by Ginger Scott
“No thanks…but I tell ya what. I’ll give you this twenty, and how about you make that guy’s day over there and hang out with him and your friend,” I say, tucking my last bill in the side string of her panties and pointing over to Ben and…what was her name? MaryAnne?
The girl pulls the twenty from her hip and stashes it in a small pouch tied to her wrist, then she rolls her body against mine just once before she leaves, just to show me what I’m missing. I can feel my pants get a little tighter on instinct, but my head is still on straight, despite how drunk I truly am, and I keep my hands to myself and watch her walk away.
I have half a beer left, and I finish that off along with one last shot and then I find Matt to let him know I’m leaving. “I got things, man. But hey, let’s hook up tomorrow, okay? You keep an eye on that one, make sure he doesn’t land his ass in jail,” I say, throwing my head backward to where Ben is now in heaven with two strippers at once.
When I stumble from Spanks, I’m struck by how cold it is outside. When we came to the bar, it was maybe five or so in the afternoon. Still in only a T-shirt and my jeans, I beep open the back of my car and look for a jacket. I find a nasty old gray sweatshirt, so I put that on just to stay warm and then walk over to the edge of the parking lot to pick up a cab. That’s always been my line—I don’t drive drunk, and neither do any of the guys. I drove us here, so someone will give me a lift back to my car tomorrow.
“Hey, I need to get to…” I pause for a second, suddenly not able to remember Avery’s address. “Ah hell man, you know where Dusty’s is in Cave Creek? Get me there and then I’ll walk you through the rest.”
The driver just nods at me, and I settle back into the corner of the cab, my head resting against the window. The closer we get to Cave Creek, the less lights there are along the road until finally the sky is pitch black. I don’t know what made me look up, or why I even decided to sit like this for the ride home, but in that very second I see a white light streak across the sky and my heart falls into my feet.
Max!
I pull my phone from my pocket, and when I realize it’s 10:45, I go into a full-on panic attack. “I’m sorry, I just realized I’m late for something. Can you drive a little faster? I swear man, I’ll pay for your ticket,” I clutch the seat in front of me, half considering diving from the car and just sprinting the rest of the way home.
I feel the car move a little faster, but it’s never fast enough. The driver gets me to Dusty’s, and I still see Ray’s truck in the lot, which for some reason makes me feel a little better. At least he doesn’t know what a huge, fucking asshole I am. I give the driver directions for the last few blocks and hand him my credit card the second he pulls up in front of Avery’s house. I’m waiting at his window for him to hand it back to me, and when he does I literally bolt inside.
The house is dark—completely dark. I try to control my breathing so I can listen to see if I hear anyone, but there’s nothing. I race up the stairs, slipping on the middle few and banging my shin hard against the steps, gashing open the front of my leg. “Shit!” I say.
I push open my door and fling on the light, but no one is there. The bed is empty, and Max’s pillow and sheets are gone. For some reason, this makes me worry even more, so I race to the other end of the hall and stop at his and Avery’s door, holding my hand to my forehead and closing my lips tightly, trying not to make any noise even though I’m panting and my stomach is churning with the want to throw up. I don’t hear anything, but I’m not sure that I would. I turn the handle on his door slowly and push it open gently, careful not to let it squeal, and when I see his body laying stiff in his bed, arms straight out next to him and his eyes shut tightly, I collapse to my knees. He’s sleeping—and I watch him for a good two minutes to make sure he’s really sleeping, not just pretend sleeping.
I manage to get the door closed, and I slowly walk back to the steps. My body is drenched in sweat now, so I pull the sweatshirt over my head and throw it at my door before climbing back down the stairs to the kitchen. The lights are all off downstairs, but I can see a hint of light coming from the back yard, so I take a deep breath and push the back door open, following the sound of sweeping.
