The Door's Open ~ Part I

          Gideon wasn’t going to lie; he really liked Danielle. He had figured it out on their fourth date- yeah, he could be indecisive. She had been annoying him with re-organizing of the produce pyramid in the grocery store and it just kinda hit him… he liked it when she annoyed him.

            You wanna try this thing for real? He rehearsed as he crossed the lawn to the girl’s dorm. And go steady?

            Ugh, what was this the fifties? Gideon stopped at the door, catching his ringtone from his jacket pocket. He took out his phone and scanned the ID: HOME. Indecisiveness hit him again. He hadn’t taken a call from Mom or Dad yet this week. Yet… Gideon thought of Danielle again and let it go to voicemail, pushing open the door to the dorm. His cell vibrated again before it could close behind him. Gideon’s shoulders slumped, seeing it was HOME again. If he didn’t answer now, Mom would think something was wrong.

            “Hello, Mom?” Gideon sighed, stepping back out of the dorm.

            “Gideon.” Came his name from a relieved voice.

            “Claire,” Gideon let his sister hear his impatience. Was this about homework again? A guy gets into college and everyone thinks he’s a genius. “Look Claire, whatever homework crisis-“

            “Bro, please,” she snarked at him. “Listen, you need to come home.”

            Gideon’s attitude sobered. “”What’s… is Dad alright?”

            “Dad’s doing like he always do.” Claire’s voice hunkered, making Gideon wonder. “But I think Mom would do better if we were all here. Even for just a weekend.”

            A familiar understanding came over Gideon. “What’d Mason do now?”

            Claire blew out her breath. “Nothing, really. He… well...His dad called him.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

            “You got a lotta nerve!” came the hot words before the white knuckles. Mason went sideways into the fridge, the appliance shuddering at the brunt force of his muscled and lean body.

            “Hunter!” Shelby backed out of her chair, where she and Hunter had been doing homework. It was the after-dinner regime of the household under Pamela’s watchful eye as she did the dishes. George had been helping to load the dishwasher, but now he mirrored Shelby’s shock. “Hunter! Wh-“

            Mason ignored him. He turned back on his lanky foster brother, rage beginning its boil from the sting in his jaw. “Try that again and we’ll see who’s got nerve!”

            Hunter kept his fists up, glaring over Mason in disgust. “You tell ‘em yet?”

            Now they had everyone’s full attention. But in George’s typical godfather fashion, he only leaned forward, steadying the gaze of his ice-blue eyes. They were the same as Brittany’s eyes and she shared the same stare. Mason couldn’t stand up to either. He only narrowed his own sea-foam eyes on Hunter. “I gotta log my activities in a guestbook or something? My business is my business.”

            “Your business is still under this roof.” George reminded him.

            “Only every other night.” Mason squeezed in his fist. He opened his mouth again, but it was Hunter who spoke. “He’s been talking with his birth dad.”

            Mason lunged, shoving Hunter back into the wall. “You gotta problem with that?”

            “Enough!” George backed his wheelchair from the sink. “This is your mother’s kitchen, not a boxing ring.”

Pamela put down her washcloth. “Hunter, go outside.”

            Hunter looked past Mason, surprised. “Mom-“

            “Walk it off.” George ordered. “Shoot hoops, bike, but don’t come back in until that temper’s cleared.”

            Mason backed away, but Hunter made sure to shoulder Mason hard on his way out. Pamela held open the screen door, her rubber gloves dripping, as Hunter stomped through; her eyes however were on Mason.

            Don’t look so worried, Pam. Mason looked away. Only to see Shelby in her chair, shoulders hunched in to protect herself. Okay, NOW he felt bad. But Mason only set his jaw and shifted his eyes to George. “Your son’s a drama king, ya know that?”

            “Puberty’s a real killer.” George excused it, his eyes doing his tense cop thing. “What was he talking about?”

            Mason stole another glance at Pamela. “Nothing I wouldn’t have told you- eventually.”

