Free How We Deal With Gravity by Ginger Scott Page A

this.
    “I want to go home and throw up, Claire! But I can’t,
because I need Saturday night tips. And now I have to walk the floor, while
Mason is perched up on that stage listening to half-dressed bimbos scream at
him, getting in line just to see if he’d be willing to use them for the night.
And he’ll have this perfect goddamn view of me—the stupid girl from high
school, who’s in love with him!”
    “I told you, I told him you used to be in love with him!” Claire tries to correct.
    “Used to be…still am—it’s all the same to him, Claire!
He’s not going to believe I’m over him? Especially after…gah! Whatever. He’s
just going to taunt me with it—make it all into some game until he has
someone else to amuse him. Hell, I hope he moves back in with his mom now,” I
turn to lean back on the bench, and let my head fall flat against the wall so I
can stare at the ceiling. One day. One day! That’s all it took for my friend to
rip open every wound from my adolescence and give all my secrets to my enemy.
    “He’s not going to do that, Ave. Listen to me—that
guy…he felt bad. I mean, horrible! He even asked me if I ever thought you’d
forgive him,” she’s sitting next to me now, shaking my arm and trying to get me
to give in. I think she’s probably sugarcoating it all now for my benefit. But
maybe, just maybe, somewhere in Mason’s selfish-ass brain, there’s a little
hint of guilt. I stand up and let out a big sigh before plastering a pretend
smile on my face.
    “Okay, Claire. If you say so. But you’re definitely staying
tonight. For as long as Max will let you,” I drop my smile when I look at her,
making sure she understands my tone while I tie my apron around my waist, and
flip my head over to toss my hair up in a bun. I’m not messing around tonight,
and I’m not going to do anything that will make Mason think I’m concerned in
the least about what he thinks about me.
    I open the swinging door and walk through, promising myself
that I won’t look up at the stage once tonight. And I had every intention of
keeping that promise—right up until my eyes landed on Max…sitting next to
Mason…and talking, while playing a game on the iPad. Max is talking. And Mason
is listening. And I’m frozen at the door, just watching my son have a
semi-normal interaction with a man he just met.
    Not wanting to interrupt, I slip through the door quickly
and walk over to where Cole is lining up the glasses for the night.
    “Hey, how long’s that been going on?” I ask, motioning to
the corner.
    “A good ten minutes, I guess. He seems to really like Mason.
Kid’s said maybe a dozen words to me ever, and two of those are chocolate and milk ,” Cole laughs.
    I lean forward, keeping my head low so Mason doesn’t notice I’m
watching. Max is pointing to things on the iPad, and Mason is just watching and
nodding. Max is talking. He’s talking a
lot. He never makes eye contact. There’s still a barrier. But he’s engaging
Mason—without a single reward waiting for him in the wings, other than
the pleasure of talking to someone else.
    Unable to take it any longer, I pick up a stack of menus and
walk to the corner booth, pretending that I need to bus and prep a nearby
table. I catch Mason’s eyes on me for a brief second as I approach, but he
quickly looks back at the iPad. I can tell he’s uncomfortable that I’m getting
closer though; I see him noticeably shift in his seat. His eyes dart to me
again, and on instinct, I flash a friendly smile, just like I would any other
patron in the bar. Mason’s eyes widen a little at my reaction, and I can see
the start of a smile curl at his lips, but he quickly brings a hand up to his
chin, propping his weight on the table while he settles his concentration back
to Max.
    “This is how you add the instruments,” Max says, his voice
very serious while he slides his fingers rapidly around the iPad screen. “You
have to know the numbers. The instrument