How We Deal With Gravity(73)
When he didn’t show up at the house after his meeting, I was nervous. When the night grew longer, and he didn’t respond to any of my texts, I started to feel dread. And then nine thirty came and went, and Max noticed, growing more and more agitated each minute. I didn’t know how to set up the telescope. It’s old, and my dad has repaired it more times than I can count. I didn’t have it mounted steadily, and I know that’s why it tipped over so easily when Max pushed on it.
I know my dad won’t care. The broken lens isn’t a big deal. The thing that keeps eating away at me though is that damn letter from Adam. I know Mason meant well, but I don’t think he realized exactly how self-absorbed Adam was. Maybe it’s my fault; I didn’t portray an accurate picture after my dinner with him that night. My feelings—Max’s feelings—are of no consequence to Adam, and Mason must have put the fear of God into him for him to have even written the letters in the first place.
Adam actually blamed me for Max’s autism. He pointed to some article he read that said the “mother’s genes are the main contributing factor.” I know that’s bullshit, but that’s because I’ve done nothing but live, eat, and breathe research about Max’s diagnosis since the day his first doctor wrote it down on a file.
That’s Adam, though. When I look back at our relationship, I can see those pivotal moments—warning signs that he was not a good person. He wasn’t really a gentleman in high school, demanding we go dutch to prom, always calling the shots in our relationship. He was more interested in making sure my father loved him and approved of his plans for me, than involving me in the decisions and planning our future together. Adam picked where we went to school. He dictated whether I took morning classes or evening classes. And our pregnancy was because he insisted on not using protection.
I’m not saying I was completely complacent, but our lives definitely happened according to Adam’s will. His leaving forced me to be strong, and in some small way, I’m thankful for that. I need to be strong—Max needs me to be strong. And I have to be strong now.
Mason is sitting with his back to me at the table when I finally walk down the stairs. I know he hears me come down, and I can visibly see his shoulders tense.
“Out of bacon. Do you want some eggs?” my dad asks, his face telling me he’s in on everything that happened.
“I’m not very hungry,” I say, and Max picks up on his opening.
“I’m not hungry sometimes, but you make me eat,” he says, taking a bite of his pastry. He’s hungry this morning, so I’m not even sure why he’s being contrary.
“You’re right Max. But it’s because your body is still growing, so we need to make sure we take care of it,” I say, sparing a small glance at Mason. He hasn’t lifted his head from his plate once, and from the look of his breakfast, he isn’t very hungry either.
“What’s on our schedule for today?” I say, going to the small whiteboard on the fridge. It’s the zoo—sort of the last place I want to be today, but I will go.
“Zoo, and you said this time I can feed the giraffe,” Max says, standing and carrying the crumbs from his shirt over to the trash. Max doesn’t really like to be messy, so he’s always meticulous about cleaning up after a meal.
“I’d like to come,” Mason says, completely knocking the wind out of me.
“We won’t be there all day. I have homework, so we’re only staying through lunch, and it’s kind of expensive to get in without the pass,” I say, trying to deter him.
“That’s fine. Five minutes—five hours, I’ll take what I can get,” he says, and the pained look on his face makes me start to soften my resolve. But then I remind myself that I can’t just swoon because my heart and body wants Mason Street—I have to use my head.
“Here, you can use my pass. Just hold your thumb over the part that says senior,” my dad says, flicking the card from his wallet onto the counter. I grimace at my father when he does this, and he just pulls up one side of his mouth and shrugs.
“Fine, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” I say, and Max cleans the rest of his table space and heads up the stairs to change and get ready.
“Well, I’ll be home early tonight. I’d like to hear about that deal you made, Mason. Maybe you and I can chat about it later?” my dad says, purposely asking in front of me. I was pretty sure Mason’s meeting was a success. I vaguely recall him saying something about a deal last night, but I didn’t really have the mental space to ask him about it. That…wasn’t really my focus. And that was the problem. I’d lost my focus. It was time I got it back.
“That’d be great, Ray. I’ve got some questions about it,” he says, his eyes on me the entire time.
I can’t look at him squarely, and whenever my eyes hit his, my heart actually stings. My dad packs his small cooler and gathers up his books before heading out the door, and the second it shuts behind him, it feels like the room gets a million times smaller—the air completely gone.
“Ave, we have to talk,” Mason says, his voice desperate.
“Well, I guess we have all day,” I say, banging about the kitchen. I get more and more forceful with everything I touch, first slamming the cabinet when I reach for a coffee mug, and then tossing dishes in the sink rather than setting them down. I finally snap one of the plates in two, and it forces me to come to my senses.