How We Deal With Gravity (2 page)

“You headin’ out?” he asks. I feel the teeth of the keys
against my fingers. There’s no way I’m leaving, no matter how bad of an idea it
is to flirt with Ray’s daughter. I know the line, but I won’t be able to get my
mind straight if I don’t just straddle it a little tonight—get inside her
head.

“In a bit. Let me just help out for a while, so I know
you’ve got this handled. It’d make me feel better since you’re putting me up
and all,” I smile at him, and hand him back his keys.

“Alright then, you can start mixing,” he says, pushing the keys
in his pocket and going back to work. I pull a ticket and start mixing on the
other end of the bar, but I keep my attention divided on Avery the entire time,
just waiting for her to come over. She keeps heading to the corner of the
restaurant area—probably to avoid me.

She’s almost in front of me when she locks onto my gaze, and
spins around on her heels toward her dad. I’m not gonna lie, I take a good look
when she leans over the bar to talk to Ray, and I’m half-tempted to race around
to the other side of the bar to check out the view from behind. But something
she says catches me off guard.

“Dad, you know he can’t stay with us! Max isn’t going to
like it,” she protests, crossing her arms. Her dad waves his hand telling her
to calm down, and she spins around and walks back to the corner. Who the hell
is in that corner? And who’s Max? Shit, is she married?

Avery doesn’t return to this side of the bar for the next 20
minutes. I saw her hand her orders to another waitress to bring them over a few
times, and she actually had her dad bring out some of the plates, just to avoid
passing by me on her way to the kitchen. What the hell? It was just a boob
grab, and it was a damned accident. If this girl was going to get that bent out
of shape, then I don’t need to waste my time with fantasies.

“Pain in the ass,” I mumble under my breath, focusing once
again on the drink orders.

“Hey, Cole. That’s Mason, go on in and relieve him,” Ray
hollers, nodding in my direction. A big burly dude heads my way, pushing the
sleeves up on his one-size-too-small black shirt. He must be the new bouncer.
Hell, he’s big—with my luck, he’s Avery’s husband, or boyfriend
or…whatever.

“Hey, man. Mason, nice to meet you,” I reach over to shake
his hand, hoping like hell he doesn’t crush my fingers.

“Oh yeah, you, too. It’s funny, I feel kinda like I know
you, the way Ray talks about you around here,” he smiles, shaking my hand and
holding back—
thank God!—
then
taking over on the next drink order. I’m a little surprised by his words,
though I don’t know why. I know how Ray feels about me—like I’m his own
son. There’s just something about hearing someone else say it.

The crowds are getting thick now, getting ready for the
headliner. Back when I was in high school, Ray started pushing Thursday nights,
and when I turned eighteen, I was one of his first performers. He fought like
hell with the town council over his liquor license requirements when he put me
on stage. But Ray’s got a lot of friends in high places in Cave Creek.

I can’t help but look over at Avery’s corner a few more
times before I leave. Maybe it’s the challenge, but I just want her to give in
once, to come over here before I leave. That way, I can ask her what crawled up
her ass and why she cares if I stay at Ray’s house. Or maybe not, maybe she’ll
just motivate me to hit the road sooner.

“You know her?” Cole says, leaning into me.

“What, Avery? Yeah…we went to high school together. She hung
around the bar a lot when I was here, too,” I say, my eyes glued to her like a
stupid tracking beam. I’m so weak.

Cole bends down to get something out of the mini fridge, and
comes up with a small glass of chocolate milk. He puts it on a tray with a
napkin and two straws and pushes it toward me.

“Thanks, man, but I’m not thirsty,” I laugh. Does he
seriously think I’m lame enough to offer to split chocolate milk with some
girl? I could go down the street right now to the next bar, and leave a half
hour later with three chicks ready to ride me until I kick them out in the
morning—and they wouldn’t care that I didn’t know their names. They never
do.

Cole nudges me again and nods back in Avery’s direction.
“Nah, man. It’s her order. Take it,” he winks.

Well, damn. I’ve been waiting for an
in
all night, and now that I’ve got one, my hands have turned to
jelly, and my heart rate is keeping time with the band—pulsing out of my
head.

Cole nods one more time, so I take the tray in my hand and
head to the back corner. Only, when I get there, Avery is gone. I roll my eyes
at my own luck, and head to the corner booth. There’s a kid with curly blond
hair sitting in the farthest corner. He looks about five, and his legs are
pulled up underneath him, his attention completely focused on the iPad in front
of him. Looks like some sort of space game or something.

