How We Deal With Gravity (9 page)

“Good, I’ll be there with the wife. She loved your show,”
Nick says, his eyes darting between Avery and me now. I manage to give him a
silent shake of my head before he asks if we’re together, so he lets it pass.
Thank god, because I think that would pretty much do Avery in for the day.

“So, I was thinking, Nick. I probably need a haircut, too,”
I say, and Nick is nodding in full understanding. Avery’s eyes are wide with
surprise, and I take this opportunity to wink. I’m proud when it makes her
blush. “You know, it’s what you do, when you start something new. And now that
I’m playing at Dusty’s, I probably should look my best.”

Nick takes my lead perfectly and pats the seat next to the
one meant for Max and invites me to sit down.

“Max, you mind if Mason gets his hair cut too?” Nick asks,
and Max shakes his head
no
slightly.
I see his eyes shift to my feet while I step up on the seat, and he leaves them
there while I work my way into my chair. Nick fluffs the cape out next, shaking
it out to lose the wrinkles, before swinging it around my body and fastening it
around my neck.

“So, what are we getting?” Nick asks, scissors in his hands.
Honestly, I hadn’t thought things through this far. I wasn’t planning on
cutting my hair for a long time—I sort of liked the length. But…this was
more important. And I was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to be
in Cave Creek longer than I originally thought, so my hair would probably grow
back by the time I hit the road again.

I look to Avery, prompting her to help me answer
this—I wanted whatever Max was getting. Her eyes are still wide, but she
curls the edges of her lips slightly when she starts to speak, and I swear I
can feel my heart kick at the sight of it. “An inch off the top, and shorter on
the sides,” she says.

My hand runs through my hair one last time on instinct,
almost like I’m saying goodbye. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ll have that,” I say,
noticing that behind Nick, Max has now climbed into the seat. I tilt my head to
Nick so he notices, and when he looks back at me, his smile says it all.
Thanks.

Avery hasn’t said a word about my shorter hair, but I caught
her looking at it in the mirror during the drive home. I decided to ride home
in the back, next to Max. He let me, and I felt sort of honored by that. He
showed me some more details of the music program he was working on the other
day. Since the last time, he had composed an entire song. The instrument
choices weren’t the best, but the intricacy of the song he built was
impressive. Every rhythm and count matched perfectly, and it made me wish I
could get a
real
guitar in Max’s
hands.

Max’s blonde curly locks look nice, and I’m glad Avery let
Nick style things for the kid. She mentioned that he’s starting school, and I
know from the small bits from Ray that she’s nervous about it. Max walks ahead
of us up to Dusty’s, eager to get inside and count out the candies he earned
from finishing his hair cut.

I start to talk at least a dozen times, but I choke on my
words every time, so I just follow Avery up the steps to the front door. We’re
almost inside when she pauses with her hand flat on the door, her damn lip back
between her teeth.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice so quiet, I almost don’t
hear it. But I do.

“Don’t mention it,” I say, shrugging off the attention. I
don’t like to feel intimate attention, I’d much rather be the person giving it.

“No,” she says, turning to face me. I’m suddenly aware of
the small distance between us, and I can tell from her quick breath that she is
too. She’s boxed in by the door, and I know I could back up and give us some
room, but I’m having a hard time getting my feet to move. Avery looks down at
her feet, her nerves literally radiating from her body.

“No, Mason,” she says, her breath hitching slightly, and I
realize then that she’s trying not to cry. “Thank you. You have no idea…just
having someone else there. Just…thank you.”

Her eyes crawl up to meet mine slowly, and the look on her
face breaks my heart. The tears are pooling just above the faint freckles on
her cheek, and a single blink forces them to slide down her face. Without even
thinking, I raise my hand to her right cheek and stop the trail of one with my
thumb, slowly sliding it away, but leaving my hand there on her face, probably
longer than I should.

I start to think that I would be perfectly content just to
stand right here, right like this, for the rest of the afternoon, when the door
swings open behind her, and the face that greets me is suddenly the last one I
want to see.

“Hey, fucktard!” shouts Ben, the drummer in my band,
breaking apart any moment I was possibly having with Avery. In the brief second
before Ben pulls me inside, I notice the painful look on Avery’s face as her
eyes shut tightly, and all I want to do is punch my best friend in the gut and
run away with her.

