Avery
“No, Claire, he didn’t kiss me; that’s what I said,” my friend keeps replaying my story to her over and over—hoping that one of these times it ends with Mason kissing me. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t, because Mason likes to play games, and that’s all this is. A distraction.
“Okay, well…are you guys going to go out sometime?” she asks.
“No. That was it—just that stupid game of darts, and an almost kiss. That’s where the story ends,” I say, looking for my orange headband to pull my hair back. I have to get Max to school—school. I don’t have time to be rehashing what ifs and do I think Mason likes me with Claire…like we’re at a slumber party.
“I don’t get it,” Claire starts, and I can tell she’s going to dive into another round of analyzing, so I stop her.
“I don’t get it either, Claire. But I’m done worrying about it. I have to get Max ready. I’ll call you later,” I pinch the phone between my shoulder and chin so I can slide my headband on while my friend says goodbye.
Max is already downstairs eating his breakfast. He’s eating just like we do almost every morning. We’re sticking with our routine…only today, unlike the rest, we’ll turn left out of the driveway—and go to Cave Creek Public. The teachers are ready, and according to Max’s therapists, Max is ready. I on the other hand am nowhere in the realm of ready.
“So the trick with school is you have to get yourself a good nickname,” I hear Mason explaining as I walk down the stairs. I spare a peek, and Max isn’t listening to him. I’m actually glad he can shut things like this out because the last thing Max needs is a nickname.
“Morning, Avery,” Mason says over his shoulder. He heard the stairs. I hate those stairs.
“Morning, Mason. Thank you for starting breakfast,” I say, realizing my dad is long gone. It’s just been the two of them.
“No problem. Was just learning from Max here about his big day,” Mason says, leaning back, and sipping on his coffee. It’s first thing in the morning, and I can tell he hasn’t showered, but damn it if I don’t find him appealing. I wonder if I would have found him this alluring before last night? His hair is twisted on the top, thanks to his new haircut, and he’s wearing a striped pair of pajama bottoms along with an old Dusty’s T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved—I always like it when he doesn’t shave. I stop myself from getting carried away when the smirk on Mason’s face registers with me.
“So, you sleep all right last night, Avery?” he grins. That damn grin! I’m about to come up with a boring response, when he winks at me, and I just get all flustered, causing him to chuckle. I’m playing right into his hands, and I hate it.
“Max,” I turn my full attention to my son instead. “Do you have everything in your backpack?” I pull it from the back of the chair, but Max stops me quickly. I’m making him nervous, changing the order of his things, so I put it back and just smile.
“We need to leave in six minutes, okay?” I set the stove clock. This is one of the tricks Claire taught me, she uses it when she’s changing up Max’s bedtime routine. He likes order, and when he knows what’s coming next, he does better.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal, and reach for the milk, only to find Mason standing right behind me—close behind me. “Excuse me, just wanted to get a little milk for the coffee,” he says, his breath tickling my neck. I quickly step forward to give myself some safety—some distance. He doesn’t really want milk. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him touch milk. He’s just trying to get to me, and I’m not going to let him.
I reach in and grab the gallon to pour it over my cereal and then hand it to him, and he purposely puts his hand over mine during our exchange. It makes me flinch, and that makes the corner of his lip raise a hint. He’s winning.
I pull out my notebook, and review my to-do list—over and over—while I eat my cereal. I have it memorized, but I need something to do for four minutes, and this will work. With a minute to spare, I lay out everything that I’m about to put inside Max’s lunch bag to review it with him.
“I have all of your favorites in here. And remember, they’re in these bags today, different from the plate, but the food is the same,” I say. Max isn’t looking at me, so I kneel down next to the table, and repeat myself, only this time I ask him to look me in the eye.
“I understand,” he says, his eye contact with me is shorter than he can normally hold it. I know he’s anxious. He can’t say he’s anxious, and he doesn’t understand what it means, or what the feeling is, but I know it’s inside him. His legs are already bouncing under the chair, so I hold my hand on his knee to stop it.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” Mason says, his hand on my shoulder. This time, I leave it there, and I don’t even pretend that it offends me, because it’s so very much the opposite. I freeze at his touch, but I slowly let out everything I’ve been carrying inside. My face is blocked from them both as I stay knelt below the table, and I let a single tear fall down my face. It needed to. I probably need to shed more than that one, but that’s all I have time for.
