Avery
I’m pretty sure I’ve formed a habit. I almost didn’t go back to Mason’s room because it was so late by the time I had my paper done. But…I promised. And I wanted to be there. I wonder if I could ever get to the point where Max would understand me sleeping in Mason’s room instead of ours? I wonder if I could ever get to the place where I’m not living with my dad? I wonder if I would ever live with Mason?
When I make my way downstairs, breakfast is at the table, and everything seems just like normal. Max is breaking off pieces of his pastry, taking small bites and chewing them longer than necessary. Mason is picking at a piece of bacon, and my father is loading up his own plate.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to force the redness from my face.
“Breakfast is ready,” my dad says, sliding a full plate my way. Breakfast is important to my dad—it’s his thing. He’s always made it for me, ever since I was a little girl, and having him do that still, even knowing that I’m with Mason, fills me with a sense of relief that some things never change.
I sit down next to Mason, but I leave enough space between us to keep it friendly, not make my dad uncomfortable. I guess I’m also hiding things from Max on some level, too.
I notice the table is shaking a little, and on instinct, I move my hand to reach for Max’s leg, but I stop short when I realize it’s not his that’s bouncing up and down—it’s Mason’s.
“You getting ready for a sprint race?” I say, nodding my head toward his leg. He looks down at it and smiles tightly, shifting his feet to cross them at the ankles.
“I…I uh, gotta talk to you,” he says, keeping his voice low and leaning over closely to me. What he says has my mind racing a million miles a minute, backtracking on last night, and already diving into the deep end of heartbreak.
“Okay,” I say, forcing my voice to be strong rather than break out in tears. I step outside and Mason follows; I fight against my instinct to turn around and slap him immediately.
“I wanted to talk to you about this last night, but well, we didn’t really talk,” he says, his mouth pulled up into a half smile, throwing me a little.
“Mason, what is this about?” I can’t help the way that comes out, and I can tell he hears the suspicion in my voice.
“Oh god, Avery. No,” he laughs a little, coming over to reach for my hand. I give it to him, reluctantly. “I need to talk about Max.”
In one moment, I’m relieved, but in the next, I’m full of worry. “What about Max? What happened?” I say, my body moving to head back inside to my son.
“He’s fine. No…no, he’s fine,” Mason says, laughing lightly and pulling me back to him. “It’s just…I did something. And I probably should have talked to you first, but I was there, at his school, and it all just came out sort of fast, and I had to do something.”
I’m sure the face I’m making still reads panic, because Mason takes a deep breath and apologizes again. “Let me start over,” he smiles. “I drove by the school, and I saw Max, sort of hiding out alone. It hit me, and I know it’s not my place, but I stopped in and talked to his teacher during the recess. She said he’s having a hard time making friends, which I know…is part of his challenges. But, I just wanted to help. So, I’m coming in today, to be his sort of, I don’t know…show and tell?”
Listening to this has me grinning so hard it’s actually hurting my jaw. I am so overwhelmed by Mason’s love for Max it has me wanting to cry. This moment, on top of the hour of sleep I got, has me incredibly emotional. “That’s…amazing, Mason,” I say, just hugging him to let him know I approve.
“You’re sure? I mean…I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. I know Max isn’t expecting it, so…I’m not sure what I do here,” he lets his shoulders slump with a deep breath. Max does like order, but things like this can be managed, and while I may not be able to help Max make friends instantly, I can help him be okay with bringing one to school for the day.
“I got this part,” I say, smiling at him. “What time are you coming in?”
“His teacher said nine,” he says, his hands in his pockets of his baggy jeans.
“Okay, let me take the lead on this,” I say, tugging at his arm, and urging him to follow me back inside. Max is just finishing breakfast, and my dad seems to have covered mine with a napkin. He pulls it off when I come back inside, never once taking his eyes off his newspaper.
“It was getting cold,” he says, clearly annoyed that Mason and I are messing around with his routine. Like Max, my dad likes things a certain way, too—but I think that’s just because he likes to be the boss.
“Hey, Max? I need to talk to you about something. Can you look at me for just a few seconds?” I say, taking one small bite of my bacon, and wiping my hand on the napkin. Max looks in my direction, but not in my eyes—close enough. “Your teacher called last night while you were sleeping. She wanted to let you know that there was a change for today. You’re supposed to bring a guest to school, just for a little bit, and she asked if it could be Mason. He’s going to come in at nine.”
Max twists his lips and looks away, not comfortable with something being different. “Why are we having a change? Thursdays are for centers. I get to do the planet center,” he says, his legs swinging a little in his seat.
“Yes, and that will all be the same. This is just one small thing she’s adding to the day,” I say, and his legs slow just a little. I look at Mason, and urge him to join the conversation.
“Max, the teacher wanted me to talk about music. But, she also wanted you to show the program you’ve been working on,” Mason says, looking at me for approval. I nod for him to keep going. “I won’t be there long, but I’m going to need your help.”
Max doesn’t look at Mason while he’s talking, but the second he’s done, he stands and walks to my purse, reaching in to pull out the iPad. “I’m going to take this to school,” he says, putting it in his backpack.
“Okay, but just for today,” I say, not really sure what Mason has planned, but hoping this works out.