            “Your dad really called you?” Shelby piped up from the table, trying to shake herself out of her fear bubble. Mason never told her that he called it that. He didn’t find it funny, that she scared so easily. It was just a way for him to deal with having to see her that way.

Mason sighed. “He called a few days ago, while I was at work.”

            They were all quiet a moment before George asked. “How-”

            “I don’t know.” Mason stopped him before George could box him in with twenty questions. “Guess I’ll find out when I meet him. I don’t need your permission- or approval- to do that, do I?”

            “Of course not, Mason.” Pamela moved in, the gloves peeled off so she could touch his arm. “But, if you need to talk about it-“

            Mason quivered at the warmth her hand gave him. That was Pamela; she had unruly blond curls that shared the texture of straw, wide-rimmed glasses, and the countenance of a town librarian. Warmth. And George, for all his hard-knuckle tactics, was the strength of the Rivers household. Mason had watched them, like they were one person, exhibit the same light and security over their house and kids for years. Watched. That was all; and he wasn’t making more of it now.

            “I can handle it, Pam.” Mason told her. “I want to handle it myself.”

            George nodded. “That won’t stop our prayers, though.”

            Nothing ever did. Mason supposed he could at least tell them his father’s name. He had been going to anyway. Hunter’s sucker punch however, had knocked him out of his sharing mood. You’re holding onto it, Mace. You might as well admit you’re holding onto hope… one of your last lines of it.

            “Sorry about that, Shelby.” Mason muttered to her. He slipped out of Pam’s grasp and left the kitchen, needing his room and radio to drown things out. He worked at a Harley shop and spent half his nights there… but not enough to warrant rent. His other nights he made the thirty-minute commute to crash here, at the Rivers. His only foster home to have lasted longer then seven months.

            He cut through the hall and round the stairs, only to stop short before tripping over Brittany. He scowled down at her. “Get the raw footage?”

            Brittany gave him her quiet smile, fondling her glasses; a sleeker version of her mother’s. “It’s not every day that you see Hunter Rivers fly off the rails. You gonna arrange to meet your dad?”

            George’s stare, Pam’s touch… all the reminders of Brittany’s biological right to be here. It ate at Mason, each day he was here. George and Pamela could put on as many airs as they wanted, but that didn't erase that he wasn't tied to them like Brittany and Hunter were.

            “I hope it works out.” Brittany said through her smile. “And don’t worry about Hunter, he’s just being selfish. He wants to keep his cool big brother all to himself.”

            That didn’t sound creepy at all. Mason cocked a brow at her. “He’s got Gideon for that.”

            She dropped her hand, her face faltering. “Seriously Mason, when’re you going to stop making yourself a stranger? It was understandable at the beginning, but… now, you’re just being stubborn to what God’s offering you.”

            “I returned that invitation a long time ago.” Mason told Brittany, leaving her to make it to his room. He realized that the solitude would only be temporary, since he and Hunter still shared. He’d leave later and sleep at the shop. He stretched out on his bed, sinking into its red and black comforter, sporting electric guitars. He’d unwittingly picked it out for his sixteenth birthday, giving it more then a two-second glance at Target. Pamela had noticed. She and George noticed things, the important things.

            If they can, Mason turned himself over, reaching out to twist the knob on his radio. My dad can too. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to meet him; I WANT to meet him.

            But Mason couldn’t bring himself to explain that to George or Pamela. They had done a lot for him. Sure he didn’t act like it, but Mason shuttered when he thought about the paths he might’ve ended up down if not for them. And now, he didn’t feel like repaying their efforts with pain. The pain from the fact that he’d always wanted his real family back.

            You telling me You’re into answering prayers now. Mason questioned the ceiling.

            There was a rap on the door, giving Mason a jolt. “Mason? Can I come in, bro?”

            It was Gideon. Mason propped himself on his elbows in confusion. “Enter, I guess.”

            Gideon lumbered in on the solid legs that had landed him a soccer scholarship to AU in Albany. Mason smirked. “You get kicked out already?”