“Whatcha playin’ there, buddy?” I ask, but the kid doesn’t
break his concentration. He just keeps playing his game, like he didn’t even
hear me. Maybe he didn’t.

“One chocolate milk,” I say, putting the napkin down and
then placing the glass on top. I wait for a few seconds, but he doesn’t say
anything. I was never a video-game nerd—I just don’t get the appeal. I
roll my eyes, and start to turn when a strange voice stops me.

“Straws,” he says, the one syllable word somehow sounding as
if it has two or three, the way he pronounces every
individual
letter.

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” I say, pulling one off the tray and
tossing it next to his glass.

“No,” he says, before I can leave. “That’s not right. That’s
not right. That’s not right. Two straws. Two straws. Two straws.”

I look back at the tray, notice the second straw, and
immediately put it down by the other one. His eyes are wide, but still focused
solely on his video game. I wait for a few seconds, and he finally puts the
tablet down, his fingers very methodical as they place it perfectly in line
with the rest of the table. He then reaches for his glass, and moves it closer,
looking into the milk a few solid seconds like he’s inspecting it, before reaching
for the straws and unwrapping them slowly. He puts them both in at the same
time. Sipping long and deep through them both together, his eyes focus on the
small bubbles in the milk, oblivious to the clanking of glasses and loud noise
of the crowd of two hundred or so people building just a few yards away from
him.

“So…anything else?” I ask, wondering if this kid even
realizes I’m still here. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t stop drinking.
I’m background to him—irrelevant.

“Okay, then…” I say, shaking my head and blinking as I turn
to walk away. “Weird fucking kid.”

“Hey!” Avery says, charging closer to me. “What’d you give
him? Leave him the hell alone!”

She’s almost to me, looking past me, when I reach out and
grab her wrist. “Hey, calm down. I just delivered your order. Relax, would ya?
Cole gave it to me,” I explain, suddenly wishing I just went to Ray’s an hour
ago, like he told me to, instead of acting stupid over a pretty girl.

Avery’s posture slumps, and she lets out a heavy breath. She
snaps her eyes to my hand, which is still on her wrist, and then quickly shirks
it away. I’m almost offended, but she doesn’t give me time before she’s
grilling me. “You’re sure? Cole gave that to you? He made it?” she says, almost
manic.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can remember simple things like who
gave me milk,” I shrug.

She brings her hands to her face, rubbing her temples, and I
take a minute to scope out her left hand. No ring. Damn, she’s been nothing but
a big pain in my ass, and I’m still making sure she’s not married. What the
hell is wrong with me? Suddenly, she stops, and her eyes soften when they land
on mine, and then she actually smiles.
Oh
hell, that’s some smile.

“Thank you,” she says, leaving her gaze on me long enough
for me to memorize every fleck of gold within the green of her eyes.

“No problem. Least I can do. That kid’s a real weirdo,” I
say, tilting my head in his direction. Without warning, her smile is gone, and
her hand hits my cheek with such force, I fear I may have actually swallowed a
tooth.

“What the fu—” I’m about to question her, but it’s too
late. She’s gone. I don’t even know which direction she walked, so I just rub
my face and make my way back to Cole, no longer sure if I want to thank him or
punch him.

“What the hell? I give that kid milk, and she slaps me,” I
say to him as I reach into the ice bin and fill the center of one of Ray’s
towels. “Shit! That stings! I think I have a shiner.”

Cole chuckles a little to himself, and starts shaking a
martini. “Sorry, man. I really was trying to help you out. I didn’t see how
that could go wrong,” he looks back at the corner where Avery is standing once
again. I’m thinking about walking over to her and calling her on her bullshit,
but then she slides into the booth and points to something on the kid’s iPad.

“That’s her son,” Cole says—short and sweet. Fuck, I’m
an asshole.

My face must clue him in at how shocked I am, so he turns
around and leans on the back of the bar to give me his full attention for a few
minutes.

“I thought she wasn’t married? Is she divorced?” I ask,
moving the ice a little lower and wincing.

“Something like that. The dude married her, and then bailed
right away. Some guy from your high school, I think. Some
Adam
or something?” Cole says, and I know immediately.

“Adam Price. He was our student body president. He and Avery
were into all that honors class shit,” I say, remembering what a smug asshole
Adam was back then.

