How We Deal With Gravity (6 page)

Avery

Somehow, I made it out of the house before anyone saw me
this morning. And somehow—
somehow!—
I
got Max to cooperate. He didn’t like the change in routine. And he dug his
heels in hard with me this morning. But a few extra candies, along with the
promise of more time with the planet books tonight, and I managed to stave off
any meltdowns.

Once I sent that email to Mason, I didn’t sleep much. I even
got up to Google how to retrieve it a few times, but all of the answers seemed
fairly technical, so I gave up. I wanted to send it to him. I’m just afraid it
will come back to bite me. Being nice to Mason Street always does.

For some reason, though, Max seems to be taken with him. Max
doesn’t really notice new people. Besides Dad, Claire, his few therapists, and
me, everyone else is just a cameo player in the play of Max’s life. He
remembers names, though. He always remembers names. But people who haven’t
worked with him, who haven’t earned that spot in his circle, are just
associated with the job they do. Cole is the guy who brings Max his chocolate
milk at the bar. And Bill, the older man who checks out our groceries, is the
guy who sells Max his apples. I’ve tried to explain to Max that those people
have full lives too—bigger than just that one thing they do for Max. But
he doesn’t really listen or care to know them more than he has to.

That’s not the case with Mason, though. This morning, on our
way to his one-on-one kindergarten session, Max asked me about Mason’s guitar.
He asked me what kind it was, and how hard it was to learn how to play. I
didn’t know the answers, so I told him he should ask Mason, and he said he
would. Our entire exchange was surreal—no bribes exchanged, no rewards
needed to be dangled to get Max to want to talk to Mason. He has a question,
and Mason has the answer—and Max made the connection on his own.

Maybe that’s why my heart sank a little when I pulled into
Dusty’s and saw Barb’s car parked out front. I knew she’d be back—she
always comes back. But I know as soon as she realizes Mason is staying with us,
she’ll insist that he stays with her, now that she’s back in her apartment on
her own.

I scan the lot for Mason’s Dodge Challenger, but it isn’t
here. I’m instantly relieved. I know I’m going to have to be a big girl and
face him sometime, but the longer I can put that off, the better.

I hurry inside with Max so I can get to my locker and change
before anyone comes in. Cole gets Max set up with his chocolate milk in the
corner booth, and I take a few minutes to jot down a short reminder list for
the homework I need to get done this weekend. Saturdays are hard, only because
we’ve been building in so many therapy sessions with Max, so I’ve been pushing
all of my homework to Sundays. A lot of people burn the candle from both ends,
but sometimes I feel like I just threw my candle in a skillet to melt the
entire damn thing at once.

“So, you hear Barb’s back?” Claire asks from behind me.

“Yeah, I figured. Saw her car in the lot,” I say before
putting my books away and flipping the clip on my locker to shut it tightly.

“She’s a hoot! That woman gets more action than I do, and
she’s almost fifty!” Claire says, pulling her Dusty’s shirt from over her head,
and swapping it out for a blue tank top from her locker. “She’s going to be on
with you all night. It’ll be nice to have the help. There’s gonna be a bit of a
crowd.”

There’s always a crowd on Saturdays, but nothing I can’t
usually handle, so I wonder what Claire means. Someone big must have been added
last minute. When I finally turn to square up with her, she’s sitting sideways
on the small bench next to me, smirking. And I know that smirk—she’s up
to something.

“What is that face for?” I ask, pursing my lips and not sure
I’m ready for her answer.

“Mason’s coming in,” she says.

“Yeah, I figured. He’s been helping Dad out, because he’s
staying with us,” I say, hoping she just nods and tells me I’m right, and that
it turns out it’s really no big deal at all.

“No, I don’t think you’re following me. Mason’s coming in…to
play!” my friend instantly squeals and grips my forearm like a love-struck
teenager.

Mason is playing. Live. Tonight. After I gave him that
recording. After I told him I believed in him. After I bared a little of my
past to him. And there is nowhere for me to hide; I’m going to be here, and I’m
going to have to hear it. My heart is beating a million times per minute, and I
have to wipe my palms on the sides of my shorts because they’re sweating so
much.

