A New Kind of Denial

“What are you getting so spiced up for?” Jason asked, doubling back on his route to the listen so he could stop and talk to me while I did my hair in the bathroom mirror.

“I've got a date,” I grinned.

“Already? With who?”

“Mason Waine,”

“When did you meet Mason?”

“When I stopped in that chocolate store in the mall. Don’t you remember me telling you guys that he said ‘hi’?”

“Oh, yea, I forgot,” he chuckled.

“He never did tell me how you guys know them, though,”

“The boys have sessions with me every other Wednesday,”

“Oh, so they’re one of your therapy cases,”

“That’s not a bad thing, Gavin,”

“I never said it was,”

“The tone you used made it sounds that way,”

“Really now, Jason, you know me. I'm not the type of person that judges like that. I know that not all people in therapy are as crazy as people seem to think,”

“Yeesh, I know. I'm just razzing you,” he chuckled, shoving my shoulder playfully. “But, yeah, I've been seeing those two since their parents died when they were eleven. And over the years, we’ve sort of developed an out of therapy friendship, even though I'm technically not really supposed to interact with my clients outside of my office a whole lot.”

“Well I think it’s great that it’s not one of those situations where they have a therapist that they hate and dread going to,” I shrugged, running some gel through my blonde hair. “Are you aloud to tell me why they’re in therapy?”

“I kind of already did,” he chuckled. “They took it really hard when their parents got killed in a plane crash. Since they were only eleven, they went to live with their aunt, who was the closest relative, and she got them into therapy. They were one of my first cases, actually. Ianto and I had moved up here the previous ear and I got hired where I am a couple of months before their aunt contacted us.”

“Hm,” I mumbled thoughtfully. “Why’d you guys move up here? I can’t remember; I know that I've heard it before, but I can’t recall it.”

“Well, when we came up here to get married, we fell in love with this town, so then later when Karma split up, we decided to move up here,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s right! And you guys got married when I was eight, right?”

“Nine years ago, so…yea, you’d have been eight, I think,”

“Speaking of you guys getting married,” I said, turning towards him and smirking. “We might have a wedding on our hands soon.”

“Are you saying that your dads might finally be getting hitched?”

“I'm thinking maybe so,” I said, smiling at the thought of it. “I was finishing packing my stuff up the night before my plane left and I overheard Camron talking on the phone to someone. He was saying, ’I've started to change my mind about it. I think I might ask him on the day of our anniversary’ and such.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if they actually get married now after so long?”

“That’d be amazing,” I chuckled, turning back to the mirror. "And just imagine how awesome planning their wedding would be. You, Ianto, and I should maybe start mapping some things out, just in case."

“We should definitely try to do that later. But right now, you’ve got a date to go on,” he chuckled, waving away at me as he walked towards the kitchen again. “Good luck, and have fun!”

“I'm not leaving yet though!”

“Yes you are,” a different voice said from behind me. I turned around yet again and saw Mason leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking pretty fine, if you know what I mean.

“Jesus, you’re just like I frickin’ ninja popping up outa nowhere! Where’d you even come from?”

“My mother,” he laughed.

“No, seriously,” I said, chuckling at the joke that is so old, but never gets old. “How long have you been there?”

“For about five seconds,”

“Really? Who let you in?”

“Ianto. Who else?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you let yourself in or something,” I mumbled, a blush slightly coloring my cheeks.

Mason chuckled and pushed himself off the wall, stepping over to me. “You’re cute when you blush,” he said, giggling a bit.

“You’re cute when you giggle,” I pointed out, blushing again as he giggled some more.

“Oh, you’re both just so fucking beautiful! Shut up and go on your date!” Jason yelled from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to us!” Mason yelled back, laughing.

“I'm your therapist! That’s my job!” he quipped.

“Not outside of our sessions, you’re not!”

Ianto came walking down the hall from the other end, coming from the living room, probably. “’You’re so cute, no you’re so cute, oh but you’re cuter, no you are!’ is hardly even a conversation. Jason’s right; just go on your date and be cute together.”

I scoffed. “Of course you’d side with him; he’s your own personal butt-pirate.”

“I can’t believe you just went there,”

“I can’t believe you just said, ‘went there’,” I countered.

“I can’t believe you said, ‘butt-pirate’,” Mason added, looking at me, pure amusement in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you three are arguing about this!” Jason shouted, coming back down the hall with a spatula in his hand, waving it at us like an angry old lady. “You two,” he said, pointing the spatula at Mason and I, “need to hurry up and leave before I throw your asses out. And you!” he snapped, looking at Ianto, “You better stop arguing with them before I use this on you!”

“Oh!” I laughed, turning to Mason. “We’d better leave.”

“Why?” he asked, not catching on to what was about to unfold before his very eyes.

“You already have, Jason,” Ianto smirked, walking over to him and snatching the spatula out of his hands, getting up in his face. “Or do you not remember?”

“Oh, I remember that fully well, thank you very much. But this time, I'm not going to be so gentle,” he answered, licking his husbands noseawkwardly.

