How We Deal With Gravity(16)
I’m a disheveled mess, my hair wet from the thirty-second shower and my shirt half tucked in when I walk into Dusty’s. I always liked the lunch crowd. It was nothing but locals and regulars, people who actually came here to get drunk early and eat the food. I look like I fit right in.
“Thanks for hanging on to my stuff, Ray,” I hear a familiar, grating voice say from the other side of the swinging door. If I could wish myself to have one super power right now, it would be invisibility. But since that’s not an option, I do the next best thing and duck behind the counter while Ray and my mother walk around the other side.
“Sure thing, Barb. You know you’ve always got a place here,” Ray says, holding the door open while my mother follows him through. I can see the top of her copper hair as I crouch and slide my way around the opposite direction of the counter. “So, you good startin’ back up tonight then?”
“Honey, I’m always ready,” she says, her overt flirtation like a wet fish slapped in my face. My mother always threw herself at men—doesn’t matter that she’s known Ray for years. He has a penis, no wife, and a decent job. That made him fair game. At least until some millionaire shows up.
“You can’t hide here forever, ya know,” I hear behind me as a foot kicks my ass lightly, just enough to push me off balance and onto my hands and knees. I turn around to see a tiny brunette with short bobbed hair and her hand on one hip, her tray balanced against the other. “That’s your mama, Mason. She’s going to know you’re back in town eventually.”
“Yeah, I know…” I say, studying her face and looking for recognition.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she says, popping a giant bubble with her gum. I know I know her, but damned if I could remember her name right now. She’s one of Avery’s friends—I saw her the other night, and I’m pretty sure not recognizing her now is not going to do me any favors when it comes to Avery. Shit, I hope I never slept with her!
“I remember you…it’s just…been a while,” I say, standing up and dusting off my jeans, racking my brain…nothing.
“Uh huh. Sure you do,” she says, walking past me with a smirk on her face.
“Carrie,” I take a stab in the dark. The look she shoots back at me tells me I’m not even close.
“Claire, Mason! Good lord, at least you got the first letter right. I’ve known you since sixth grade?” she says, loading up her tray with drinks, straws, and napkins. I decide to help her, hoping my gesture might just earn me some points.
“Yeah, that’s right. Sorry. I knew you…I just couldn’t get the name to come up. Sorry,” I repeat, sheepishly. It’s better to just own up to this.
She gives me a short half-smile and pauses for a second or two before shrugging and lifting her tray. I follow behind with a stack of menus. “So, Mason. What are you doing back in town?” she says over her shoulder, dropping off a few drink orders before seating a group of construction workers at a booth.
“You know, just figuring some things out. Not sure if I want to tour any more or maybe work on some solo stuff,” I say, not really ready to lay my failures out for her.
“Uh huh,” she says, her smile just dripping with condescension.
“I’m not with the label any more, so it’s a good time for me to take a break,” I keep going. Fuck! Why do I feel the need to justify myself to this chick?
She just keeps going about her business, dropping off napkins for one table and bussing another, and I keep following her, like some new kid who doesn’t fit in. That’s me—somehow, I’m the new kid! I used to kick my feet up at the corner booth, and skip school until it was time to go on—college chicks lining up just to sit on my lap. And now here I am, begging for approval from a waitress, who clearly couldn’t give a shit who I am.
I finally drop the menus I’ve been carrying around into the bin at the hostess desk and sit at one of the nearby stools, pulling out my phone so I can look busy and find a way out of this sudden feeling of inadequacy. Then I hear the stool drag closer, and seconds later Claire is sitting right next to me, leaning on one elbow—staring. I squint at her and grimace, probably a little rudely, but I’m done trying to impress her. So what if she’s Avery’s friend.
“Avery told me you blew it,” she says, completely deflating me and annoying the f*ck out of me at the same time.
“Yeah, well, what does Avery know,” I say, flipping through my ESPN app just trying to find something else to occupy my attention. Funny how many times I’ve asked myself what Avery knows over the last 48 hours. Turns out she might just know me better than anyone.
“My god, Mason. Are you really that clueless?” Claire asks.
“Apparently,” I sigh, continuing to flip through some story on human growth hormone lawsuits and baseball. Claire’s not taking the hint though, so I close the app and push my phone back in my pocket to give her my reluctant attention.
“You, like…really have no idea, do you?” she says, with this faint, cocky smirk. I’m starting to hate this chick.
“Nope,” I say, folding my arms up a little defensively now.
Claire’s smile gets a little bigger, and now she’s scooting closer. She starts looking around, making that face chicks make when they’re gossiping. For some reason, it’s starting to make me nervous as hell, so I start looking around, too. Finally satisfied that we’re alone, she props her chin up on her hand, cupping it a little for even more privacy. I’m starting to think she’s about to tell me that she’s a transvestite, she’s acting so strange—when she drops an even bigger bomb.