How We Deal With Gravity(69)
I probably fell asleep hours before Mason, so I’m careful getting out of bed. I sneak into my room to grab my clothes from my drawer, and I notice Max’s eyes are wide open and looking almost at me.
“Good morning. I didn’t want to wake you. We have a session with Jenny, and then I’ll let you pick your favorite thing to do today,” I say—while inside, my mind is racing to get two steps ahead of wherever Max is going to take seeing me slip into the room, not out of it.
“There is a meteor shower tonight. I would like to set up Grandpa’s telescope,” he says, laying flat on his back and blinking at the ceiling.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I say, clinging to my clean shirt, and slowly sliding backward to the door.
“Can I sleep in Mason’s room sometime, too?” he asks, and my eyes grow wide. This is where Max is different—he’s caught me, completely, but he doesn’t really question the whys. All he cares about is figuring out how he can have the same privilege I do.
“You’ll have to ask Mason,” I say, swallowing hard, knowing that Max is going to ask. I’m going to have to prep Mason for this one.
“All right, I’ll ask him tonight, after he watches the meteors with me,” he says, sitting up quickly and moving his feet toward the floor. Max rubs his eyes as he stands and walks to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door, completely cutting me in line.
Max is slow in the bathroom. He gets distracted, and usually forgets his purpose. I know I have a good fifteen minutes of alone time, and I use it—sneaking back into Mason’s room and running my fingers along his arm to wake him just long enough to warn him about the barrage of expectations that will be waiting on him when he finally wakes up.
“Hey,” he says, his voice groggy, and his breath smelling of stale beer and smoke. I pull my cover to my nose, and he covers his mouth when he realizes. “Oh, sorry. Hang on, I’ll brush my teeth.”
I tug on his shirt and force him back in his bed. “You can’t. Max is in there right now,” I say, biting at my lip in anticipation of the next part. “He…he caught me.”
Mason’s eyes are fully open at that, and he turns his head quickly to me, mouthing, “Oh, shit!”
“I handled it…sort of,” I say, slipping out of his bed, out of his reach. “So, he’s going to ask to have a sleepover sometime. Like, oh, probably tonight. Yeah, uh…and good luck with that!”
I race through his door and slam it shut behind me, tossing my clean clothes to the corner of the hallway, and sprinting down the stairs. I only make it about halfway before his arm is hugging around my midsection and my feet are no longer on the floor. “You threw me under the bus!” he says at my neck, tingles shooting down my entire body from the tickle of his scruffy chin.
“I did no such thing,” I say, and he pulls me close again, lifting me, and backing me up the stairs and to his room.
“I call bullshit,” he says, a huge grin on his face. “You’re the one who’s going to end up suffering anyhow. What are you going to do when Max and I are in here having fun all night, and you’re stuck over there all by yourself?”
It’s hard to concentrate when he has me pinned to the door, his tongue working its way up the crook of my neck and his nose tickling the lobe of my ear. “I’ll just read. Maybe even two books,” I say, and in a way that thought sounds like a gift from heaven. “Besides, it’s lights out at eight o’clock. So, I’m not so sure who’s getting the short end.”
He starts to tickle at my sides and I giggle uncontrollably. “Oh, I’ll show you lights out,” he says, his fingers working their way up my sides and coming closer to the tips of my breasts, when I hear a loud knock on the other side of the door, and push his hands away quickly.
“It’s Max. Be nice!” I whisper, and Mason opens the door to my son, who’s now changed into a bright green outfit. He only likes certain kinds of shirts, and sometimes for him picking out an outfit that he finds comfortable requires a little flexibility in the matching category. His shorts are kelly green today, and the shirt is almost florescent. At least I won’t lose him at the store.
“Tonight is the meteor shower. Do you want to watch it with me through Grandpa’s telescope?” he asks, turning to look at the door handle while he speaks. This must be really important to Max, because usually we have to bribe him to ask people to interact with him. I kick at Mason’s foot so he understands how important this is.
“I’d love to, Max. What time does it start?” he asks, looking at me with a devilish grin. He’s found a loophole to my bedtime rule.
“The best time to start is nine thirty. Mom, I am going to have to sit up later,” Max says, not really asking.
“Okay,” I say. I let it go this time because I can’t believe how far he’s getting.
“Got it. Okay, I’ll be there,” Mason says, holding his breath that Max won’t push for the next part, and when Max starts to walk away, I think he might have just dodged it.
“I’ll bring my blanket and pillow over later to set up my bed,” Max says, no longer really engaged with us and now just assuming that the rest of his plan is already enacted. In a way, Max is the ultimate closer—he never even gets remotely close to hearing no.