Avery’s back is to me, and she’s sweeping thousands of tiny pieces of glass into a pile in front of the trashcan. I can hear her sniffle every few seconds, and it breaks my fucking heart. I can’t believe I did this—I can’t believe I forgot, that I missed something so important.
“Let me get it,” I say, grabbing the end of the broom. She lets it go from her hands instantly, and her body just goes still. I don’t know what to say, so I just start sweeping.
Ray’s telescope is lying on its side, and I can tell from the crystals I’m piling up that his lens is what broke. That’s the first thing I’m buying with any money I make from the tour, a new one of these. I’ll just get the best one I can.
Avery walks over to the small patio table to get the dustpan, and then comes over to my pile to start scooping it into the trash. I bend down with her and grab her wrist when she does, hoping like hell she doesn’t jerk away. Instead, she starts crying.
“I totally blew it. I’m so sorry. I was out with the guys, we signed a deal, and…fuck, there’s no excuse. I’m so sorry Avery,” I say, the words coming out sloppily, though seeing all of this has me sobering up some.
“I know,” she whispers, standing back to her feet and sliding away from me a little. Her movement rips right through me, and I hate that she’s running away from me.
“Honest to God, Avery. I had no idea how late it was, and I completely forgot,” I keep saying words, like somehow one of these times I’m going to say something that’s going to make it better.
“He was pretty good at first. We were just going to watch the meteor shower without you. I told him you were stuck in traffic. But then he found this,” she says, holding out a folded piece of yellow notebook paper. I unravel it, and walk closer to the porch light so I can read what it says.
Dear Max,
I am sorry that I was not a better father to you. What you have isn’t something I can fix or make better, so I left. I know it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I just don’t know how to be your dad.
When you are older, please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I owe you that.
Sincerely,
Your father,
Adam
That fucking douchebag! I threaten him, and I swear I plan on following through with that threat, regardless if it lands my ass in prison, and this is the letter he writes? I’m pacing now I’m so mad, and I’m about to unleash one hell of a rant when Avery’s soft voice absolutely wrecks me.
“I’d let you read the one he wrote to me, but I burned it. He said you made him send the letters, and that’s the only reason he did. What the hell were you thinking, Mason?” she says through the downpour of tears that are streaming from her eyes.
“Avery, this is not what I meant,” I say, reaching for her. She shirks away from me though, and it feels worse than being slapped.
“God, don’t even, Mason! You smell like a fucking casino!” she yells, pulling her sweater across her body tightly. “Max can read. Not well, but he can read. I didn’t see his letter tucked inside mine, and when it fell out from the envelope, he found it. Here’s the thing though—Max doesn’t know how to understand that letter. He’s black and white. And that letter? It’s gray. It’s all kinds of gray! He asked me who Adam was, and then he argued with me, saying over and over that his dad is dead. I didn’t know what to say, so I just tried to get him to come back outside. But then it was getting late, and he didn’t see any shooting stars, so he threw the telescope to the ground, screaming that I made him miss the meteor shower.”
She sits down and holds her face in her hands, her body shaking with each sob. I stand there and look at her—at this mess I made. “Avery, I was only trying to help,” I say, pleading.
“He screamed for an hour and fifteen minutes, M
ason. The neighbors called the cops. I know the guy who showed up, and that’s the only reason it didn’t get worse. He walked to the backyard and saw me, holding him…fucking rocking back and forth and waiting for it to stop. You can’t just do things like that, Mason. You have to live up to Max’s expectations. Forget about mine,” she says, standing to her feet and brushing by me. “Can you just finish cleaning this up? I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
She doesn’t turn back around to look at me again, and I’m glad, because I think if I saw the disappointment on her face it would kill me. I spend the next hour cleaning every last piece of glass from the patio and fixing what I can on the telescope. By the time Ray gets home, I’ve completely survived being drunk, and have gone straight to hungover.