“If it’s okay with you, I thought maybe Max and I could
stick around, just for the early part?” Claire asks, snapping me from my
trance.

“Huh? Oh, yeah…I guess that’s fine. As long as Max is okay
with it. He’s had a long day, but he has a lot of his things with him, and I
brought my iPad,” I notice mid-sentence that the smirk is still full-force on
Claire’s face. She’s got more—I don’t know if I can handle more.
“Okay…what else has you all gushy?”

“Oh, nothing. Just…” she’s torturing me with this, and the
feeling in my stomach gives me the sense that I’m going to want to bury my head
in the ground after tonight is done. “I might have had a little conversation
with Mr. Street today.”

“What
kind
of
conversation?” I ask, my tone clipped. I’m getting really nervous now. And
frankly, I’m starting to get a little pissed off at my friend.

“Oh, the kind where he talks a little bit about how he
doesn’t know why you hate him so much and then your friend maybe tells him he
was a douchebag in high school. That kind of conversation,” she says, her lips
now in a tight, proud smile to match her folded
I-told-you-so
arms.

Shit
!
I know Claire meant well, but I also
know she doesn’t really get how much the way Mason used to treat me around his
friends bothers me. “Claire?” I sigh.

“Relax. I didn’t go into too many details. I just reminded
him about Nikki Thomas’ party…” she starts.

Fuck
!

“And I told him how you hated it when he called you
Birdie
. Oh, girl…you should have seen
his face when I told him how the first time he did it, it made you cry,” she’s
still going, and my heart has officially run out of rhythm now. I’m no longer
dying, because I’ve just ceased to breathe. Claire has officially embarrassed
me to death.

“Oh, and…well…this part you’re going to be a little mad
about…” she’s biting her lip.
This
part—
whatever she’s about to tell me—is what has her thinking
I’m going to be a
little mad
?

“Oh god, Claire…what did you do?” I ask, letting my face
fall forward into my hands. I can actually feel the heat radiating off of my
cheeks.

“I sort of told him that you used to be in love with him,” Claire
says, standing up immediately and backing away. Smart, because she knows I want
to smack her. She raises her hands up quickly, signaling there’s more. “But,
before you get all angry, I only told him because I think he’s got a little
thing for you.”

I let my face fall right back into my hands. There’s no way
Mason has a thing for me, not even the tiniest of little things. And after the
stuff I said to him last night, and the secrets my best friend just unlocked
for him today, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m some crazy, obsessed girl from his
past.

“Claire?” I say, shaking my head at her.

“Avery, don’t overreact. I promise I didn’t give him
anything that would embarrass you. I swear!” she’s waving her hands
emphatically, like she’s tossing magic in the air that will somehow make me
okay with all of this.

“I want to go home and throw up, Claire! But I can’t,
because I need Saturday night tips. And now I have to walk the floor, while
Mason is perched up on that stage listening to half-dressed bimbos scream at
him, getting in line just to see if he’d be willing to use them for the night.
And he’ll have this perfect goddamn view of me—the stupid girl from high
school, who’s
in love
with him!”

“I told you, I told him you
used
to be in love with him!” Claire tries to correct.

“Used to be…still am—it’s all the same to him, Claire!
He’s not going to believe I’m over him? Especially after…gah! Whatever. He’s
just going to taunt me with it—make it all into some game until he has
someone else to amuse him. Hell, I hope he moves back in with his mom now,” I
turn to lean back on the bench, and let my head fall flat against the wall so I
can stare at the ceiling. One day. One day! That’s all it took for my friend to
rip open every wound from my adolescence and give all my secrets to my enemy.

“He’s not going to do that, Ave. Listen to me—that
guy…he felt bad. I mean, horrible! He even asked me if I ever thought you’d
forgive him,” she’s sitting next to me now, shaking my arm and trying to get me
to give in. I think she’s probably sugarcoating it all now for my benefit. But
maybe, just maybe, somewhere in Mason’s selfish-ass brain, there’s a little
hint of guilt. I stand up and let out a big sigh before plastering a pretend
smile on my face.