“Thank you,” I say, almost a whisper. When I stand, I blot my eyes dry, and take a deep breath before I turn around. Mason isn’t teasing anymore—he’s sincere. It’s surprising…yet, it isn’t.
“Okay, Max. It’s time,” I say, gathering his lunch bag and backpack along with my school things. We’re venturing into new. I know it’s good, and it’s what I’ve wished for since the diagnosis. But I just can’t shake the feeling in my gut—fear.
The drive to school was flawless, even the stoplights were on my side. I walked Max to class, and spoke with his teacher, and she assured me she was ready.
Ready.
Seems everyone is ready—but me.
I stayed to watch, observing from the back of the class until the teacher gave me a signal that it would be a good time to “slip out.” I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to. I sat in the parking lot for the rest of the day, just watching the minutes tick by, and playing games on my phone.
Picking Max up was almost worse than dropping him off. I had spent so much time conjuring visions of worst-case scenarios, that by the time I actually got out of the car, I had convinced myself they were true. In my head, Max was locked in a closet, kids teasing him, and the teachers frustrated at not knowing how to restrain him. I actually ran to his class and waited outside for the bell to ring. When the other kids came streaming out—many of them running—I started to panic, searching for my son. Where was he in the mix? Was he in another classroom somewhere? Is this going to work? This isn’t going to work.
He was the last to leave the classroom, walking in a perfectly straight line to the door, just as his teacher had instructed. I wanted to hug him, I was so proud. But I didn’t. Instead, I just sat on my knees, forced him to look at me, and asked him how his day was. Fine was all I was going to get. But fine was more than enough.
His teacher, Mrs. Bently, gave me a smile and thumbs up, so Max and I headed for the car. We haven’t talked the entire trip to Dusty’s—not because I don’t have a million questions, but because our therapist told me to try to keep other things to a normal routine. I’m not working today, but I know my dad is curious, so we’ll stop in before heading home with Claire. Max plays on the iPad on the way to Dusty’s—it’s a reward that he earns for doing well in therapy and for working hard. And today, Max worked very hard.
“Well, how’d it go?” My dad is the first to ask the second I walk in the door. Mason is standing on the other side of the bar, behind him, and as if on instinct…my eyes go to him.
“It went…great,” I let the smile crack now in full force, and my eyes water. I’ve held it together most of the day, but I’ve got to let some of it out. Max heads to the corner booth—just like every other day. Cole is quick to follow with his chocolate milk, and I watch as Max crawls to the center of the booth, his spot, where he can feel comforted by both sides of the cushions.
Mason is in front of me, hands in his pockets, and the same smile he left me with this morning is still on his face. “Told you it’d be all right,” he says, nodding his head in Max’s direction.
I don’t know why it hits me so hard, but it does, and now I’m sobbing, hands over my face, and my purse and Max’s backpack at my feet. Mason is fast, and his arms are around me in seconds, and I let them be. I grip at the back of his shirt, and bury my face deep in his shoulder, the tears pouring out now. I can’t stop the shaking, and every time I try to catch my breath and my body shudders, I feel Mason squeeze me harder.
My dad is next to us soon, and I feel his hand rubbing my back. He’s offering his shoulder now, too, but I can’t leave Mason’s—I won’t. I need it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice muffled by Mason’s shoulder.
“What’s to be sorry about?” Mason says, his voice soft in my ear. “You’ve been strong…still are. You needed this.”
I loosen my grip and let my hands slide down his shirt to his shoulders. It’s a nice shirt—it’s a plaid button-down, probably something from Abercrombie or something like that. It smells nice, too. Of course, I’ve just left a giant wet spot on the shoulder, and wrinkled the hell out of it.
I pull it straight as I back away and wipe at the spot I drenched with tears. “Oh,” I giggle nervously, “I’m pretty sure you’re going to need a new shirt.”