“Yeah, that’s it. Adam. He left when Max was one. Ave’s been
doing a damn good job with that kid on her own, though,” Cole says, turning
back to his work, and not realizing how much he’s kicking my ass with every
single word. Shit! I just mocked the kid of a hard-working single mom because
he didn’t thank me for bringing him chocolate milk.

“Oh, this is bad. I should apologize. I was kind of a prick
to her,” I say, looking over at the booth where she’s sitting next to her son,
my stomach turning over and over with guilt and shame. Who the hell am I? I’m
just some loser musician who got dropped from his label, thrown out of a club
in Tulsa for drinking too much, and sent home to lick his wounds.

“She’ll get over it,” Cole says.

He says that now, but I think if Cole knew half the shit
I’ve done, he’d take it back. In fact, he’d probably have a good long talk with
Avery warning her to stay away from men like me. And he’d be right.

Avery

“Claire, it’s been an hour. When are you going to get here?”
I ask, hiding in the back locker room, away from those damn stalker-eyes of
Mason’s. I feel like he’s watching everything I do, just waiting to judge me or
laugh at me. I swear, all it took was him calling me
Birdie
to make me feel seventeen again. I had to check the mirror
to make sure my braces were, in fact, gone.

“I’m pulling in the lot. I just need to find a spot, okay?
What’s the big deal anyhow? You’ve brought Max in before. Your dad doesn’t
mind, and Max is always good at Dusty’s,” she says. I can hear her keys jingle,
followed by the beeping of her door, and I’m immediately filled with relief
that she’s here.

“Just meet me around back,” I say, sprinting through the
kitchen, hoping not to get stopped. I make it to the back door, and prop it
open with my foot to let Claire in.

“Okay, I see the door. Be there in a sec,” she hangs up, and
a few seconds later I feel her pull the door completely open.

“Hey, Manny. Hey, Sal!” she says, walking over to hug the
guys. Claire works at Dusty’s, too, but she’s usually on the morning and early
afternoon shift and doesn’t get to see the guys much. I don’t know how I’d
survive without my best friend. She works all morning, and then spends the
evening with Max so I can get a few shifts in during the week. She’s gone
through a lot of training, and she’s amazing with Max. She’s the one who
finally got him to put his own socks on—in under a minute.

Max has a hard time focusing on things he doesn’t want to
do. In fact, lately, unless it has to do with the moon or the stars or how the
earth rotates, it doesn’t have a place in Max’s world. But Claire’s managed to
find ways around the distractions.

Basically, we bribe him. And I used to cringe at
it—felt like I was treating my son like a puppy. But Claire has taught me
that it’s really just human nature to work toward goals, to seek rewards. So
when Max does something I want, or something Grandpa wants, he gets something
he wants—simple.

My pockets are always full of tart candies. Max likes sour
things. But he can’t eat certain foods, and most candy upsets his stomach.
There’s only one store in Cave Creek that sells the gluten-free tarts, and if
they ever discontinue them, I will throw a one-woman protest of epic
proportions.

“Okay, so where’s Max? And what the hell has you so worked
up?” Claire says, pushing her purse back up her shoulder and leaning on the
prep table in the kitchen.

“Remember Mason Street?” I say, my mouth watering with the
need to vomit just saying his name.

“Ave, the whole state remembers Mason Street. Wait, is
he…here?” she’s already bolting for the swinging door and cracking it open. I
love Claire to death, but subtlety is not one of her strong points. “Where is
he? What does he look like in person? Is he still hot?”

“Claire, we’ve known him since grade school. You know what
he looks like,” I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, but that was before he went on tour with a band. Did
they hit it big? Is that why he’s here? Is there a concert somewhere? Can he
get us tickets?” Suddenly, my friend has gone full-groupie.

“No, Claire. He didn’t hit it big. He’s a loser, and my
dad’s taking him in,” oh god, I was going to regret saying that. She backs away
from the door and flashes that mischievous smile she’s famous for—the one
that’s been getting me grounded since fifth grade.

“Mason Street is
sleeping…
at
your
house?” she says, her eyebrows
bobbing up and down just to annoy me.

I sigh heavily and sit down on the small step stool behind
the door, folding my hands around my face and leaning forward. “Yes, Claire.
Mason Street is sleeping at my house. At least, until I can get him to leave,”
I say, standing back up and forcing myself to have a little backbone.