She’s gone within seconds, and so is Max. My band mates are
on their second pitcher of beer, and talking about our set next week at
Dusty’s—and inside, I want to protest and tell them I’m going on alone.
But I just sit there and stare at the place where Avery was standing minutes
ago, just nodding and smiling and pretending I’m glad to see them.

And two days ago, I would have been.

Avery

I’m glad Mason’s band showed up. When Ben opened that door, it
probably stopped me from doing something really stupid. I’m sure I’m going to
fail the “lit” paper I worked on Sunday afternoon, because I can’t remember a
single thing I wrote. My head was too busy being stuck on Mason, and what he
did for Max. And I don’t have time to be stuck on anything other than what it
takes to start and finish my day.

Claire called me during her shift to warn me that the entire
band was there. They started drinking at Dusty’s earlier this
afternoon—all of them. She said they weren’t too rowdy, but that one of
them offered her $100 to sleep with her. I laughed—that sounds like Ben.
He’s the only one of the group other than Mason that I know.

Ben went to our high school. He was a bit of an outsider at
first—played in the school band and was always into theater, but usually
kept to himself. He was a great drummer, though—and that’s why he and
Mason hit it off. Ben was the first member of Mason’s band, and our senior
year, he used to play with him at Dusty’s. When he started hanging out with
Mason, he started going to more parties and dating more girls—his social
status sort of shot through the roof.

He was always the first one to laugh when Mason called me
Birdie
. What’s sad is before that, Ben
and I were kind of friends.

Max starts school tomorrow. We had his final one-on-one
session today with Jenny, and she spent most of our two hours together
reassuring me that Max is ready. I don’t know, though. I don’t think Max will
ever be ready. But I guess I have to try, right? I have to let him
try.

I took tomorrow off. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus. I
let my English professor know, too, and she gave me an advance of the
assignment so I don’t have to go to class—not that I’ll be able to gather
my thoughts enough for that, either. Great, that’s two failed assignments I can
count on.

I can hear Mason’s laugh before I even open the door. It’s
the loudest and most obnoxious he’s sounded since he’s been back in town, and
my entire chest constricts in anticipation of having to talk to
this
version of him. I swing the door
open and move quickly through the restaurant; I’m almost behind the bar without
being noticed when I hear Ben’s voice.

“Heyyyyyy, there she is. You’re right—it is Birdie!
Hey, Birdie!” He’s hammered, and it’s barely four o’clock. I can’t bring myself
to look at him, but I won’t let him get to me either, so instead, I raise my
right hand and flip him the middle finger while I walk the rest of the way
through the door.

“Dammmmmmn,” I hear the other guys teasing him while the
door shuts, and I’m glad I made a dent. I just hope I didn’t provoke them to
give me more shit. I’m strong—and I’ve worked hard to get strong. But
even I have my limits. And if they all pile on, they’ll break me.
 

“Where’s Max?” Claire asks when she joins me at the back
lockers.

“I just let him stay home. Dad’s with him; he’s coming in
later, so I figured you could just meet Max there. Is that okay?” I hate how
much I rely on Claire. She always says she doesn’t mind. But my life has become
her life—and she didn’t really sign up for all of this.

“Of course. I’ll pick up something to eat for your pop on my
way there. Max need anything?” she asks, but I’m so lost in my thoughts, I
don’t register her words. “Avery? You in there?”

“Oh, uh…yeah. Sorry…” I shake my head, and strip my shirt to
put my Dusty’s one on. “I’m just so stressed. It’s school tomorrow—Max’s
first day.”

“That’s right,” she says, sitting down on the bench next to
me, pulling her shoes off, and replacing them with flip-flops. “It’ll be good,
Avery. You knew this was coming. And Max…he’s ready. He’s been so good for me
in the evenings.”

“Yeah, but no offense, Claire. I’m not worried about how he
is at night. It’s the four hours in the beginning of the day in a classroom
full of other five-year-olds that scares the shit out of me. What if he has a
meltdown? What if he doesn’t make any friends? What if…” I can’t help the crack
in my emotions when I think about this, and I have to pause to wipe my eyes on
the inside of my shirt. “What if he can’t do this, Claire? Where do we go from
that?”