Mason looks down and rubs his hand along the wrinkles a few times before sniffing. “Nah, looks fine,” he says, his half-smile something I can’t help but stare at.
We hold our gaze, and I watch as his smile shifts into something more serious. I want to leave, but something inside me tells me to stay—to see this out. So I do. Mason reaches his hand up once again and slides his thumb gently over my cheek, his eyes trained on his hand. His brow is pinched in thought, and his lips part with a breath, like he’s about to say something—something important.
“Yay! First day of school, done!” Claire says behind me, her voice loud and unabashed. Whatever Mason was about to say, he’s not going to say it now. He’s still standing in front of me, and he’s still looking at me with the weight of everything he wants to say just hanging there in the balance. His brown eyes are almost golden they seem so warm.
As soon as Claire is next to me, Mason disappears. What’s more surprising is my overwhelming urge to follow him. I don’t, though. Instead, I turn to my friend, who is already grilling me with questions about Max’s first day. I answer her quickly, and head to the back, my eyes scanning all directions for Mason, wondering where he went.
“Okay, so what was that?” Claire says, changing her Dusty’s shirt and completely switching her line of questioning.
“What?” I pretend. This won’t last long—it never does. She doesn’t even speak, but rather puts one hand on her hip and narrows her eyes on me. I give in to her glare immediately.
“I…I don’t know,” I say, flopping forward, and putting my palms to my head. “I’m in trouble, Claire.”
“Yeah you are,” she says, clicking her locker shut and sitting next to me, reaching for Max’s backpack. “You sorta like him again…don’t you?”
Her tone isn’t teasing, which I appreciate. But I don’t want to answer her question. I don’t want to, because yeah, I sorta like him again. In fact, I more than sorta like him. And I barely remember what this feeling feels like, but I also sorta remember that it hurts.
“Hey, Avery?” Mason’s voice calls from the kitchen door. My heart speeds up the second I recognize it, and out of instinct I grip Claire’s hand.
“Yeah, just a second,” I say, standing and checking my shirt, making sure it’s tucked in completely. I brush back the fine hairs, adjust my headband, and get a reassuring smile from Claire that I look somewhat put together.
I try to keep my face normal—not smile too big, not chew my lip with nerves. The closer I get to Mason, though, the more uneasy I get. He’s scratching at his neck, and he seems unsure about something.
“Whatcha need?” I say, my stomach now completely twisted on itself.
“You, uh…you have someone here to see you,” he says. I don’t like the face he’s making, and even though I can’t read it, I can glean enough to tell that whatever—whoever—is waiting for me on the other side of this door is about to change the course of my day.
“Oooookayyyyy…” I say, looking over his shoulder and then back to his face, trying to get one more read. At first, I see nothing but an empty bar. Maybe it’s someone from the school, maybe Max had an issue and the principal stopped by—that’s okay, I can work with that. I knew there would be bumps along the way.
I scan both ends of the restaurant area. Nothing. For some reason, not seeing someone is making my worry intensify, and I’m starting to feel sick. I start to move to the main door when Barb arrives and opens it wide. She says, “Hello,” and I nod at her with a smile. But that smile lasts only a fraction of a second, because behind her, I catch a glimpse of my guest while the door is closing.
Adam. I haven’t seen him since the day he left—more than four years ago. I don’t know where he’s been, and I’ve told myself for the last couple of years that I don’t care. But right now, more than any urge I’ve ever felt, I want to run to him, slam him hard in the chest, and knock the life from him—just like he did to me.
Mason
I never liked Adam Price. Oh who the hell am I kidding—I never really gave two shits about him. But now…today…I fucking hate the man. He’s smug—he looked smug the second he pulled up in that giant black Chevy Tahoe with blinged-out rims. He had on these expensive sunglasses, and when he pulled them off his face, he actually looked around to make sure people were noticing him. Arrogant asshole!
The only thing I can take comfort in right now is those few words I heard Ray whisper under his breath when he pulled up. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” he said. I may have disappointed Ray a time or two, but he’s never wanted to kill me.
