to Jason. I gave him a confused look in which he returned by mirroring my expression. He shrugged his shoulders and continued putting random vegetables on the cart.

We were already at the section where potatoes were lying peacefully on a square black container, the yellowish brown colour attracting me.

“Oh, potatoes!” I squealed, plonking as much as healthy potatoes I could find. Jason was chuckling behind my back, stopping my hand from laying more on our cart that was about to get full. I gave him a rueful smile. His hand was still on mine and I stared at it, my eyes trailing towards Jason who seemed nonchalant about it.

“We’re friends so there’s nothing wrong if I hold your hand,” he said once I sent him an accusing look. He removed his hand on mine, the cold air swishing against my fingers. I placed them inside my jean pockets, Jason pushing the cart towards the fruit section.

Yellows were placed on one spot while reds like apples and strawberries were at the centre and the blue-coloured fruits were at the side lines. Jason picked a bunch of bananas and examined it with his laser-like eyes but my hands had snatched them away from him, shooting it inside the shopping cart.

His eyes shot me a playful glare but I stuck my tongue out childishly but he kissed my cheek which caught me out of my guard. My cheeks had gone warm, sporting a bright red colour in front of him. He gave me a smirk, his blue eyes twinkling in mischief while my heart did somersaults.

Stop it, will you?

The subconscious of my head scolded my thrumming heart but it only had gotten worse, making me groan under my breath.

“Let’s go, i***t,” he commanded. “We’re going to cook for today’s lesson.”

“What?!” my mouth shrieked, my ears ringing in alarm like those sirens of the fire trucks. “I don’t even know how to cook!” I cried, my eyebrows drawing together while my brown eyes pleaded. It wasn’t effective because he nonchalantly shrugged my indirect request.

We were at the counter, the cashier whose face looking bored greeted us monotonously. “Good morning.”

“Ryan!” Jason exclaimed in a more enthusiastic response, clapping Ryan’s hard back. His black bangs was sealed by a rubber band, his black eyes sweeping past us. He replied with a nod at Jason.

The food were scanned, his hands fluidly packing them inside the brown paper bag.

“That would be twenty-five dollars and sixty-nine cents,” he announced, snapping his fingers.

Jason leaned towards me, his breath tickling against my thin pink shirt. “Do you have, um, some spare dollars you could lend?” His voice was timid as he asked me but I mindlessly handed him ten dollars, the savings I had in my wallet that was only good for a day spending.

“Thank you, Alex,” he said, his eyes filled with gratitude. I shook the gesture off.

+ + + +

His house smelled of roses and artificial oranges that was too pungent for my liking. He was already removing the contents of the bag.

“Come here, Alexa,” he called, his finger gesturing me to stand beside him. I followed without any complaint, my eyes wandering over the quaint kitchen the Ward family had. Brown cabinets were mounted under the ceiling, the glass doors transparently showing different coloured mugs, and porcelain plates that had never been touched by the looks of it.

“Number two,” Jason announced, distracting me from my own trance, “Mason likes girls who know how to cook.”

My stomach did an unpleasant twirl, my throat almost puking with the bile rising on my throat. “Oh my god,” I whimpered, “I think I shall sit this lesson out.” I was already balancing my ankles, my feet going light as my eyes were already trained for the exit. But before I was about to run, Jason had already had his grip around my arm, hindering me from going out of his house.

“Nuh uh,” he said, shaking his index finger at me while he waved his head sideways with disapproval lingering on his eyes. “You’re going to cook and I will teach you how,” he said, a smile flitting on his lips which made me feel comfortable, my heart slowing its pace to a normal beat.

“You’re going to cook today a dish you know or a dish that is from your country,” he explained, laying the ingredients on the counter top, the greyish black colour making me focus on them instead. “I will help you how to cook of course,” he further said, bringing out the condiments that were at the very edge of the cabinet.

He was tall enough to get them. The basics were there: salt, pepper, sugar.

“My mom taught me a dish once,” I told him, my hands shaking as I took the fresh meat from the freezer of their double-doored fridge. “The dish’s name is humba.”

Jason laughed heartily, his voice sounded like music to my ears. It wasn’t insulting, more likely he was laughing out of pure humour.

“It rhymes with Pumba from the Lion King,” he joked, the dimple never disappearing from his cheek.

“Don’t even forget your siblings’ names rhyme with your name,” I sarcastically remarked, rolling my eyes. Jason placed the chopping board on the granite countertop, handing me a sharp knife that almost made my fingers bleed.

“Point taken,” he said. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Just peel the potatoes while I chop this meat into small pieces,” I ordered while he silently did the job.

“So you love cooking huh?” I asked, breaking off the silence. I was almost done chopping the large meat, softening the meat by placing it with cool water on an aluminium basin Jason had provided.

“Yes, my father does too,” he answered happily. “How many potatoes do I have to peel?”

“Around three, I guess,” I replied unsurely, marinating the pork with soy sauce, vinegar and the pineapple juice they had stored inside the cabinet. The amount of canned goods they had were numerous, even though they probably ate herculean meals they could not finish all of them in just a month.

“Actually potatoes are not part of the recipe,” I told him, “I just want you to bake fries for us to it eat while the dish I’m preparing will be done cooking.”

“That’s a good idea—aw!” Jason screamed in pain when his index finger bled as the knife made contact to his skin. My eyes were wide in alarm, my feet scrambling into different places.

“There’s a first aid kit inside the bathroom right above the sink,” he informed but his voice was held in agony. “I’m going to die here, Alexa.” He made coughing sounds dramatically, his finger dripping with blood as he lied down on the floor, pretending to be dead, his eyes closing.

My heart pounded loudly against my ribcage while my eyes scanned hastily inside the bathroom. The first aid kit—which was a small plastic container—lied lifelessly on the sink just like what Jason had told me. My hands itched for it, my head almost hit by the mop.

Jason was calmly sitting on a stool, putting pressure on his index finger. I opened the first aid kit, grabbing the cotton and the ethyl alcohol.

“Wash your hands first,” I told him and he did without any complaints. He winced in pain once I poured the alcohol onto his wound. The betadine was carefully painted on his skin, the rusty red colour covering his pale finger.

“Don’t put it with cotton,” he said as I was about to tape his finger with cotton. “I’m going to cook remember?” His lips held a grateful smile but I waved him off, telling him it was nothing.

“But you need to cover it with something. The wound is still healing,” I insisted, my hands manoeuvring flawlessly, looking for a gauze.

“It’s just a wound. It will be gone for a couple of weeks.”

“Alright,” I said.

“Don’t fuss over it Sanchez. My finger will just be fine.”

“I thought you’re going to teach me how to cook?”

“I lied,” he grinned mischievously, “because dad’s family is coming over for a reunion and it was going to be a potluck celebration.” He puckered his lips once he saw me glaring at him. “Please help me, please? My dad assigned me to cook our food.”

I looked away from him, the sound of flowing water acquainting my ears as it tapped on the metal sink. “Alright, but with one condition.”

“What is it?” His voice was too eager, but nonetheless eager enough to catch his attention.

“Buy me lunch for the whole week.”

His shoulders hunched in defeat, his lips pouting. “Okay.”

I flicked him in the forehead.