“Okay, Claire. If you say so. But you’re definitely staying
tonight. For as long as Max will let you,” I drop my smile when I look at her,
making sure she understands my tone while I tie my apron around my waist, and
flip my head over to toss my hair up in a bun. I’m not messing around tonight,
and I’m not going to do anything that will make Mason think I’m concerned in
the least about what he thinks about me.

I open the swinging door and walk through, promising myself
that I won’t look up at the stage once tonight. And I had every intention of
keeping that promise—right up until my eyes landed on Max…sitting next to
Mason…and talking, while playing a game on the iPad. Max is talking. And Mason
is listening. And I’m frozen at the door, just watching my son have a
semi-normal interaction with a man he just met.

Not wanting to interrupt, I slip through the door quickly
and walk over to where Cole is lining up the glasses for the night.

“Hey, how long’s that been going on?” I ask, motioning to
the corner.

“A good ten minutes, I guess. He seems to really like Mason.
Kid’s said maybe a dozen words to me ever, and two of those are
chocolate
and
milk
,” Cole laughs.

I lean forward, keeping my head low so Mason doesn’t notice I’m
watching. Max is pointing to things on the iPad, and Mason is just watching and
nodding. Max is talking. He’s talking
a
lot.
He never makes eye contact. There’s still a barrier. But he’s engaging
Mason—without a single reward waiting for him in the wings, other than
the pleasure of talking to someone else.

Unable to take it any longer, I pick up a stack of menus and
walk to the corner booth, pretending that I need to bus and prep a nearby
table. I catch Mason’s eyes on me for a brief second as I approach, but he
quickly looks back at the iPad. I can tell he’s uncomfortable that I’m getting
closer though; I see him noticeably shift in his seat. His eyes dart to me
again, and on instinct, I flash a friendly smile, just like I would any other
patron in the bar. Mason’s eyes widen a little at my reaction, and I can see
the start of a smile curl at his lips, but he quickly brings a hand up to his
chin, propping his weight on the table while he settles his concentration back
to Max.

“This is how you add the instruments,” Max says, his voice
very serious while he slides his fingers rapidly around the iPad screen. “You
have to know the numbers. The instrument numbers need to match the ones on your
lines.”

I have no idea what Max is showing Mason, but he’s rapt with
it. Once I set the table, I move closer to the booth, stopping right next to
the edge where Mason’s knee is sticking out. I see him physically tighten up to
get smaller when I’m there, pulling his leg in and tucking it under his seat.
He actually seems nervous, his leg bouncing up and down under the tabletop
while his hands fidget in front of him.

“So, what’s so exciting over here?” I ask. Mason’s leg bumps
hard into the underside of the table when I speak, and the saltshaker tips on
its side, spilling granules in front of both of them. I hold my breath at
first, knowing how little Max likes messes. My son moves the iPad from his
view, but only for a moment before moving it back and continuing with his
lesson on whatever app he’s showing Mason. I slowly reach forward with a napkin
to wipe the mess onto my tray, amazed.

“It’s called Garage Band,” Max says, always only giving me
just enough to satisfy the question.

“Are you teaching Mason how to use it?” I ask, leaning a
little closer so I can see the screen. Mason leans forward as I do, like he’s
trying to maintain some force field between us. He’s so uncomfortable, and I
could kill Claire for this bucket of awkward she threw in both our laps.

“I am. He is a fast learner,” Max’s choice of words makes me
giggle. He’s heard us say the same words to him during his therapy sessions.
Funny that he’s paying a twenty-five-year-old the same compliment.

“Good. Well, it’s nice of you to teach him,” I say, then
force myself to leave. As much as I want to stay and watch, I also want to
pretend that it’s normal that Max is showing something to Mason—and I
don’t want to do anything to screw it up.

I head back through the kitchen, to the locker area, just to
catch my breath. Saturdays usually fly by because this place gets so busy, but
I have a feeling that tonight is going to seem a lot like
forever
. I have been dreading seeing Mason again after sending him
that recording, but I didn’t think I would feel so lost for words around him.
To say I’m uncomfortable in his presence would be an understatement, and I’d
like to blame Claire for it all, but honestly, I think the anxiety I’m feeling
around him is just as much my fault as it is hers.