“Rachel, these are my parents, David and Yōko Brown.” Mason reaches for my hand, pulling me over and resting his arm around my waist.
His dad looks to be in his late sixties or early seventies. He’s imposingly tall, with silver hair and the same chiseled jawline as his younger son. There’s a green tattoo on the back of his forearm. Maybe something military, but time has faded it too much to tell.
Mason’s mom is about the same age as her husband, with a gorgeous streak of white in her otherwise chin-length black hair and almost no wrinkles. She’s wearing a blue skirt that falls to her ankles with a white tunic top and a sheer red infinity scarf. Very chic.
“Hi,” I say, shaking hands with them both. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Mason has told us a lot about you,” his dad says. “Just not this part.”
“Well, it’s a little new to all of us.”
“And who is this sweetie?” his mother asks as Maisie creeps around the corner of the kitchen island and flattens herself shyly against my thigh.
“This is my daughter, Maisie.” I crouch down to Maisie’s level. “This is Mason’s mama and daddy, and the rest of his family.”
She stares wide-eyed at his parents, not saying anything as she tries to parse the relationships.
“That’s my sister, Laurel, and her husband, Mike,” Mason says, gesturing toward a woman whose features more closely resemble their dad. Her nose is more prominent, her eyes less angular. Laurel’s husband is a handsome Black man, with dreadlocks bound in a bundle at the nape of his neck, and their three children are a beautiful blend of the two of them. “And that’s John, James, and Lillie.”
We exchange hellos as Mason points at the other group.
“That’s my brother, Owen, and his wife, Didie.”
Of the Brown siblings, Owen is the one who looks the most like their mom. His wife is also Asian, but with a rounder face, wider nose, and darker skin tone. I can’t identify her specific ethnicity, but she is gorgeous and extra curvy, and I love that their family is so large, beautiful, and inclusive.
“And their kids are Keo and Mali,” Mason continues.
Another round of hellos and welcomes, and finally we’ve all met.
“Mom and Dad, the guest room upstairs is for you,” he says. “And the first cabin has a standard bed and a sleeper sofa. Daniel and Avery Rose have offered a room at their house if you don’t want to share the cabin, so feel free to flip a coin or rock-paper-scissors your way to figuring out who gets what.”
“There’s plenty of space for kids in sleeping bags in Maisie’s room too,” I add.
Mason’s nieces and nephews are all older than Maisie, but the youngest, Lillie, looks like she’s only a couple of years older. She approaches Maisie. “Do you want to play Barbies?”
Maisie nods. “Do you want to see my room?”
The two of them drag Lillie’s suitcase, bumping up the back steps, as the rest of Mason’s family scatters. Mason, Owen, Didie, Laurel, and Mike go out to see the cabin, while the older kids find bikes in the shed and disappear down the driveway toward Division Street. Mason’s dad follows the little girls, carrying suitcases up to the spare room, leaving me alone with Mason’s mom.
“Has Mason asked you about getting some old family photos for the taproom walls?” I ask before she has a chance to bring up my relationship with her son.
“He must have forgotten,” she says. “But that boy has been scatterbrained his whole life.”
“That sounds about right.”
She laughs. “How many photos do you need?”
“Can I show you the taproom?”
“I’d love to see it.”
We walk slowly along the path to the brewhouse, newly bordered by sunny marigolds and velvety red geraniums, with solar lights scattered between the flowers. Mason’s mom takes it all in. “I haven’t been here since last fall. This whole area was a tangle of grass.”
“It was the same when I arrived in April.”
“Did you do all of this?”
“Yes and no,” I say. “I think Mason knew he needed a push, but when he hired me, he had no way of knowing I would actually push him. I took some of the weight off his shoulders.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I can see that.”
We reach the front door. I hold it open for her and switch on the lights. Overhead, the chandelier sparkles and the stained-glass lamps spill blue patterns across the floor. Yōko’s eyes wander over the room.
“I had the beer labels enlarged and framed, but there’s a lot of leftover space,” I say. “I thought that since Mason has a really rich family history, old photos—especially ones that are more candid, less posed—would look cool. And not just the Browns, but your family as well.”
“We have an attic full of old photos,” she says. “Come to Cleveland one day. We’ll go through the boxes together and you can choose the ones you like best.”
“I’d like that.”
Yōko pauses in front of the label for Sunshine Ale. “What’s this?”
“Oh! That was meant to be a surprise.”
“Green tea,” she says, covering her smile with two fingers. “He’s always been such a thoughtful boy.”
“He is.”
“You love him,” she says. A statement, not a question.
“I have made … mistakes when it comes to men,” I say. “Choosing the wrong ones or jumping too soon, so I’m learning to not use that word frivolously. I care about Mason very much, but he’s still working through some things, I think.”
“David and I were shocked when he told us that Jessica left,” she says. “We loved her. We still love her. But we understand that their marriage could not bear the weight of their combined grief. I want my son to be happy, and if you are part of that happiness, you are welcome in our lives.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s not tell him I know about the beer,” she says conspiratorially.
“Deal.”
* * *
As morning gives way to a sunny afternoon, Maisie and Lillie run screaming through a sprinkler that Mike set up for them in the side yard. Local folks come and go, stopping at the taproom to sample Mason’s beer and sneak a peek at the first cabin. Daniel, Avery, and Leo show up with an American flag cake decorated with blueberries and strawberries, and not far behind are Daniel’s parents, Fred and Betsy Rose. Vivian and Lucy bring canning jars of spicy homemade pickles and a giant bowl of potato salad. Mason’s dad takes control of the barbecue, grilling hamburgers, hot dogs, and veggie burgers for Didie, who doesn’t eat meat. As they get hungry, the older kids trickle in from biking around the island. And Rosemary swings by with a bottle of apricot cordial that she made herself from the tree in her backyard, the elders sipping it as they catch up on island gossip.
I’m watching Maisie play when my phone rings with a video call from Brian.
“Brian! Happy Fourth,” I say.
“Yeah, um—can I talk to Maisie?”
“She’s playing in the sprinkler. Maybe we can do this tomorrow instead?”