How We Deal With Gravity(48)
“So, when’s Mason coming in,” she asks, and for some reason my heart skips, like she hit an open nerve. I stare at the glass in my hands—shining and drying, and hoping like hell my friend doesn’t start exploring this topic instead.
“He’s rehearsing with the guys. Probably won’t see him tonight,” my dad says, kind of gruffly. He grabs an empty bin, leaving me there to finish the rest of the glasses alone.
“Uh oh, looks like Mason pissed your pop off,” Claire teases. I keep my stare on my work and raise my brow a little with a shrug. It’s not the best acting, but please let it be enough.
Claire heads to the corner to talk with Max, getting him ready to take home. I finally breathe now that her spotlight is gone. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m letting Mason consume me, and all the while, I have this unbelievably enormous other worry that I should be tending to. Adam is getting married, and he basically wants to disown Max.
Max never asks about his dad. He doesn’t remember him, and I don’t bring him up. It’s probably not the best parenting. But, I have thought this through a thousand times. Max’s therapists don’t really see the value in me having a conversation with Max about Adam, and over the years, the topic has just faded into nothingness. I had a worry in the back of my mind that one day Adam would just reappear and want to be a part of Max’s life. But now…
“I’m pretty sure that one’s dry now,” I hear Cole’s voice over my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, lost in my thoughts there,” I smile, and move on to the next line of glasses.
“So, your dad’s pretty much been in a shit mood all morning. Adam bring that on?” Cole asks, tentatively. He’s never been very nosey. In fact, it took him months to ask about Max’s autism.
“Probably. Dad is possibly the only person who hates Adam more than I do,” I laugh. It’s true, though; I’m honestly surprised my father didn’t sock Adam in the jaw yesterday.
Cole nods at my answer and lifts the last bin of glasses up on his shoulder to carry to the back. “Well, maybe we can make Mason deal with him tonight then,” he says. I freeze, unable to follow the line of his sight to the front door where I know Mason has just entered.
I’m hyperventilating. I can feel my ears filling up—the few sounds in the bar muffled by the oncoming panic attack. I’m going to pass out if I don’t do something, so I crouch down behind the bar and sit with my knees pulled up by my chin, forcing myself to take in deep breaths. I can’t believe this is happening—I’ve survived so many more stressful situations, and this one…this one...is the one that’s going to take me off my feet? I can hear Ben’s laugh—his cackle—and it makes my entire body wash over with a wave of nausea.
I lie down completely now on the slip pad on the floor, my knees bent, and my forearms draped over my head. This is not happening! I can barely hear their voices, but I know the entire band is here. I bet they spent the afternoon listening to Mason talk about me, and how easy I am.
“Avery? What the hell, you’re on the floor!” Claire says, a little louder than I would have liked.
“Shhhhh, just shhhhh!” I say, waving my arm over my head. “I’m fine. Got dizzy. Please, don’t draw attention to me.”
She comes over to sit next to me on the floor, and puts a towel filled with ice on my head and neck. The coldness shocks me a little, but I’m suddenly hearing again and the room is no longer closing in on me.
“Thanks,” I say, wincing at her.
“You should go home. And you shouldn’t drive. I can get Max, let me go get him from Mason,” she says, and I react by grabbing her arm—my fatal error. Claire’s eyes narrow on my grip, and I can see her piece everything together in seconds, and all I have left is my ability to beg.
“Oh. My. God!” she says, again, louder than I’d wish. “You…and Mason!”
“Claire, I’m begging you. Pleeeeeeease!” I whisper roughly, pouring on my best pleading look—hoping she has some line drawn somewhere in her mind that sets off when she’s making her best friend uncomfortable.
“I just need the bare minimum,” she asks, smirk on her face. She’s bribing me—only this time, instead of dirt on someone else or some cute new guy at the bar, she’s strong-arming me for embarrassing details about myself.
“We…kissed,” I say, keeping it very vague. When her face lights up, I know I’ve given her enough. But I also know I’ll be spilling everything soon.
Claire stands back up and continues to act naturally at the bar, looking down at me every few seconds while I work to sit up and get to my feet.
“Where is he?” I ask, now sitting with my legs crossed and my eyes right at Claire’s knees.
“He’s still over in the corner, with Max,” she says. I take a giant big-girl breath and smooth out the loose strand in my hair. I was banking on the few extra minutes alone to really get my legs back, and to figure out whether or not I want to be angry or coy, but he’s already spotted me and is headed my direction.
“You’re here,” he smiles, like nothing’s wrong. Of course I’m here; I’m always here. Jackass.
“Yep,” is all I say. All that time stewing, all of those pretend conversations, giving him a piece of my mind, and that’s the best I can do. Yep. At least I was short, and I can tell he knows I’m pissed.