The room laughed.
Apparently his eighteenth birthday mattered in ways I hadn’t understood.
Diane brought the box to him.
Mason stared at it.
His face changed.
The change was tiny.
Most people wouldn’t have seen it.
I did.
His mouth tightened.
His eyes became bright.
His fingers curled against his palm.
Overwhelmed.
Happy.
Terrified.
All at once.
“You don’t have to open them tonight,” I said.
Mason looked at me.
The room went quiet again.
I realized what I’d done.
For once, I hadn’t encouraged him.
Hadn’t turned the moment into an opportunity.
Hadn’t told him what a wonderful experience it would be.
I had simply given him permission not to.
Something softened in his face.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow is good.”
“Yes.”
Diane closed the box.
Then an elderly man at the counter cleared his throat.
“Mason?”
“Yes, George?”
My heart nearly stopped.