“Why would you make him leave, Avery?” she’s already pulling
out her compact to check her makeup and touch up her lipstick. I can’t believe
how predictable she is.

“You know Max won’t like it, Claire. And because, frankly, I
think he’s a goddamned selfish asshole!” I say.

Claire just lowers her brow and studies me before answering.
“You’re not being fair, you know. You still think Mason Street is the same guy
he was at eighteen. But if you think about it, Ave, you’re nothing like the
Avery Abbot of Cave Creek High School,” she says, sneaking a look back through
the crack in the door.

Claire’s partly right—I’m nowhere near the girl I was
at eighteen. That girl was hopeful and innocent. That girl didn’t have a little
boy who depended on her for everything—a little boy who she wasn’t sure
would be able to survive kindergarten, let alone this world. And that girl had
fantasies about getting married—in a church, with a big puffy dress, and
violins playing from a balcony—to a man who would help her raise their
three kids and live happily ever after.

Yeah, I had veered far from the course
that girl
was on six years ago. Instead, I became the girl who got
knocked up in college, who dropped out to have a baby, and who’s raising her
son on her own, while she lives with her dad and tries not to drive off the
bridge on her way home from work every night.

“Damn, Avery. Did you get a good look at him? I swear,
girl—watching him talk to Cole is putting ideas in my head about those
two,” she says in her teasing voice.

“Claire!” I slap at her arm.

“What? Do you know the last time I went on a date? And I
mean a real date—not TV trays in your living room with your father,” she
jokes. I smile and laugh softly, mostly because I feel a little guilty. Claire
has given up her social life over the last three years just to help me get
through school. Sadly she’s the husband Adam never was, and I wish like hell I
could tell her to live her life, set her free. But I can’t, because some days
she’s the only thing holding me together. And Max—oh, Max—he
responds to her more than anyone else.

“Seriously, Avery. Come look,” she pulls me close to her by
the door. I feel ridiculous, but I indulge her. “That—that man right
there—is going to be down the hall from you…
tonight!”

I squeeze my eyes shut at first, mortified that the boy
whose name I used to doodle on my papers as a teenager might run into me late
at night when I sneak to the bathroom in my pathetic T-shirt and sweatpants.
Mason is in the middle of laughing when I open my eyes to look. He’s so much
older, but god is he familiar. His smile was always my favorite; the way it
dimples at the corners and stretches the width of his face. His hair has
somehow gotten better, just long enough to split down the middle and curl over
his eyebrows. He’s still wearing the white V-neck T-shirts and worn out jeans,
but his body seems to fill them out more. He’s gotten a tattoo on one of his
arms, and I’m dying to know what it says, but I don’t dare let Claire know
that. She’s right. Mason Street is hot as hell. But that doesn’t matter, and it
doesn’t matter for lots of reasons—the biggest being Max.

“I get it Claire. Mason is good looking,” I say, backing
away from the door and lifting my palms to show her she wins, and her grin says
she’s about to brag and tease me, but I cut her off. “But so what? There’s a
reason he’s landed back here, Claire, and it’s not because he has his shit
together.”

Claire offers me a conceding smile instead, and nods once.
“Okay, I’ll lay off. But you totally have to give me the details on anything
juicy tomorrow. Let’s go get Max so I can take him home,” she says, pushing
through the door.

When we pass through, Mason is right there. He wasn’t coming
in, but rather stopped, and I know he heard us, and that’s what halted him. I
feel bad for a few seconds, knowing I judged him like he’s done to me so many
times. But when I see the floppy blond curls on Max’s head as he slides from
the booth, I forget all about Mason Street, because in my reality, he’s
nothing.

“I’ll have him in bed by eight thirty. What time are you off?”
Claire says, her eyes wide as she looks at me because she sees Mason standing
right behind me. I ignore it all.

“I should be home by eleven. I just need to get Dad through
the busy part. I’m on again tomorrow, so I don’t want to work too late tonight,”
I say, bending down to try to look Max in the eyes.

This is always a struggle, but the therapists say it’s
something I need to practice with him every chance I get. Max doesn’t make eye
contact. He never has. It was the first clue we had that something was wrong.
By Max’s one-year appointment, he wasn’t doing any of the things on the
checklist for parents—no sounds, no emotional expressions, no pointing or
acknowledging things around him at all. I was terrified he was blind, or
deaf—or both. Adam and I fought about it—we fought a lot. I had to
drag Adam with me to Max’s pediatrician, because he thought I was just
overreacting.