I feel so goddamned helpless sitting here in the bar. Ray walked in the second Avery walked outside to talk to Adam. I could tell he wanted to stay with his daughter—have her back. But he also didn’t want to pry. He’s pacing still, moving from the small window by the front door, to the storeroom, and back again, all the while muttering a choice set of words.
Ray saw him first. He sent me in to fetch Avery, and told me he needed to keep Adam outside, away from Max. Before I left, I heard him lay into the man that was once his son-in-law. He didn’t touch him, but his fist was raised. Ray may be an old man, but that fist is experienced—before he used to hire bouncers, he used to take care of funny business at Dusty’s himself.
“I’m surprised he didn’t just shoot him,” Claire says, leaning over me to get her own good look in through the window. I planted myself here the second Avery went outside, and I have no intention of leaving.
“People say I’m the asshole,” I laugh.
“No one says you’re the asshole, Mason,” Claire says, reaching into her purse for her keys. She’s keeping Max inside, not letting him leave until his dad—who he probably doesn’t remember and hasn’t seen in years—leaves.
“Oh, they do. I know that one does,” I say, tilting my head to the window. Claire looks out again and stares at the conversation happening outside for a while before answering.
“I won’t lie. Yeah, you’ve been the asshole a few times for that one. But she’s got you in a whole different place now. Don’t screw it up,” Claire’s bluntness takes me by surprise. She taps her keys on the counter and pulls her bag over her shoulder before heading over to sit with Max at the booth. He’s busy on his iPad, oblivious to the domestic minefield threatening to explode all around him. I should go sit with him, too, but I’m stuck on watching over Avery.
Seconds later, the door swings open, and Avery walks in. She holds her hand up to both Claire and me to tell us she’s fine, but it’s so clear she’s not. Her face is red, and her teeth couldn’t be clenched any tighter with a vice grip. She walks straight through the bar into the back, and Claire and I follow.
“Seriously guys, I’m fine,” she says, her face buried in her locker. She’s rummaging through her work apron, and pulling out old Dusty’s shirts, but eventually she just stops, and her entire body slumps forward.
“I can’t believe that guy! What did he have to say for himself?” I let Claire ask the questions, and just lean against the wall, trying to be barely visible. I probably shouldn’t even be in here. This is something best left to her family—and Claire is like family. I’m nobody. But God, do I want to be somebody for her.
“He didn’t say much. Said he knows he owes me a lot of explanations. Asked how Ray was doing. Asked about you,” she says, swinging her arm toward her friend, her voice shaking and growing weaker with every word. “He…he asked how Max was.”
That last sentence leaves her breathless. There are tears in her eyes again when she turns around, and I have to force myself to breathe slowly through my nose so I don’t smash a hole through the wall, or worse, race out to the parking lot and hunt Adam down.
“What a prick! Did you tell him he’d know if he had any clue what being a father was?” Claire fires back. Avery just shrugs, defeated, her body shaking more now.
“I didn’t say much,” she says, biting her lip, trying to conceal her disappointment in herself. I can feel Claire’s temper—and I love that Avery has a friend who’s so ready to battle for her. But right now, I think Avery needs to know she didn’t mess up…that it was okay to not have a knockout brawl with her ex in a parking lot. And I think if Claire keeps going, she’s just going to have Avery feeling worse. And I can’t have that.
“Well…” Claire starts, but I grab her shoulder, stopping her. She looks at my hand first, then her wide eyes flip to mine, and we have a silent conversation. She gets it, and takes a step back.
“He…uh. He wants to have dinner. I said that was fine. It’s fine, right? I mean, I should have dinner with him? See what he has to say?” she’s trembling the entire time, and her arms are wrapped around her stomach. I take my turn now, knowing that even if I’m not family, I’m needed. Avery needs me—she needs me right now.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder, and the second I touch her, her eyes dart to mine with a look so desperate it breaks my heart. She’s terrified, and I would give anything to take that away. But I know I can’t.
“Right. It’s fine,” she nods over and over again, and I mimic her slowly.
“It will be fine,” I say, knowing that if it’s not—that if that fucker does one thing, says one thing, to make Avery not fine, I will mess him up beyond recognition.