How We Deal With Gravity (19 page)

“Don’t be embarrassed. What is it?” I ask, needing to know
she’s okay, that I didn’t just blow the best thing in my life.

“It’s sort of like when you imagine something for so
long—when you actually dream about it—and then you get to live your
dream? I guess…uhhhh, this sounds so stupid, I know, but Mason, I used to dream
about being with you like this. I just, I’m afraid it’s not real,” she says,
her eyes starting to tear again.

I pull the blanket up to cover her, then I pull her in
closely, wrapping her completely in my arms so she has nowhere to go. “Avery,
I’m in over my head here. This whole
feelings
thing, well…it’s foreign territory for me. But I can promise you one
thing—
this
? This is real. It’s
the realest fucking thing I’ve ever known. And I’m a persistent, stubborn
bastard, so you better get used to me,” I stop short of telling her I love her,
but the thought actually runs through my mind. If I weren’t such a chicken
shit, I would.

She just stares into my eyes for several long minutes, her
hand against my face the entire time, like she’s trying to memorize me, and I
let her. To be honest, I like looking at her eyes. The green against the
paleness of her face, and the hint of red to her hair is perfection. If I could
paint a portrait of a beautiful woman, this would be it.

“So, we’re sort of doing this backward, but…I’d like to take
you out tomorrow. You know, on a
real
date,”
I say, laughing at my earlier thoughts of how I was going to seduce her during
our night out. “I already sorted things out with Claire. Oh…and I got your
dad’s permission.”

That last part actually makes her laugh. “You…asked my dad?
You asked Ray Abbot if you could take me out?” she says, her giggle making my
lungs fill with air.

“Sure did,” I say, kind of proud of myself.

She shakes her head and shuts her eyes for a second. When
she opens them again, her smile is the brightest I’ve ever seen. She moves
forward and kisses me softly but long. “Thank you,” she whispers against my
lips.

“You’re welcome. But…you should know, we’re going
cow-tippin’, so you might not want to thank me until you see all of the things
I’ve got planned for the date,” I joke, and she considers me for a few long
seconds before deciding I’m full of shit. “Seriously, it’s a surprise. Just
some things I kind of want to do…with you.”

She blushes then, and I realize exactly everything we
have
done, and I squeeze her against me
tightly.

“I mean, clothed activities,” I say, rubbing my nose against
hers.

I get up to turn off my light, but when I do, I realize
Avery is standing behind me, my blanket still clutched to her body. “I feel
like such a loser, but…I really
do
have
a paper to write,” she says, slapping her hand to her face in embarrassment. I
forgot all about that—my stomach dropping at the thought of her not
spending the night next to me…especially after what just happened.

“Okay, well…I’ll wait up,” I say, opening the door and
looking around the hall and stairs to make sure the coast is clear.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be a while,” she says, chewing
at the tips of her fingernails.

“Positive,” I say, swatting her on the ass once playfully
while she steps into the hall.

“Okay, well…I’ll just knock lightly,” she says, her finger
still dangling from her mouth. I pull it away and kiss her one more time.

“See you soon,” I say, and I stand there to watch her walk
away, her bare shoulders and back almost as sexy as her front. She smiles one
last time before she ducks into her room, and I watch the light flip on from
underneath her door.

I think I’m waiting for the panic to set in. This is all new
to me…wanting a girl to actually come back? I slip downstairs to pick up our
clothes, and I go ahead and indulge in a few gulps from the milk myself. I
don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do that and not think of Avery—and
tonight.

When I get back to my room, I pull out the guitar and play
for about an hour, hoping she’ll be joining me soon. By midnight, I turn the
light off and actually pace the small space of my room, opening the door to
check on her light every five minutes. It’s always on, and I know her studies
are important to her, so I take a deep breath each time, and come back to sit
on my bed. I wish like hell I read. I actually read a few news blogs on my
phone, but I’m just roaming over the words. I’m not paying attention to
anything.