“Yeah, we’re definitely leaving now,” Mason chuckled nervously, grabbing my arm and pulling me fast past those two and to the front door.

~~~

“So, you’re not vegetarian or Jewish, are you?” Mason asked, looking over at me quickly, before putting his eyes back on the road in front of us.

“I laughed at his weird question and asked, “Why? Would that put you off me or something?”

“No,” he laughed. “It has to do with the place we’re going. Let me re-phrase that. Do you eat pork?”

“Depends on the cut, why?”

“How about bacon?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course!”

“Have you ever had a bacon coated doughnut?”

“A what?”

“A doughnut dipped in maple glaze and then dipped in bacon,”

“No, I'm going to have to say I haven’t, I laughed, looking over at him as he pulled into a parking spot at a little bakery named Gracie’s.

“Well, you’re about to,” he smiled, putting the car into park and turning to look at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Come on; let’s go get you a bacon doughnut.”

“Okay,” I chuckled, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the car door, stepping out onto the chipping pavement. I could tell that it was an old building, not only by the sign that said ‘est. 1882’, but also because of the style and state of the building and of the parking lot. The building itself was pretty well kept care of, but there were of course a few spots here and there that could do with some repairs.

We walked through the front door and were greeted by an aging Italian man – presumably the owner. “Hey! Mason! What can I do for you today?”

Mason smiled and clapped me on the back, saying, “My friend here has never even heard of a bacon doughnut.”

“Never heard of a bacon doughnut? Where are you from, Son?”

“Born and raised in New Jersey,” I laughed, taking in my surroundings, inhaling the wonderful smell of fresh baked breads and cakes.

“That was a rhetorical question, boy,” the guy said, laughing. “So I'm guessing that’s what you’re getting then?” he asked, directing this question at Mason.

“Well, I'm wanting to get two Niagaras, a Paris, and just for the hell of it, a New Jersey,” he answered, confusing the shit out of me. Then I looked up on the wall behind the counter and realized that everything was named after cities or states or other places all around the world, none of the names really matching anything about the items. What Mason really ordered was two large hot mochas, and order of bacon doughnuts – which was four – and a mini German Chocolate cake. I'm liking the sound of the New Jersey so far.

“So is that you final order?”

Mason turned to me and asked, “Do you want anything else?”

“Not for now, but I'm going to get something for my idiots later on before we leave,” I said, referring to Jason and Ianto.

“Alrighty then,” he said, laughing at my phrasing and turning back to the Italian man. “Yea, that’s all for now, Anthony. Thanks!”

“Oh, anything for you, Mason; you and your brother are some of our best customers! We love having you guys around here!”

“Well, you know we love coming here,” he said, smiling a big huge smile for the old man.

“And you’re always welcome,” Anthony smiled back, grabbing two large paper cups and walking to the coffee machine, starting on our drinks.

“You are such a suck-up, dude,” I laughed, elbowing Mason in the arm. “’You know we love coming here’,” I said, mocking him, talking in a high pitched voice.

“Oh, shush up, you,” he laughed back, elbowing me too.

“No, I'm serious; you should hear yourself,”

“Well, what can I say? I've been coming here since before I was even born. My mom would have cravings of the old style Italian pastries that Anthony and his family makes, and after Carson and I were born, we’d come here at least once a week. So I basically grew up on this shit. I'm surprised I'm not a whole bunch fatter than I already am.”

“What are you talking about, boy? You are in no way fat,”

“Mason, being fat? What’s this world coming to?” a voice asked, sarcastically appalled, coming from the back room of the bakery. It was a boy about sixteen, with dark hair, slightly spiked up, and tight jeans under the uniform “Gracie’s” shirt he was wearing. He was carrying a tray of really big cookies in his hands.

“Carlo, what’cha got for me?” Anthony asked, handing Mason and me our mochas.

“Mary just finished up a batch of New Yorks. She said we were running low out here. Plus, I heard our favorite little munchkin was out here complaining about being fat, so I had to come out here and tell him off,”

“Ah, just set those over here and I'll get them; thanks son,”

“No problem, Uncle Tony<” Carlo laugh, walking to where his uncle told him to set the “New Yorks” before walking around the end of the counter and over to us. “Hey man, what goes on?” he asked Mason, taking his hand in his and doing that whole hand shake-chest bump thing and giving me a friendly smile and nod. I'm not too sure what it was about this kid, but I don’t really like him. Maybe it was the way he spoke as if he owned the place; or maybe it was the looks he kept giving Mason; I don’t know, but I didn’t like it, whatever it was.

“I'm, uh, kind of on a date here,” he said, laughing (almost uncomfortably?). “So maybe you and I could catch up some other time, yea?”

“Oh, sorry, Mase! Yeah, we’ll talk later,” he assured, backing off a bit, as if I was going to give him hell for hugging my date. “Bring Carson, maybe. He hasn’t been here in a while.”

“Sure, sounds great, Carlo,” Mason smiled, waving him off slightly as he turned and waltzed back into the kitchen. I know I was glad to see him leave, however bad it sounds, and by the look of relief that flooded his face when he left, I'm going to say that Mason was glad too. Anthony also came over to us then and handed us the doughnuts, the cake, and two forks, over the counter.

“Here you are, boys,” he said, smiling.

“How much do I owe you this time?” Mason asked, reaching for his wallet.

“No, no, no. It’s on the house today,”

“What? Why?”

“First off, because this is his first bacon doughnut, second off, because it looks like your first date, third off, because you two look really cute together, and lastly, because you got that one back to work,” he explained, laughing at the last part, pointing with his thumb to the kitchen, referring to Carlo. ’Huh,’ I thought, ’it looks like even his family dislikes him.’