My friend slides over to me and pulls me in with her slender
arm, tugging me close. “Then we figure that out…
if
that’s what happens,” she says, and I start to protest, but
she’s quick to hold up her hand. “Ah ah ah. I said
if.
Don’t be so quick to discount that boy of yours. He’s mighty
capable—and you should know that.”

I smile at her when she says that. I smile because I can
tell she believes Max is capable, too. She’s right—I’m his advocate, his
fighter and his hero. And if anyone believes Max can do this, it’s me. And if I
have to burn Rome just to get him through kindergarten, than that’s what the
hell I’m going to do.

“You’re good at this, you know. This best friend gig?” I say,
swatting at her with my apron while she stands. She just laughs and runs her
fingers through her hair a few times before grabbing her bag and purse.

“I’ll read with him tonight. And we’ll get to bed early,
just so he’s rested. But, hey…listen,” she says, peeking out the kitchen door
at the cackling group of four sitting near the pool tables. “If you need to
call me…you know, just to get through
that?
I’ll be up, okay?”

Pursing my lips into a tight smile, I just give her a nod.
Yeah.
That.
I’m not sure how I’m
going to get through
that.
But if my
son can head bravely into a classroom full of kids he doesn’t know tomorrow,
then the least I can do is survive a six-hour shift with a bunch of drunk,
washed-up musicians.

I follow Claire out and wave goodbye while I start to set up
glasses with Cole. I’m glad he’s here. He’s been bouncing and bartending for my
dad for the last three years, and I’m glad my dad has someone he can count on.
Cole moved here with his brother, and they share a small house on the far north
end of town. They’re into horses. They even do riding lessons during the week.
I’ve always wanted to set Cole up with Claire—I know she’d be up for it.
But, he’s just sort of this mystery. I might just try though…once Max gets
school settled, and I can start to focus again.

“Sorry about that,” Mason’s voice startles me, and I end up
dropping the glass I’m drying.

“Job opening!” I hear one of the guys from his band shout. I
just roll my eyes at it and bend down to start cleaning it up.

“Shit, now I’m double sorry,” Mason says, his body now right
next to me, helping me pick up the shards that have scattered along the floor.

“It’s okay. It’s my fault. Butter fingers,” I say, not sure
why I’m making excuses. I should have said
yes,
it is your fault. You and those thugs you call friends.

“Hey, I told them to knock it off with the Birdie stuff,”
Mason says as we stand. I sweep my glass pieces into his open hand and he turns
to toss them into the trash.

“Why’d you even bring it up,” I sigh.

“Don’t worry. They won’t call you that again. Ben’s grown up
a lot—and they got my point when I told them not to,” he says.

“Oh yeah, and what point is that?” I ask, going back to
drying the stack of glasses in front of me.

“That I’ll kick their ass out in this parking lot if they
start shit with you. That point,” Mason says, reaching over and popping a
pretzel in his mouth before heading back to his seat, giving me one last grin.

He defended me. And damn it, I like that he defended me. I
can feel Cole’s stare, but I ignore him, and keep working on the glasses until
I run out and need to load in more.

“Cole, can you bring in another rack? Last thing I want to
do is drop more,” I say. Cole chuckles and smirks at me before heading to the
back, slinging his towel over his shoulder. He’s back with more in seconds.

“So, just curious,” he says while he drops the new bin in
front of me, and I immediately go to work drying and loading. “Are you helping
me because you wanted to help out? Or…are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” I answer fast, my tongue pinched between
my teeth while I concentrate on a spot on one of the glasses.

“Uh huh. Sure,” he says, laughing softly while he walks back
to the other end of the bar.

All right. I’m hiding. But no one needs to know that other
than me. And so far, it’s working out for me. The bar is filling up, and I’ll
be busy with customers soon. Barb just got here, and I know she’ll want to wait
on her son and his friends, so I can keep to myself. It’s my survival plan.

The first hour flies by. It’s open mic night, so the acts
are starting to arrive. I always like open mic—it’s the best and the
worst of karaoke. And sometimes, the bad acts are worth more than a dozen great
ones. There’s a guy with a violin who took up the corner booth, and I can’t
wait
to hear his story.