By two in the morning, I give up and let my eyes fall shut.
I’m so fucking tired, and as badly as I want to wait for her, I just can’t.

I don’t know when she came in, but when my eyes blink open,
the faint sound of Avery’s phone alarm is chirping next to me, and her hair is
draped across my chest. She blinks her eyes open slowly and the cutest yawn on
earth leaves her lips, followed by what has now become my favorite smile.

“You made it,” I say, smoothing her hair back and tucking it
behind her ear.

“I came in an hour ago. It was a tough paper, but I promised.
And I missed you,” she says, literally stealing every last piece of me with her
words. She promised—the heaviness of that single word burning in my
chest, and locking up my soul. And even though I haven’t said it yet, I know I
love her. And I know I can’t lose her or let anything happen to her or even see
her cry without it absolutely wrecking me.

Avery

I’m pretty sure I’ve formed a habit. I almost didn’t go back
to Mason’s room because it was so late by the time I had my paper done. But…I
promised. And I wanted to be there. I wonder if I could ever get to the point
where Max would understand me sleeping in Mason’s room instead of ours? I
wonder if I could ever get to the place where I’m not living with my dad? I
wonder if I would ever live with Mason?

When I make my way downstairs, breakfast is at the table,
and everything seems just like normal. Max is breaking off pieces of his
pastry, taking small bites and chewing them longer than necessary. Mason is
picking at a piece of bacon, and my father is loading up his own plate.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to force the redness from my
face.

“Breakfast is ready,” my dad says, sliding a full plate my
way. Breakfast is important to my dad—it’s his
thing.
He’s always made it for me, ever since I was a little girl,
and having him do that still, even knowing that I’m
with
Mason, fills me with a sense of relief that some things never
change.

I sit down next to Mason, but I leave enough space between
us to keep it friendly, not make my dad uncomfortable. I guess I’m also hiding
things from Max on some level, too.

I notice the table is shaking a little, and on instinct, I
move my hand to reach for Max’s leg, but I stop short when I realize it’s not
his that’s bouncing up and down—it’s Mason’s.

“You getting ready for a sprint race?” I say, nodding my
head toward his leg. He looks down at it and smiles tightly, shifting his feet
to cross them at the ankles.

“I…I uh, gotta talk to you,” he says, keeping his voice low
and leaning over closely to me. What he says has my mind racing a million miles
a minute, backtracking on last night, and already diving into the deep end of
heartbreak.

“Okay,” I say, forcing my voice to be strong rather than
break out in tears. I step outside and Mason follows; I fight against my
instinct to turn around and slap him immediately.

“I wanted to talk to you about this last night, but well, we
didn’t really
talk,
” he says, his
mouth pulled up into a half smile, throwing me a little.

“Mason, what is this about?” I can’t help the way that comes
out, and I can tell he hears the suspicion in my voice.

“Oh god, Avery. No,” he laughs a little, coming over to
reach for my hand. I give it to him, reluctantly. “I need to talk about Max.”

In one moment, I’m relieved, but in the next, I’m full of
worry. “What about Max? What happened?” I say, my body moving to head back
inside to my son.

“He’s fine. No…no, he’s fine,” Mason says, laughing lightly
and pulling me back to him. “It’s just…I did something. And I probably should
have talked to you first, but I was there, at his school, and it all just came
out sort of fast, and I had to do something.”

I’m sure the face I’m making still reads panic, because
Mason takes a deep breath and apologizes again. “Let me start over,” he smiles.
“I drove by the school, and I saw Max, sort of hiding out alone. It hit me, and
I know it’s not my place, but I stopped in and talked to his teacher during the
recess. She said he’s having a hard time making friends, which I know…is part
of his challenges. But, I just wanted to help. So, I’m coming in today, to be
his sort of, I don’t know…show and tell?”