But then our world was rocked. The doctor said the word
autism
, and the next day Adam was gone.
I tried to find him for months, but eventually, I just gave up. A year later, I
started to get money deposited into my account, and when I did a little
investigating, I found out it was from him. Seems my father had a few words
with his parents, and they forced Adam to do the right thing…
financially
.

The money’s nice, but when I’m piecing together my life with
help from my dad and best friend, just so I can work as a waitress and take two
classes a semester, I kind of wish Max had a father instead of some
state-mandated child support stipend.

I can feel Mason’s stare behind me while I try to look Max
in the eyes, and it makes me remember the sting on my hand from slapping him
earlier tonight. I hate that he’s watching this, because I know he’ll have
questions.
 

“Max, you need to look at me. I know you don’t want to, but
you have to do it, just for a second, okay?” I say, my hands putting light
pressure on both of his shoulders, just enough to keep Max still on his feet.
He doesn’t like affection, so I try not to touch him too long. “Aunt Claire is
going to take you home, and then she’ll go through your books with you, okay?”

Max nods
yes
once,
so I know he heard me, but I really want him to use his words.

“I need to hear you. Can you say your words, Max?” I ask, my
voice breaking a little, because I hate that I’m begging, and I hate that a
stranger—at least in terms of my life—is witnessing this.

I look up at Claire, and she’s on the verge with me,
hopeful, but sad all at the same time. She flicks her eyes to mine for a few
seconds, and gestures with her chin to my right side. I reach in and pull out
two candies.

“I need to hear your words, Max. And you need to make eye
contact, just for a second. And then you can have two candies, even though it’s
almost bedtime,” I say, and instantly Max’s pupils are square with mine. He
holds my gaze for two full seconds, and then looks back down at the corner of
the floor. “We need to read
Planets
.
The page is marked,” and that’s all Max says.

I can’t help it that I cry a little—I do every time.
Every little thing is such a huge milestone. Claire understands, and I’m so
happy to see her smile when I stand back up and give her a hug. “Sure, pal.
Auntie Claire will read
Planet
s,” I
say, also whispering, “Thank you,” in Claire’s ear.

“My name is Max,” I hear him say from below, already walking
through the kitchen door.

“You’re right. Max, not
pal
.
I’m sorry,” I say, laughing while I wipe my eyes with the tissue from my back
pocket. Max doesn’t respond to anything but his name. Sometimes it’s a cute
idiosyncrasy, but I worry that some day someone’s not going to find it as cute
as I do. But I’ll worry about that hurdle another time. Today was a
success—today, Max looked at me…for two whole seconds.

I don’t even acknowledge Mason when Max and Claire leave. Instead,
I pick up my tray, and head to the back to bus a table that’s cleared. He
doesn’t follow me, but he’s still hanging around. I can’t avoid the kitchen
forever, so I finally pass him with a full tray and a bin of dirty glasses. I
back through the door and he follows.
Damn.

“Here, let me help. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s
washing dishes,” he says.

“Yeah. Clever,” I say, fighting against my need to look at
him after I speak to see if my words cut just a little. His prolonged silence
lets me know they probably did.

Mason is reaching for the glasses as fast as I can pull them
from the bin. He’s working so fast that it’s almost like he’s trying to impress
me with his dishwashing work ethic. I dump the last few in before he can catch
up, then slide the bin over and reach for my tray to head back out to the bar.
I make it almost to the door before he stops me.

“Birdie, wait!” he says, and I cringe. My shoulders
literally fold into my spine, I hate that name so much, and just hearing it
now—after he called Max a
weirdo
—snaps
something deep within.

“I’m not twelve anymore, Mason. My name’s Avery, for fuck’s
sake—
Avery
,” I say, my hand on
my hip, and my lips pursed tightly. Mason looks down when I finish my
mini-tirade, and draws in a deep breath before squaring back up with me. He’s
always gotten away with his flippant remarks because he’s so damned good
looking. And that might have worked when I was sixteen. But I don’t have time
to take shit now, and the twenty-five-year-old me isn’t really impressed with
his perfect-ass teeth and scruffy chin.

“Avery. Sorry. Some habits die hard,” he starts, and I’m
already turning to leave. I can’t bear any more
cleverness
either.