Free How We Deal With Gravity by Ginger Scott Page B

numbers need to match the ones on your
lines.”
    I have no idea what Max is showing Mason, but he’s rapt with
it. Once I set the table, I move closer to the booth, stopping right next to
the edge where Mason’s knee is sticking out. I see him physically tighten up to
get smaller when I’m there, pulling his leg in and tucking it under his seat.
He actually seems nervous, his leg bouncing up and down under the tabletop
while his hands fidget in front of him.
    “So, what’s so exciting over here?” I ask. Mason’s leg bumps
hard into the underside of the table when I speak, and the saltshaker tips on
its side, spilling granules in front of both of them. I hold my breath at
first, knowing how little Max likes messes. My son moves the iPad from his
view, but only for a moment before moving it back and continuing with his
lesson on whatever app he’s showing Mason. I slowly reach forward with a napkin
to wipe the mess onto my tray, amazed.
    “It’s called Garage Band,” Max says, always only giving me
just enough to satisfy the question.
    “Are you teaching Mason how to use it?” I ask, leaning a
little closer so I can see the screen. Mason leans forward as I do, like he’s
trying to maintain some force field between us. He’s so uncomfortable, and I
could kill Claire for this bucket of awkward she threw in both our laps.
    “I am. He is a fast learner,” Max’s choice of words makes me
giggle. He’s heard us say the same words to him during his therapy sessions.
Funny that he’s paying a twenty-five-year-old the same compliment.
    “Good. Well, it’s nice of you to teach him,” I say, then
force myself to leave. As much as I want to stay and watch, I also want to
pretend that it’s normal that Max is showing something to Mason—and I
don’t want to do anything to screw it up.
    I head back through the kitchen, to the locker area, just to
catch my breath. Saturdays usually fly by because this place gets so busy, but
I have a feeling that tonight is going to seem a lot like forever . I have been dreading seeing Mason again after sending him
that recording, but I didn’t think I would feel so lost for words around him.
To say I’m uncomfortable in his presence would be an understatement, and I’d
like to blame Claire for it all, but honestly, I think the anxiety I’m feeling
around him is just as much my fault as it is hers.
    It was so easy when he was this memory from my past—a
story I pulled out of the air when I was out with the girls, reminiscing about
the douchebags from our past. He’s always been part of my pity party—the
girl who was rejected publicly by her high school crush, and then knocked up
and abandoned by her husband. My sad story always won the bet, especially when
I got into the details. Imagine how sad it would be if I let myself fall for
Mason again.
    Funny how I can’t stop
imagining.
    I shut my eyes and lie back on the bench for a few minutes,
taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety I can feel gripping at my lungs. Once
my head feels clear, I sit up and adjust the knot of hair atop my head. I can’t
hide in here all night, and at least I’ve broken the seal of silence between
Mason and me—and I feel like I won the first round. He’s weak. And I’m
stronger.
    Yes. I’m stronger.

 
    Mason

 
    I hear words. That’s all I hear—words, words, words.
My mother has been talking for a good fifteen minutes, but I haven’t heard a
single thing she’s said other than, “…how could my own son come home, and not even
call to let me know!”
    She caught me by surprise. I was all mixed up, sitting next
to Max, having him want to talk to me—like I was his friend. And then Avery came over, and for some reason my throat
closed up, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. Hell, I
couldn’t even look at her! And she seemed perfectly content with me not looking
her direction.
    And the second Avery left, my mother was standing in the
spot she’d just abandoned.