How We Deal With Gravity(20)
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.
It was so easy when he was this memory from my past—a story I pulled out of the air when I was out with the girls, reminiscing about the douchebags from our past. He’s always been part of my pity party—the girl who was rejected publicly by her high school crush, and then knocked up and abandoned by her husband. My sad story always won the bet, especially when I got into the details. Imagine how sad it would be if I let myself fall for Mason again.
Funny how I can’t stop imagining.
I shut my eyes and lie back on the bench for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety I can feel gripping at my lungs. Once my head feels clear, I sit up and adjust the knot of hair atop my head. I can’t hide in here all night, and at least I’ve broken the seal of silence between Mason and me—and I feel like I won the first round. He’s weak. And I’m stronger.
Yes. I’m stronger.
Mason
I hear words. That’s all I hear—words, words, words. My mother has been talking for a good fifteen minutes, but I haven’t heard a single thing she’s said other than, “…how could my own son come home, and not even call to let me know!”
She caught me by surprise. I was all mixed up, sitting next to Max, having him want to talk to me—like I was his friend. And then Avery came over, and for some reason my throat closed up, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. Hell, I couldn’t even look at her! And she seemed perfectly content with me not looking her direction.
And the second Avery left, my mother was standing in the spot she’d just abandoned. Max didn’t even flinch when my mother started berating me with a string of choice words. In fact, Max just kept right on teaching—sliding his fingers around and building a song on the digital timeline. I envy that kid and his ability to focus—or maybe it’s his ability to tune out.
That’s exactly what I’m doing to my mom right now, only instead of an iPad, I’m obsessed with figuring out Avery. She didn’t seem angry when she saw me tonight, and she even left me alone with Max—something that two days ago she would have died before she let happen.
Talking to Claire earlier dug up a lot of old memories, and a lot of shit that I’m not proud of. Looking back, yeah…I knew Avery liked me. I never thought it was anything serious, but that’s only because it wasn’t serious to me. It was this funny joke that I had, and I’d roll my eyes to my friends about how I liked going over to Ray’s, but that his daughter always followed me around like a puppy. I didn’t think I was ever mean about it. Honestly, I was always actually kind of jealous how easy school and shit was for her. But I also never wanted anyone to get the wrong idea about the amount of time I spent at Ray’s house, never wanted anyone thinking Avery was my girlfriend.