            Gideon gave a dry ‘haha’. “I just got in. Claire called me.”

            “Course she did.” Mason rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Ever the peacemaker.”

            “She’s worried.”

            “About Pam.” Mason guessed. “Doesn’t want her stressing about me.”

            “Claire worries about everybody.” Gideon pulled to his sister’s defense.

            “When we’re not having to peel her off the ceiling from a panic attack.”

            Gideon’s tone went rigid. “I’m not here to argue with you, Mason. Or to hear you bash on others.”

            “Then why?” Mason dared ask, his attention back on the ceiling. There were faint marks from where he’d spray painted it one summer.  

            “Figured you might want to talk,” Gideon shrugged, looking over Hunter’s latest posters. “And, if nothing else… I’m always here for my family.”

            Mason snorted.

            “You doubt that?”

            “You’re only here to ask me how I’m feeling,” Mason said. “And you want me to tell you, so you can report it to all the flapping ears waiting downstairs.” He gestured to the door, like the rest of the Rivers gang was piled with enlarged ears on the other side. “You want me to tell you and I can’t. Because whatever I say, you’re only gonna try and change it into what you wanna hear.”

            “You think that Mom and Dad are afraid of the truth?” Gideon’s eyes narrowed on him. “That they think that little of you? Don’t insult them!”

            “I don’t need their permission for this!” Mason reaffirmed, sitting up as the heat in his neck rose. “And I wish everybody’d quit making a big deal outta it! You feed me a couple of meals, push me through college, and you think you’re entitled to my every movement?!”

            “Not me, THEM!” Gideon finally raised his voice. Then pulled himself back, opening and closing his fists. “You don’t owe them anything and they’ll be the first to… I came up here just to, try, you know? Like we all do.”

            He turned to leave. And Mason felt a panic. “Did you want to meet your mom again?”

            Gideon stopped. His shoulders tensed a minute, but he turned back around. His eyes bore an understanding that Mason knew he couldn’t get from the George, Pam, or even Claire. Gideon sighed the weight off his shoulders. “It was more like-“

            “You had to.” Mason answered immediately. Gideon was already nodding. “Had to learn all the answers to my questions.”

            Mason’s chest deflated with mild relief. He watched Gideon leave and fell his head back into his pillow. So it wasn’t just him who kept looking back. Gideon’s mom had put him in foster care out of love when she couldn’t take care of him on her own. And Claire had come to his group home after the people who loved her were dead. 
            Him? His dad had left when he was three- the same year Mason realized his mom didn’t have a problem hurting him. He’d been introduced to the foster care system when he was seven. People thought that was the way to save him. It wasn’t. He’d seen- felt- the worst of it. Nothing’s gonna change what I went through. And I’m always going to be different from them because of it.

Humanity could smile and extend their shining hands to him all they wanted and Mason would still spot their taints hidden underneath. He’d always know about the dark places that a human could go. It was like a pair of glasses that Mason couldn’t take off. Nothing that Pam or George did was going to change what he felt, how he saw his awkward position in this randomly-patched family. They couldn’t know the memories that still shook him awake in a sweat-

            “Mason?”

            Mason jerked his head up, cheeks heating at having been caught off guard. He sat up to find Shelby at his door. His heart cringed at his self-pity. Only Shelby’s scars ran deeper then his. She’d turned thirteen in April… how many of her years had she been a prostitute? Too many. Yeah, if there was anything that topped Mason’s demons, it was Shelby. And Mason wished it wasn’t like that.

            “What is it?” he asked. Nice bedside manner there, Mace.

            Shelby lifted her hands to reveal her schoolbooks. “Help me with this biology chapter? It’s killing me.”

            Mason snorted. “So you’re solution is to ask me?”

            “You once told me that I need to focus on other things or drive myself insane,” Shelby reasoned quietly. “Help me, please?”

            The toughened and brooding antagonist softened up by a little girl. Mason groaned at how cliché he was.

~~To Be Continued~~