How We Deal With Gravity(19)
“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.