Listening to this has me grinning so hard it’s actually
hurting my jaw. I am so overwhelmed by Mason’s love for Max it has me wanting
to cry. This moment, on top of the hour of sleep I got, has me incredibly
emotional. “That’s…amazing, Mason,” I say, just hugging him to let him know I
approve.

“You’re sure? I mean…I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. I
know Max isn’t expecting it, so…I’m not sure what I do here,” he lets his
shoulders slump with a deep breath. Max does like order, but things like this
can be managed, and while I may not be able to help Max make friends instantly,
I can help him be okay with bringing one to school for the day.

“I got this part,” I say, smiling at him. “What time are you
coming in?”

“His teacher said nine,” he says, his hands in his pockets
of his baggy jeans.

“Okay, let me take the lead on this,” I say, tugging at his
arm, and urging him to follow me back inside. Max is just finishing breakfast,
and my dad seems to have covered mine with a napkin. He pulls it off when I
come back inside, never once taking his eyes off his newspaper.

“It was getting cold,” he says, clearly annoyed that Mason
and I are messing around with his routine. Like Max, my dad likes things a
certain way, too—but I think that’s just because he likes to be the boss.

“Hey, Max? I need to talk to you about something. Can you
look at me for just a few seconds?” I say, taking one small bite of my bacon,
and wiping my hand on the napkin. Max looks in my direction, but not in my
eyes—close enough. “Your teacher called last night while you were
sleeping. She wanted to let you know that there was a change for today. You’re
supposed to bring a guest to school, just for a little bit, and she asked if it
could be Mason. He’s going to come in at nine.”

Max twists his lips and looks away, not comfortable with
something being different. “Why are we having a change? Thursdays are for centers.
I get to do the planet center,” he says, his legs swinging a little in his
seat.

“Yes, and that will all be the same. This is just one small
thing she’s adding to the day,” I say, and his legs slow just a little. I look
at Mason, and urge him to join the conversation.

“Max, the teacher wanted me to talk about music. But, she
also wanted you to show the program you’ve been working on,” Mason says,
looking at me for approval. I nod for him to keep going. “I won’t be there
long, but I’m going to need your help.”

Max doesn’t look at Mason while he’s talking, but the second
he’s done, he stands and walks to my purse, reaching in to pull out the iPad.
“I’m going to take this to school,” he says, putting it in his backpack.

“Okay, but just for today,” I say, not really sure what
Mason has planned, but hoping this works out.

Mason

I promised Avery I would text her the second I left Max’s
class. She wanted to come, but she had to turn in her paper. I feel pretty good
in Mrs. Bailey’s hands—I like Max’s teacher, and I think she’s on board
with my crazy idea.

I’m standing in the hallway with my guitar at 8:55 a. m.,
and I can hear the sounds of chairs and desks scooting along the floor. I knock
at her door, and hold my breath, hoping she hasn’t forgotten. When she opens it
and smiles at me, I feel relieved. “Glad you could make it,” she says.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, holding up the guitar and moving
the strap over my neck and shoulder.

“Class, we have a special guest today. This is Max’s…” she
looks at me quickly, squinting, and questioning what to call me. She knows I’m
not his uncle.

“Friend,” I say. “I’m Max’s friend.”

The guitar always gets attention—women and kids fall
for it every time, and it has Max’s entire class quiet and staring at me for
what happens next. “Hi,” I say, my voice a little higher than normal from my
nerves. I perform in front of people all the time, but for some reason, having
a couple dozen five-year-olds bake me with attention has my pulse ticking up a
notch.

“Does anyone in here play an instrument?” I ask, sitting on
the edge of Mrs. Bailey’s desk, resting the guitar on my knee. A few kids raise
their hands, and I ask them what instruments they play. Some say piano, and
others make up instruments or don’t really answer with an instrument at all.

“Okay, does anyone in here
write
music,” I ask, knowing one kid will surely raise his hand. He
has to. Max’s eyes are looking forward, and when I ask that question, I can
actually see his pupils flex, and his hand shoots up instantly.

“Max, you write music?” Mrs. Bailey asks, herself a little
surprised.