Barb’s been handling Mason’s friends, and true to his word,
no one has uttered a single
Birdie
since he told them to stop. I must be cashing in some karma, because my tips
have been over-the-top tonight, too. The last table left me thirty bucks!

I take my break in the back for a few minutes, and pull out
my phone to check on Claire and Max. It’s barely seven, so I know he’s still
awake. She usually sends me a quick note when he goes to bed, but she hasn’t
yet.

Super busy tonight.
Say goodnight to Max for me. I probably won’t see your text until late.

I wait a few seconds, and Claire quickly responds.

Good. Hope the tippers
are generous, LOL! I got a marriage proposal from an old man today. Can you
beat that?

One day, Claire is going to say yes to one of the old
ranchers who hit on her. She always jokes, but I think she’s thought about it
before. I want my friend to find love—probably more than I want to find
it myself.

No, you got me there.
But Ben did call me Birdie!

I roll my eyes remembering his voice. I think the nickname
bothers me more now than it did back then—probably because I’ve had years
to really think about it, and build it up in my head.

He’s an ass.

How’s Mason?

I stare at her text for a full minute, because I don’t know
how to answer that. Mason has been taking up a lot of my mental space. What he
did for Max at the barber was so unexpected. I don’t know why my son is so
taken with him, but I guess apples don’t fall far from their trees. I just
can’t help but feel like the other shoe is going to drop soon, so I keep him at
an arm’s-length. I’m willing to be friendly. But I won’t call him
friend.

Oh, you know…he’s
Mason. He’s not as drunk as the other guys, so that’s good, I guess.

I wait for her to write back, but she doesn’t. I know it’s
almost time to start prepping Max for bed. I hate that I don’t get to tuck him
in most nights. But Claire always reminds me that I’m only missing the routine.
Max has never been an affectionate kid. He’ll hug me, when forced. Sometimes,
when I’m holding his arms down after an anger episode, I imagine that I’m
holding him and rocking him to sleep. It’s similar—I’m calming him. But
he doesn’t seek my touch out—ever. I used to cry over it, but I buried
those feelings when I realized there were some things that Max’s autism was
never going to let us overcome. He loves me. He just doesn’t say it with words
or embraces. And that’s okay.

The crowd is pretty steady over the next three hours. That’s
how open mic night usually goes. The first few acts aren’t much to brag about,
but the later the evening gets, the more likely it is someone good will go on.
That’s how Dad tries out potential spotlights. If they can win over the
open-mic-night crowd, he’ll usually offer them a weekend.

There’s a girl with a guitar closing tonight, and she’s
pretty good. I can tell my dad thinks so too, because he’s been hanging around
the edge of the stage. He’ll offer her a weekend, and I’ll love watching her
face light up. Every single person that plays the Dusty’s stage has a dream.
Even when they say they don’t when they step up there, they’ve got one by the
time they step down.

This girl is a dreamer. She’s young, maybe about nineteen or
twenty. She’s good, too. Even Mason and his friends are listening. I haven’t
been to their table all night, so I take a deep breath and head over to help
clear some of the glasses. I don’t want to look like I’m avoiding them.

“Hey, stranger,” Mason says, his feet propped up on the edge
of the table. He’s a little buzzed—I can tell. He’s playing with his
phone, not really looking at me, but the sloppy smirk on his face shows he’s
aware I’m here. He’s wearing an old pair of Converse, black jeans that fit
tight to his legs and gather at his shoes, and a V-neck white T-shirt. Even
though he smells mostly of beer, I also pick up his cologne
underneath—rich and woodsy. I like it. I like it more than I should.

I also like his haircut. I’ve noticed it a few times
tonight. It’s short around his neck, like it used to be. There’s still a wave
in the top, and it flops a little in his face, but not quite as much as it did
before the cut.

He’s watching me over his phone. I can see his eyes move to
me every so often, and I just smile and continue on with my work. His attention
scares the hell out of me, because I know how quickly it can latch on to
someone else. But for now, I give myself this little moment. Right now,
slightly drunk, Mason Street finds me pretty enough to flirt with, and damn it,
I am.