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Chapter 8
When Mason left, Julia indulged in crying. What he did, what he said, was so - reasonable, so responsible of
him, so noble and - cynical, just like Mason himself. He wouldn't pretend, even for a moment, that he was in
love with her, and Julia thought the situation humiliating.
Why, oh why does it happen so that the man of your life, with whom you're happy physically, intellectually and
in every other possible way, - that for him you're not the woman of his life?
If Julia accepted the proposal, what would their life be like? Mason would hate coming home to meet the
woman he had married for the sake of appearances; little by little he would start hating HER. He'd be sick of
seeing her both at work and at home, and he'd find excuses to stay away late, drinking, or working, as she'd be
waiting up for him, worried and vexed, and when he came she would not contain her temper, so he'd run away
and drink more. One day she'd learn he found a mistress, and if she reproached him, he'd just raise his
eyebrow, 'What of it, Julia? You know WHY we got married, so what right do you have to demand more?' She'd
hate him, - and love him, for she knew she'd love him always, - and Mason would look through her without
seeing or caring.
The bed - the steaming passion they were feeling for each other at the moment would get cold, as during the
pregnancy and after the labor Julia would be unable to be an adequate partner for Mason, and after this - well,
passion was the most short-lived thing in the world, wasn't it?
The baby - would Mason ever love her baby, who'd cause this loveless marriage, as much as he loved his
precious Mary's son? Wouldn't Julia's baby feel deprived, second-rate, unhappy and jealous? Would Mason be
taking the disappointment out on the baby?
No; whatever aspect Julia took, there seemed to be no chance for them, if they started like this. It seemed silly,
and too romantic, and naive, so ninth-form, but Julia was sure there was much more than sensible reasons and
mutual respect to build a marriage on. More than a baby who wasn't planned and more than harmony in sex.
And since it was Julia who was in love she would suffer more when, little by little, their home was breaking.
Julia knew she had hurt Mason but she thought she just needed to explain it all to him, and he would see it her
way.
So she wiped off her tears. She wanted a baby, and Mason gave it to her. While he felt like this, she'd be
happy to share his bed and his life. And she'd pray every day for them to remain friends whatever came up.
*
In a few hours, when Julia had already cried herself to sleep, the doorbell rang. Again, and then again, and
again.
"Coming!" she shouted, quickly tying up the belt of her wrapper. "Who is it?"
"JULIA!"
She flung the door open. "Mason?"
He was leaning heavily on the doorpost. "May I come in?"
She stepped aside. On unsure legs, he walked in. Drunk - he was sooo drunk. Julia wasn't afraid of Mason,
she had never been; but she had no idea what to expect of him when he was like this.
She started closing the door.
"Just a moment," he stopped her. He picked the flowers out of the vase - it flew off the desk and got broken to
pieces, but he gave it no notice, - quickly walked up to the door and threw the bouquet out. "Now you can lock
it."
Slowly, Julia closed the door and secured the locks. What else was he about?
"Those were my flowers," she said softly.
"They went together with my proposal. And if you rejected me they must be gone. Out of sight - out of mind -
the favorite law for Ms Wain--wright."
"And that was my favorite vase."
"Got broken, huh?"
"Yes."
She squatted to pick up the pieces. Mason heavily sat down on the floor in front of her. "Sorry. I'll buy you a
new one."
"Hardly."
He had not drunk enough to turn disgusting, she thought. With his tie undone, his hair slightly unkempt, he
actually looked rather attractive.
"I've come because I told Mrs Whitcomb - I gave her this phone number in case Matthew needed me," Mason
said. "I don't want him to see me like this. Can I stay here till morning, Julia?"
"Okay. You can sleep here on the sofa. I'll fetch a pillow and a blanket."
She did, and Mason lay down. He'd taken off only his shoes, his tie and his jacket, and he unbuttoned his vest.
Julia watched him close his eyes peacefully, and felt suffused with sudden tenderness. She stood there and
kept watching him.
"Want to join me?" he said clearly without opening his eyes.
"No."
"I know you don't." He sighed.
"If you were sober I would."
"I was sober earlier this evening. You didn't."
"Mason."
"Julia."
"Don't you blame me for driving you to drink. It's not fair." Being an alcoholic's daughter, Julia knew only too
well how manipulative such people are with their family members' feelings, such as love and guilt.
To her surprise, Mason shook his head.
"No, it's not. You're not to blame if I am not good enough for you. I've never been good enough - for anyone,
including my own parents. Don't know why I was surprised."
"Mason, please."
"Isn't it so? Isn't it why you rejected me?"
Julia clutched her hands together. "You have always been good enough for me."
"Then there was another reason," he focused his eyes on her. "Give me your hand."
She did, and Mason gently pulled it. He had her sit by his side. "You just do not need a man," he said sadly.
"What you needed was the missing part of the D.N.A. If you could get a baby without a man, you would."
"No," Julia argued choking with tears again. Her hand was kept securely in his, and with his other hand he
patted her skin so tenderly it contradicted his harsh, bitter words.
"You said you loved me," he complained so softly she would not have heard him had she been standing.
"I do, Mason," she said as softly.
"I wish you did."
"I do," she repeated. His eyes were searching his face.
"You are rejecting me," he stated at last, closing his eyes again, as if against bright light.
"Mason. You don't understand."
"No," he agreed. "I don't."
Julia sighed. What's not understand?
"Oh Mason," she said. "I wish you loved me."
But he had already dozed off.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand. She patted his soft hair. "I love you," she said under her breath and got up.
She never slept a wink, later that night.