I fill him in over an entire pot of coffee, and he does his best to console me, but I can tell I’ve let him down, too. By the time I shower and lay in my bed, it’s four in the morning. My eyes are fighting to stay awake, but I’m losing the battle, and quickly. The only thing left running in my mind is my biggest fear—that I might not be the kind of man who can do this either. That maybe I’m just as weak as Adam Price.
And maybe Avery deserves something better.
Chapter 20: Paperweight
Avery
I don’t want to go downstairs. Max is already at the table with my dad. I can hear them going about business as usual. For Max, last night isn’t even a memory. He’s already on his checklist of what today brings. It’s Sunday, and usually we do something fun. I don’t even remember what we had planned now. Maybe it was the zoo.
Mason’s door is open, so I know he’s left his room. I can’t hear his voice downstairs though. And I don’t think I can handle seeing him.
When he didn’t show up at the house after his meeting, I was nervous. When the night grew longer, and he didn’t respond to any of my texts, I started to feel dread. And then nine thirty came and went, and Max noticed, growing more and more agitated each minute. I didn’t know how to set up the telescope. It’s old, and my dad has repaired it more times than I can count. I didn’t have it mounted steadily, and I know that’s why it tipped over so easily when Max pushed on it.
I know my dad won’t care. The broken lens isn’t a big deal. The thing that keeps eating away at me though is that damn letter from Adam. I know Mason meant well, but I don’t think he realized exactly how self-absorbed Adam was. Maybe it’s my fault; I didn’t portray an accurate picture after my dinner with him that night. My feelings—Max’s feelings—are of no consequence to Adam, and Mason must have put the fear of God into him for him to have even written the letters in the first place.
Adam actually blamed me for Max’s autism. He pointed to some article he read that said the “mother’s genes are the main contributing factor.” I know that’s bullshit, but that’s because I’ve done nothing but live, eat, and breathe research about Max’s diagnosis since the day his first doctor wrote it down on a file.
That’s Adam, though. When I look back at our relationship, I can see those pivotal moments—warning signs that he was not a good person. He wasn’t really a gentleman in high school, demanding we go dutch to prom, always calling the shots in our relationship. He was more interested in making sure my father loved him and approved of his plans for me, than involving me in the decisions and planning our future together. Adam picked where we went to school. He dictated whether I took morning classes or evening classes. And our pregnancy was because he insisted on not using protection.
I’m not saying I was completely complacent, but our lives definitely happened according to Adam’s will. His leaving forced me to be strong, and in some small way, I’m thankful for that. I need to be strong—Max needs me to be strong. And I have to be strong now.
Mason is sitting with his back to me at the table when I finally walk down the stairs. I know he hears me come down, and I can visibly see his shoulders tense.
“Out of bacon. Do you want some eggs?” my dad asks, his face telling me he’s in on everything that happened.
“I’m not very hungry,” I say, and Max picks up on his opening.
“I’m not hungry sometimes, but you make me eat,” he says, taking a bite of his pastry. He’s hungry this morning, so I’m not even sure why he’s being contrary.
“You’re right Max. But it’s because your body is still growing, so we need to make sure we take care of it,” I say, sparing a small glance at Mason. He hasn’t lifted his head from his plate once, and from the look of his breakfast, he isn’t very hungry either.
“What’s on our schedule for today?” I say, going to the small whiteboard on the fridge. It’s the zoo—sort of the last place I want to be today, but I will go.
“Zoo, and you said this time I can feed the giraffe,” Max says, standing and carrying the crumbs from his shirt over to the trash. Max doesn’t really like to be messy, so he’s always meticulous about cleaning up after a meal.
“I’d like to come,” Mason says, completely knocking the wind out of me.
“We won’t be there all day. I have homework, so we’re only staying through lunch, and it’s kind of expensive to get in without the pass,” I say, trying to deter him.
“That’s fine. Five minutes—five hours, I’ll take what I can get,” he says, and the pained look on his face makes me start to soften my resolve. But then I remind myself that I can’t just swoon because my heart and body wants Mason Street—I have to use my head.