“Yes,” he says, his hand back down, and his attention once
again somewhere not quite at me.

“That’s right. Max does write music. And actually, he has
been writing a song on this really cool program on the iPad. I was hoping he
could show everyone, because I’m not very good at it,” I say, looking at Mrs.
Bailey for reinforcement.

“Max, do you have your iPad with you?” Mrs. Bailey asks. Max
doesn’t say anything, but instead goes to his backpack along the wall and pulls
out the iPad, bringing it to his desk. He flips it open, and starts working on
the program at his desk, not really understanding that he should show it to the
rest of the class. I’ve got to help him out here.

“Max, I don’t think the others in the class can see, and
they’re new to that program like I am. Can you stand up front and show it
once?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing for too much. Max moves to the front of
the class, and flips the iPad around holding it in front of him for a few brief
seconds before turning it back so only he can see it. It makes me laugh inside,
but I keep it to a smile.

“Can we show them how it works? I’d like to play something,
and then maybe you can write it on the program?” I ask, waiting for Max to
acknowledge me. He doesn’t, but he’s standing still, waiting with his finger in
place, so I think he’s with me on this. I play a little bit of the song I’ve
been working on, and I can see Max shake his head, probably because he already
knows this song. He taps out a series of notes really quickly, and when he hits
play on his iPad, the music I just played replays to perfection.

This
is where Max
suddenly leapfrogs over me and my cool guitar in the eyes of his classmates. A
few kids actually say “Whoa,” and some near the front are standing, trying to
get closer to see what Max is doing. Mrs. Bailey motions to them to stay in
their seats, and she smiles at me, urging me to do it again.

“Okay, but you’ve heard that one before Max. Let’s try
something different,” I say, and I can see his eyes immediately move to my
hands, just like the first time he watched me play. I play a different song
this time—one of my earlier ones that I used to play with Ray, and I let
it go on for about thirty seconds, just to challenge him.

Max’s hand is fast at work when I am done. He puts all of
the notes in place and sets the iPad to play as a piano, then sets it to begin.
Not a single note is off—it’s amazing. I didn’t really do anything
complex, but I know that if I had to write these songs on paper, it would take
me several minutes, maybe even an hour, to get down what Max does in seconds.

We repeat our demonstration a few more times, and each time,
the kids react and look at Max—a little differently. When my time is up, Mrs.
Bailey announces that it’s time to get ready for recess and then centers. I
watch Max put his iPad back in his bag and take his seat, anxious to get to the
planet center.

Before I leave, I pull Mrs. Bailey aside and ask her to keep
an eye on Max’s bag and his iPad, and she assures me she will.

I can hear the kids running to the playground behind me
while I walk out to the parking lot, their feet trampling the pavement fast to
get to the monkey bars and ball basket.
 
I spare a look when I’m putting my guitar back in my trunk, and I search
for Max. Just like yesterday, I’m having a hard time finding him in the sea of
five and six year olds running in all directions. My heart sinks a little when
I finally spot his feet sticking out of the tunnel, and I feel stupid for even
trying. But then a girl with long brown braids walks over and bends forward,
saying something in the tunnel; I see Max’s feet shift, his body scooting
closer to the end of the tunnel, then she climbs in the other side, and puts
her feet up just like his.

They don’t talk, and I can barely make them out from the
fence, but she’s staring at him. And she’s staying by his side, while the rest
of the playground goes on like normal. My eyes are actually tearing up, and if
anyone ever caught me crying, I’d deny the hell out of it, but seeing Max
not
be alone is maybe the best thing
I’ve ever seen—other than his mother’s smile.

I text Avery the second I’m in my car.

Max did great. There’s
a girl sitting with him. One down, the rest of kindergarten to go!

I wait for her to respond, and I know she will. I know she’s
probably been staring at her phone ever since the time hit nine o’clock. Her
reply comes seconds later.

I’m so happy!!!

Me, too.