When Mason left, Julia indulged in crying. What he did, what he said, was so - reasonable, so responsible of
him, so noble and - cynical, just like Mason himself. He wouldn't pretend, even for a moment, that he was in
love with her, and Julia thought the situation humiliating.
Why, oh why does it happen so that the man of your life, with whom you're happy physically, intellectually and
in every other possible way, - that for him you're not the woman of his life?
If Julia accepted the proposal, what would their life be like? Mason would hate coming home to meet the
woman he had married for the sake of appearances; little by little he would start hating HER. He'd be sick of
seeing her both at work and at home, and he'd find excuses to stay away late, drinking, or working, as she'd be
waiting up for him, worried and vexed, and when he came she would not contain her temper, so he'd run away
and drink more. One day she'd learn he found a mistress, and if she reproached him, he'd just raise his
eyebrow, 'What of it, Julia? You know WHY we got married, so what right do you have to demand more?' She'd
hate him, - and love him, for she knew she'd love him always, - and Mason would look through her without
seeing or caring.
The bed - the steaming passion they were feeling for each other at the moment would get cold, as during the
pregnancy and after the labor Julia would be unable to be an adequate partner for Mason, and after this - well,
passion was the most short-lived thing in the world, wasn't it?
The baby - would Mason ever love her baby, who'd cause this loveless marriage, as much as he loved his
precious Mary's son? Wouldn't Julia's baby feel deprived, second-rate, unhappy and jealous? Would Mason be
taking the disappointment out on the baby?
No; whatever aspect Julia took, there seemed to be no chance for them, if they started like this. It seemed silly,
and too romantic, and naive, so ninth-form, but Julia was sure there was much more than sensible reasons and
mutual respect to build a marriage on. More than a baby who wasn't planned and more than harmony in sex.
And since it was Julia who was in love she would suffer more when, little by little, their home was breaking.
Julia knew she had hurt Mason but she thought she just needed to explain it all to him, and he would see it her
way.
So she wiped off her tears. She wanted a baby, and Mason gave it to her. While he felt like this, she'd be
happy to share his bed and his life. And she'd pray every day for them to remain friends whatever came up.
*
In a few hours, when Julia had already cried herself to sleep, the doorbell rang. Again, and then again, and
again.
"Coming!" she shouted, quickly tying up the belt of her wrapper. "Who is it?"
"JULIA!"
She flung the door open. "Mason?"
He was leaning heavily on the doorpost. "May I come in?"
She stepped aside. On unsure legs, he walked in. Drunk - he was sooo drunk. Julia wasn't afraid of Mason,
she had never been; but she had no idea what to expect of him when he was like this.
She started closing the door.
"Just a moment," he stopped her. He picked the flowers out of the vase - it flew off the desk and got broken to
pieces, but he gave it no notice, - quickly walked up to the door and threw the bouquet out. "Now you can lock
it."
Slowly, Julia closed the door and secured the locks. What else was he about?
"Those were my flowers," she said softly.
"They went together with my proposal. And if you rejected me they must be gone. Out of sight - out of mind -
the favorite law for Ms Wain--wright."
"And that was my favorite vase."
"Got broken, huh?"
"Yes."
She squatted to pick up the pieces. Mason heavily sat down on the floor in front of her. "Sorry. I'll buy you a
new one."
"Hardly."
He had not drunk enough to turn disgusting, she thought. With his tie undone, his hair slightly unkempt, he
actually looked rather attractive.
"I've come because I told Mrs Whitcomb - I gave her this phone number in case Matthew needed me," Mason
said. "I don't want him to see me like this. Can I stay here till morning, Julia?"
"Okay. You can sleep here on the sofa. I'll fetch a pillow and a blanket."
She did, and Mason lay down. He'd taken off only his shoes, his tie and his jacket, and he unbuttoned his vest.
Julia watched him close his eyes peacefully, and felt suffused with sudden tenderness. She stood there and
kept watching him.
"Want to join me?" he said clearly without opening his eyes.
"No."
"I know you don't." He sighed.
"If you were sober I would."
"I was sober earlier this evening. You didn't."
"Mason."
"Julia."
"Don't you blame me for driving you to drink. It's not fair." Being an alcoholic's daughter, Julia knew only too
well how manipulative such people are with their family members' feelings, such as love and guilt.
To her surprise, Mason shook his head.
"No, it's not. You're not to blame if I am not good enough for you. I've never been good enough - for anyone,
including my own parents. Don't know why I was surprised."
"Mason, please."
"Isn't it so? Isn't it why you rejected me?"
Julia clutched her hands together. "You have always been good enough for me."
"Then there was another reason," he focused his eyes on her. "Give me your hand."
She did, and Mason gently pulled it. He had her sit by his side. "You just do not need a man," he said sadly.
"What you needed was the missing part of the D.N.A. If you could get a baby without a man, you would."
"No," Julia argued choking with tears again. Her hand was kept securely in his, and with his other hand he
patted her skin so tenderly it contradicted his harsh, bitter words.
"You said you loved me," he complained so softly she would not have heard him had she been standing.
"I do, Mason," she said as softly.
"I wish you did."
"I do," she repeated. His eyes were searching his face.
"You are rejecting me," he stated at last, closing his eyes again, as if against bright light.
"Mason. You don't understand."
"No," he agreed. "I don't."
Julia sighed. What's not understand?
"Oh Mason," she said. "I wish you loved me."
But he had already dozed off.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand. She patted his soft hair. "I love you," she said under her breath and got up.
She never slept a wink, later that night.