“Here, you can use my pass. Just hold your thumb over the part that says senior,” my dad says, flicking the card from his wallet onto the counter. I grimace at my father when he does this, and he just pulls up one side of his mouth and shrugs.
“Fine, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” I say, and Max cleans the rest of his table space and heads up the stairs to change and get ready.
“Well, I’ll be home early tonight. I’d like to hear about that deal you made, Mason. Maybe you and I can chat about it later?” my dad says, purposely asking in front of me. I was pretty sure Mason’s meeting was a success. I vaguely recall him saying something about a deal last night, but I didn’t really have the mental space to ask him about it. That…wasn’t really my focus. And that was the problem. I’d lost my focus. It was time I got it back.
“That’d be great, Ray. I’ve got some questions about it,” he says, his eyes on me the entire time.
I can’t look at him squarely, and whenever my eyes hit his, my heart actually stings. My dad packs his small cooler and gathers up his books before heading out the door, and the second it shuts behind him, it feels like the room gets a million times smaller—the air completely gone.
“Ave, we have to talk,” Mason says, his voice desperate.
“Well, I guess we have all day,” I say, banging about the kitchen. I get more and more forceful with everything I touch, first slamming the cabinet when I reach for a coffee mug, and then tossing dishes in the sink rather than setting them down. I finally snap one of the plates in two, and it forces me to come to my senses.
Mason doesn’t interrupt me, and he doesn’t chastise me for acting out. He just sits there and watches, never once judging. He’s making this so unbelievably hard.
Max is downstairs seconds later with his usual zoo-ready backpack. He likes to use the binoculars, and he has a book on all of the animals. He’ll read us the paragraph about each one, and he likes to see them all, so I know that I’m in for at least two hours of walking.
The drive is silent—and I’m grateful Max is in the car. It gives me time to prepare my thoughts, to play out every possible alternative Mason might throw my way. Of course, when he’s sitting right next to me, it’s hard to stick to my plan. His smell has permeated my car, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to get it out completely. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and black jeans, and it’s probably my absolute favorite look on him, so I keep my eyes plastered to the road.
We get to the entrance, and the man scanning passes at
the gate does a bit of a double take when he runs Mason’s card under the machine. I can tell he’s thinking about questioning it, but then he looks at Max, already wearing his binoculars and anxious to get to the first animal, and he waves Mason through.
It only takes us minutes to get to the first section—the lizards and snakes. Max will be busy here for several minutes, so I stand back with Mason while Max moves from window box to window box.
“Avery, what can I do?” he asks, and I wish like hell I had an answer for this one. I planned for this question, so I give him the only response I can.
“Nothing, Mason. Nothing,” I say, my stomach twisting at the actuality of what’s about to play out.
“It can’t be nothing. I’m so sorry—truly, deeply, unbearably sorry. For everything,” he says, and I know he is. And I forgive him. But it still doesn’t change the fact that he and I aren’t a good idea.
“I know you are, Mason,” I say, forcing myself to be brave and look at him. When I do, the stabbing sensation is back, and talking becomes even harder. “I’m not angry at you. Don’t get me wrong, I was. And I wish like hell you let me handle Adam, but I know your heart was in the right place—with everything. And I know you didn’t mean to miss our date with Max. It was a mistake. A simple mistake—one that anyone in the world could have made.”
“But…” he says, knowing there is one.
“But I can’t make mistakes with Max,” I say, my breath shallow, and not reaching the depths of my lungs. “And as much as I want to be with you, Mason, I’m not the only one with something at stake. And I have a feeling your life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.”
He doesn’t respond, and I know it’s because I’m right. He just stands there, his eyes burning a hole through mine, his hands linked behind his neck while his arms flex. Finally, he tilts his head up and breathes out hard, letting his arms collapse to his sides before walking over to look at one of the reptiles. I give him a few minutes alone, and then I follow.