How We Deal With Gravity(47)
Before I woke up this morning, alone in Mason’s bed, I was dreaming. My subconscious actually went to the place where Mason and I are some happy couple, moving into our first house together, picking up Max from school together, going to the grocery store together. Then I woke up—alone. He didn’t even leave a note.
I thought about calling him. I programmed his number from my dad’s phone when I left this morning to take Max to school. I thought about calling him all the way to my class. Then I thought about calling him during my drive back to Max’s school. I’m still fuming, and the closer we get to Dusty’s, the more I want to take one of those golf clubs to his headlights—and then his head.
“Is Mason going to be at Grandpa’s?” Max asks from the backseat. His question has me so baffled—I almost drive off the road. Max doesn’t look forward to people. He looks forward to earning things, like game time or his next chocolate milk. He’s never once asked about seeing his grandpa or Claire. Why Mason? And of all days to ask, I swear he’s intuitive.
“I don’t know, Max. I think he has rehearsal with his band,” I say, secretly hoping Mason’s car is in the lot when we pull in—for Max’s sake, of course.
Max doesn’t respond, but instead, continues to move his finger around the iPad in the backseat. I’ve gotten used to the one-sided conversations with Max—once he gets the information he’s looking for, he’s done. It’s something we’re working on, closing out conversations and taking an interest in what other people have to say. I tell myself that’s why I’m about to ask him the question I’m about to ask.
“Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my eyes darting around the parking lot as we pull in. His car isn’t here. Damn.
Max doesn’t answer, which isn’t anything unusual, except usually he’s not answering my question about how he enjoyed class, or therapy, or a visit with one of his doctors. And I should care about those answers more than I do this one—but I don’t.
When I park, I take off my seatbelt and turn completely around in my seat so I can face Max. “Did you hear me, Max?” I ask, his eyes moving rapidly around the surface of the iPad, his body language completely tuning me out.
I put my hand on the screen to distract him, and he jerks it away, continuing to play whatever game he’s working on. I am walking a fine line right now, and I know I could have kicking and screaming in seconds if I’m not careful; I reach again for the iPad. I don’t block it, but I put a small amount of pressure on it with my finger, tilting it just enough to distract Max, and I ask him again.
“Max, you can keep playing this as soon as you answer my question. Why do you want to see Mason?” I ask, my breath held, and my inner voice praying he just answers. I can see his breathing picking up, and I can tell he’s frustrated. His finger keeps moving around the iPad, but I know he’s having a difficult time seeing the screen at the angle I have it. His frustration is building, and I’m about to give in…
“I need him to teach me something,” he says, and I let go of the iPad, and he continues on with his game.
“Okay, well I’m sure he will be around later,” I say, getting my things and stepping out of the car. I wait outside his door, not opening it, for a few seconds, just looking at him through the window—watching him live in his own little world. I know he didn’t say he wanted to hang out with Mason. Mason has something he wants, and that’s what Max is focusing on.
But what he said still scratches at me. Max has never asked to learn something from someone. He’s resourceful—he answers most of his own questions with the help of YouTube. But he used the word need just now. He said he needed Mason. I keep playing it over and over in my head, and it both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time.
I don’t have a poker face. It’s a skill I always wished I possessed, especially with Claire. She doesn’t have much of a filter. So basically, I’m an open book for her to analyze without punishment. She’s on to me the second I walk in, and I know I only have a few minutes before she’s at the lockers with me, swapping shifts.
“What happened? Adam wants you back, doesn’t he?” she asks. It’s funny how far from the center of my anxiety she is. Under any other circumstances, my dinner with Adam last night would have been enough to wreck me for days. But then I kissed Mason. And slept in his arms. And he left without saying a word this morning. And somehow that’s the part I don’t want to talk about. So I go with her lead. Yeah, let’s be angry with Adam for a while.
“He’s getting married,” I say, knowing that will be enough to set Claire off. I’m right, and she spends the next ten minutes swearing and questioning, getting bits of answers from me at a time until she has the entire story. I let my friend be angry, and I love her for it. I listen to her say all of the things that went through my head—and the entire time, I think about Mason.
“What are you going to do?” she says, and her question jolts me back. I haven’t really thought about it, not that there’s much to do, so I just shrug.
“I have to think about things,” I say, turning to walk back into the bar. Claire follows, and I can hear her muttering behind me. My dad is at the bar, so I head his way to help him dry glasses and get ready for the night crowd. I give Claire a knowing glance, and thankfully she picks up on it. I’m not ready to have the Adam conversation with my dad yet, so she quickly changes subjects.