by Ginger Scott
She’s right, too—my first few days with Avery since I’ve been back in town have been nothing but her telling me exactly what she thinks of me, no matter how harsh, which is precisely why I can’t believe Avery ever loved me.
“Alright, I get it. I teased her. And you say she loved me, which…whatever, I’m not buying that. But why the hell is she so anti-Mason now?” I ask. I want to get to the heart of Avery’s beef with me—if for nothing else to make the next couple weeks a little more bearable.
“You are unbelievable!” Claire says, letting out a piercing laugh just to punctuate how stupid she thinks I am. I just stare at her blankly—I’ve got nothin’. “Mason, don’t you remember Nikki Thomas’ party our sophomore year?”
Yeah, I remember that party. That’s the night I slept with Nikki Thomas, pretty much the hottest piece of ass in our high school. And that was the night I realized exactly all of the doors being a musician could open. It was the night I decided that the second I had enough money I was leaving Cave Creek and heading straight to LA. But something tells me those aren’t the things Claire—and more importantly, Avery—remembers about that night. So I just nod slowly and wait, hoping she’ll fill me in.
“Everyone was playing that drinking game, and you and Avery got dared to be locked in the closet for 30 minutes. You remember that?” she asks, and I have a vague imprint somewhere in the back of my mind. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t sober that night—always one of my regrets about sleeping with Nikki Thomas; I only remember bits and pieces about sex with her.
“Sort of,” I say, scratching at the back of my neck. This isn’t going to be good—I can tell.
Claire just sighs and shakes her head. “Jesus, Mason. You sat in that closet with her for 30 minutes. That was like…her dream come true. And you just sat in there, with your feet crossed out in front of you, like you were taking a nap. You didn’t even talk to her! You practically lived at her house, and you just ignored her so you could endure some goddamned bet you lost!”
Fuck!
“When they opened up the door, you walked out and told everyone she kissed like a bird, too. You said she just pecked at you, and you had to push her off of you. Then you said she begged you to go all the way,” Claire is even ashamed saying this shit out loud. The worst part is I can’t deny any of it. I don’t really remember it—actually, I kind of do, just not clearly. But I can picture it—it’s exactly something I would do. And I haven’t changed a goddamned bit.
The bar is starting to fill up, so Claire kicks back from the bar and scoots in her stool, patting her hands on the counter a few times before speaking. “I gotta get back to work. But whatever you’re trying to figure out while you’re here, Mason? Make sure you don’t have to tear Avery down just to get there, okay?”
I nod at her, my breath pretty much knocked out of my lungs. I thought Ray held up a pretty brutal mirror when he showed me those articles the other day. But Claire just trumped that. Avery might have loved me—once. But I pissed all over that, just like I do everything that’s good in my life.
“Hey, Claire?” I catch her before she heads into the kitchen.
“Yeah?” she asks, pausing halfway through the door.
“You think I can fix any of that? I mean—I know I’m way beyond saying sorry now. But, I guess…you think maybe I can get her to not hate me?” The words sound pathetic as they leave my lips, but I’m all right with that. Turns out, I am kinda pathetic. And the fact that Avery said the things she said last night makes me an even bigger asshole—because I don’t deserve them, but she’s a fucking saint for saying them anyway.
“You can always fix it, Mason,” she says, her lips curled into a half smile. “That girl—she’ll always see the best in you. Even when she doesn’t want to.”
The door swings shut behind her, and despite sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant, I feel completely alone. I have to find Ray. And I have to get him to let me go on tonight. Because I have to go back to the beginning and see if I can get shit right this time around. And I’m pretty sure it all starts with Avery Abbot.
Chapter 6: The Sound of That
Avery
Somehow, I made it out of the house before anyone saw me this morning. And somehow—somehow!—I got Max to cooperate. He didn’t like the change in routine. And he dug his heels in hard with me this morning. But a few extra candies, along with the promise of more time with the planet books tonight, and I managed to stave off any meltdowns.
Once I sent that email to Mason, I didn’t sleep much. I even got up to Google how to retrieve it a few times, but all of the answers seemed fairly technical, so I gave up. I wanted to send it to him. I’m just afraid it will come back to bite me. Being nice to Mason Street always does.
For some reason, though, Max seems to be taken with him. Max doesn’t really notice new people. Besides Dad, Claire, his few therapists, and me, everyone else is just a cameo player in the play of Max’s life. He remembers names, though. He always remembers names. But people who haven’t worked with him, who haven’t earned that spot in his circle, are just associated with the job they do. Cole is the guy who brings Max his chocolate milk at the bar. And Bill, the older man who checks out our groceries, is the guy who sells Max his apples. I’ve tried to explain to Max that those people have full lives too—bigger than just that one thing they do for Max. But he doesn’t really listen or care to know them more than he has to.
That’s not the case with Mason, though. This morning, on our way to his one-on-one kindergarten session, Max asked me about Mason’s guitar. He asked me what kind it was, and how hard it was to learn how to play. I didn’t know the answers, so I told him he should ask Mason, and he said he would. Our entire exchange was surreal—no bribes exchanged, no rewards needed to be dangled to get Max to want to talk to Mason. He has a question, and Mason has the answer—and Max made the connection on his own.