Mason
I promised Avery I would text her the second I left Max’s class. She wanted to come, but she had to turn in her paper. I feel pretty good in Mrs. Bailey’s hands—I like Max’s teacher, and I think she’s on board with my crazy idea.
I’m standing in the hallway with my guitar at 8:55 a. m., and I can hear the sounds of chairs and desks scooting along the floor. I knock at her door, and hold my breath, hoping she hasn’t forgotten. When she opens it and smiles at me, I feel relieved. “Glad you could make it,” she says.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, holding up the guitar and moving the strap over my neck and shoulder.
“Class, we have a special guest today. This is Max’s…” she looks at me quickly, squinting, and questioning what to call me. She knows I’m not his uncle.
“Friend,” I say. “I’m Max’s friend.”
The guitar always gets attention—women and kids fall for it every time, and it has Max’s entire class quiet and staring at me for what happens next. “Hi,” I say, my voice a little higher than normal from my nerves. I perform in front of people all the time, but for some reason, having a couple dozen five-year-olds bake me with attention has my pulse ticking up a notch.
“Does anyone in here play an instrument?” I ask, sitting on the edge of Mrs. Bailey’s desk, resting the guitar on my knee. A few kids raise their hands, and I ask them what instruments they play. Some say piano, and others make up instruments or don’t really answer with an instrument at all.
“Okay, does anyone in here write music,” I ask, knowing one kid will surely raise his hand. He has to. Max’s eyes are looking forward, and when I ask that question, I can actually see his pupils flex, and his hand shoots up instantly.
“Max, you write music?” Mrs. Bailey asks, herself a little surprised.
“Yes,” he says, his hand back down, and his attention once again somewhere not quite at me.
“That’s right. Max does write music. And actually, he has been writing a song on this really cool program on the iPad. I was hoping he could show everyone, because I’m not very good at it,” I say, looking at Mrs. Bailey for reinforcement.
“Max, do you have your iPad with you?” Mrs. Bailey asks. Max doesn’t say anything, but instead goes to his backpack along the wall and pulls out the iPad, bringing it to his desk. He flips it open, and starts working on the program at his desk, not really understanding that he should show it to the rest of the class. I’ve got to help him out here.
“Max, I don’t think the others in the class can see, and they’re new to that program like I am. Can you stand up front and show it once?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing for too much. Max moves to the front of the class, and flips the iPad around holding it in front of him for a few brief seconds before turning it back so only he can see it. It makes me laugh inside, but I keep it to a smile.
“Can we show them how it works? I’d like to play something, and then maybe you can write it on the program?” I ask, waiting for Max to acknowledge me. He doesn’t, but he’s standing still, waiting with his finger in place, so I think he’s with me on this. I play a little bit of the song I’ve been working on, and I can see Max shake his head, probably because he already knows this song. He taps out a series of notes really quickly, and when he hits play on his iPad, the music I just played replays to perfection.
This is where Max suddenly leapfrogs over me and my cool guitar in the eyes of his classmates. A few kids actually say “Whoa,” and some near the front are standing, trying to get closer to see what Max is doing. Mrs. Bailey motions to them to stay in their seats, and she smiles at me, urging me to do it again.
“Okay, but you’ve heard that one before Max. Let’s try something different,” I say, and I can see his eyes immediately move to my hands, just like the first time he watched me play. I play a different song this time—one of my earlier ones that I used to play with Ray, and I let it go on for about thirty seconds, just to challenge him.
Max’s hand is fast at work when I am done. He puts all of the notes in place and sets the iPad to play as a piano, then sets it to begin. Not a single note is off—it’s amazing. I didn’t really do anything complex, but I know that if I had to write these songs on paper, it would take me several minutes, maybe even an hour, to get down what Max does in seconds.
We repeat our demonstration a few more times, and each time, the kids react and look at Max—a little differently. When my time is up, Mrs. Bailey announces that it’s time to get ready for recess and then centers. I watch Max put his iPad back in his bag and take his seat, anxious to get to the planet center.
Before I leave, I pull Mrs. Bailey aside and ask her to keep an eye on Max’s bag and his iPad, and she assures me she will.
I can hear the kids running to the playground behind me while I walk out to the parking lot, their feet trampling the pavement fast to get to the monkey bars and ball basket. I spare a look when I’m putting my guitar back in my trunk, and I search for Max. Just like yesterday, I’m having a hard time finding him in the sea of five and six year olds running in all directions. My heart sinks a little when I finally spot his feet sticking out of the tunnel, and I feel stupid for even trying. But then a girl with long brown braids walks over and bends forward, saying something in the tunnel; I see Max’s feet shift, his body scooting closer to the end of the tunnel, then she climbs in the other side, and puts her feet up just like his.
They don’t talk, and I can barely make them out from the fence, but she’s staring at him. And she’s staying by his side, while the rest of the playground goes on like normal. My eyes are actually tearing up, and if anyone ever caught me crying, I’d deny the hell out of it, but seeing Max not be alone is maybe the best thing I’ve ever seen—other than his mother’s smile.
I text Avery the second I’m in my car.
Max did great. There’s a girl sitting with him. One down, the rest of kindergarten to go!
I wait for her to respond, and I know she will. I know she’s probably been staring at her phone ever since the time hit nine o’clock. Her reply comes seconds later.
I’m so happy!!!
Me, too.