Maybe that’s why my heart sank a little when I pulled into Dusty’s and saw Barb’s car parked out front. I knew she’d be back—she always comes back. But I know as soon as she realizes Mason is staying with us, she’ll insist that he stays with her, now that she’s back in her apartment on her own.
I scan the lot for Mason’s Dodge Challenger, but it isn’t here. I’m instantly relieved. I know I’m going to have to be a big girl and face him sometime, but the longer I can put that off, the better.
I hurry inside with Max so I can get to my locker and change before anyone comes in. Cole gets Max set up with his chocolate milk in the corner booth, and I take a few minutes to jot down a short reminder list for the homework I need to get done this weekend. Saturdays are hard, only because we’ve been building in so many therapy sessions with Max, so I’ve been pushing all of my homework to Sundays. A lot of people burn the candle from both ends, but sometimes I feel like I just threw my candle in a skillet to melt the entire damn thing at once.
“So, you hear Barb’s back?” Claire asks from behind me.
“Yeah, I figured. Saw her car in the lot,” I say before putting my books away and flipping the clip on my locker to shut it tightly.
“She’s a hoot! That woman gets more action than I do, and she’s almost fifty!” Claire says, pulling her Dusty’s shirt from over her head, and swapping it out for a blue tank top from her locker. “She’s going to be on with you all night. It’ll be nice to have the help. There’s gonna be a bit of a crowd.”
There’s always a crowd on Saturdays, but nothing I can’t usually handle, so I wonder what Claire means. Someone big must have been added last minute. When I finally turn to square up with her, she’s sitting sideways on the small bench next to me, smirking. And I know that smirk—she’s up to something.
“What is that face for?” I ask, pursing my lips and not sure I’m ready for her answer.
“Mason’s coming in,” she says.
“Yeah, I figured. He’s been helping Dad out, because he’s staying with us,” I say, hoping she just nods and tells me I�
��m right, and that it turns out it’s really no big deal at all.
“No, I don’t think you’re following me. Mason’s coming in…to play!” my friend instantly squeals and grips my forearm like a love-struck teenager.
Mason is playing. Live. Tonight. After I gave him that recording. After I told him I believed in him. After I bared a little of my past to him. And there is nowhere for me to hide; I’m going to be here, and I’m going to have to hear it. My heart is beating a million times per minute, and I have to wipe my palms on the sides of my shorts because they’re sweating so much.
“If it’s okay with you, I thought maybe Max and I could stick around, just for the early part?” Claire asks, snapping me from my trance.
“Huh? Oh, yeah…I guess that’s fine. As long as Max is okay with it. He’s had a long day, but he has a lot of his things with him, and I brought my iPad,” I notice mid-sentence that the smirk is still full-force on Claire’s face. She’s got more—I don’t know if I can handle more. “Okay…what else has you all gushy?”
“Oh, nothing. Just…” she’s torturing me with this, and the feeling in my stomach gives me the sense that I’m going to want to bury my head in the ground after tonight is done. “I might have had a little conversation with Mr. Street today.”
“What kind of conversation?” I ask, my tone clipped. I’m getting really nervous now. And frankly, I’m starting to get a little pissed off at my friend.
“Oh, the kind where he talks a little bit about how he doesn’t know why you hate him so much and then your friend maybe tells him he was a douchebag in high school. That kind of conversation,” she says, her lips now in a tight, proud smile to match her folded I-told-you-so arms.
Shit! I know Claire meant well, but I also know she doesn’t really get how much the way Mason used to treat me around his friends bothers me. “Claire?” I sigh.
“Relax. I didn’t go into too many details. I just reminded him about Nikki Thomas’ party…” she starts.
Fuck!
“And I told him how you hated it when he called you Birdie. Oh, girl…you should have seen his face when I told him how the first time he did it, it made you cry,” she’s still going, and my heart has officially run out of rhythm now. I’m no longer dying, because I’ve just ceased to breathe. Claire has officially embarrassed me to death.
“Oh, and…well…this part you’re going to be a little mad about…” she’s biting her lip. This part—whatever she’s about to tell me—is what has her thinking I’m going to be a little mad?
“Oh god, Claire…what did you do?” I ask, letting my face fall forward into my hands. I can actually feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks.
“I sort of told him that you used to be in love with him,” Claire says, standing up immediately and backing away. Smart, because she knows I want to smack her. She raises her hands up quickly, signaling there’s more. “But, before you get all angry, I only told him because I think he’s got a little thing for you.”
I let my face fall right back into my hands. There’s no way Mason has a thing for me, not even the tiniest of little things. And after the stuff I said to him last night, and the secrets my best friend just unlocked for him today, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m some crazy, obsessed girl from his past.
“Claire?” I say, shaking my head at her.
“Avery, don’t overreact. I promise I didn’t give him anything that would embarrass you. I swear!” she’s waving her hands emphatically, like she’s tossing magic in the air that will somehow make me okay with all of 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 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.