How We Deal With Gravity

by Ginger Scott

  Maybe I’m inventing a reason to leave, or maybe Max is about to have a meltdown. Either way, the longer I hesitate, the more my body fills with anxiety, until I can’t handle it anymore.

  “We have to go,” I blurt out, stopping Barb and Mason mid-conversation. I can tell Mason’s taken off guard, and I can actually see his mind working on ways to convince me to stay. “I need to get some things for Max, and he has school tomorrow. I didn’t get much done yesterday, and I need to take advantage of Claire filling in for me tonight.”

  “Right,” Mason says, his face down at his feet.

  “Well here, take this home for your dad,” Barb says, tying the top of a plastic bag tight around a few containers of food and handing it to me.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Mason says, his hand resting on my back, and his fingers barely grazing my skin, like he’s unsure if his hand belongs there. We get to the car, and Max is quick to settle in, shutting his door and buckling up. I can see the iPad light up his face in the back seat, and I know Mason and I will have a few minutes out here alone before Max will insist I get in the car.

  “So, you leave tomorrow?” I ask, setting my small bag of food on the rooftop of the car and turning to face Mason, pulling my arms tightly around my body to warm myself from the breeze.

  “I do. Early,” he says, his lips partially open, like more words are just hanging on his tongue, waiting to be said. He reaches his hand up, running the back of it down the side of my face, watching his fingers caress my cheek slowly, tracing every centimeter of my profile. He sweeps a few loose strands of hair behind my ear and holds his hand there, just staring at me.

  “I should go,” I say, taking in a deep breath, and holding it like it’s my last.

  “I’ll be back,” he says, his eyes giving away the uncertainty I know he really feels.

  “I hope so,” I say, my teeth tugging at my lip while I hedge on saying the rest. “But I understand if you can’t. Max isn’t expecting you, and I’ll be okay.”

  I won’t be okay, and as I stand here and pretend I’m strong, I know I’m crumbling inside. But Mason has this life—he has this gift—and it just doesn’t match with anything in my world. And I know that forcing it won’t make it so.

  I stretch on the tips of my toes, reach my hand around Mason’s neck, and press my lips to his lightly, and I whisper, “Good luck,” but what I’m really saying is…goodbye. I grab the pasta from the roof of my car and open my door to get in, my body almost anticipating him to protest— to grab me, and pull me back to him, to refuse to let me go. But I shut the door, and the sounds of outside go completely silent.

  It’s Max and me, just like it always is—and Mason is on the outside, looking in. He holds up his hand and stretches his fingers, and I can hear him say, “Goodbye,” through the window. I hold my fingers to my lips, and then press them flat to the window; he touches the other side, his touch sliding along the glass as I slowly drive away.

  I cry silently for the short drive home, and I force my breath to regulate by the time I pull into our driveway so I can get Max upstairs, help him with his bath, and put him to bed. I don’t have the strength for groceries tonight, so I’ll make do with what we have. But the distraction of my routine is welcomed, and the next hour goes by rote as I work my way through the nightly checklist. I’m usually at work for this part, so I look forward to reading the planet book with Max. I offer to read extra tonight, mostly because I don’t want to go back to the thoughts in my head, but Max tells me he’s done. I put the book away, and I pull his heavy blanket over his body. My body itches to hug him, and so I ask him if I can hug him goodnight since I don’t get to do this part often. He lets me, but his body is rigid when I do, and I can tell he doesn’t want me to touch him for long.

  “I’m going to work on some homework downstairs and wait for Grandpa,” I say, pausing for Max to respond, but he only shuts his eyes, squeezing them tightly, readying himself for me to shut the lights off. He’ll pretend to sleep for a while, and eventually he’ll fall into it for real.

  I spread my notecards out across the kitchen table, and add a few more to my mix. I have one final paper to complete, and I have a lot of time, but I need to keep myself busy until my eyes grow tired. I slide the cards around the table a few times before giving up, and pulling them back together with my rubber band and deciding to focus on reading. I’m only slightly more productive doing this, making my way through one entire page in the hour it takes before my father finally comes through the door.

  “Hey, you wait up for your old man?” he smiles, clearing out his pockets, and piling his usual work stuff on the counter.

  “I did. Barb sent me home with leftovers. You want some? It’s really good,” I say, going to the fridge and pulling out the bag.

  “That would be great. Thanks,” my dad says, slipping his shoes from his feet and falling into his chair, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “I’m beat today.”

  “Well, Barb’s carbs should put you right to sleep then,” I joke, and my dad nods in agreement.

  I heat his food up and put it on a plate for him, sliding it over and getting us both a glass of milk. I used to love waiting up to watch my father eat dinner. My mom would always have leftovers ready for him, and she’d let me sit up extra late on the weekends so I could keep him company. I was always closest with my dad, and I think it’s because of our late night talks, which grew more and more complicated the older I got.

  “So, Mason’s leaving tomorrow,” I say, starting our most difficult talk yet.

  “He is,” my dad says, chewing, but keeping his eyes on me, waiting to dissect my reaction. I don’t have one though—I almost feel emotionless. “You okay with this?”

  “I am,” I say, my stomach fluttering with my own doubt. “It’s better this way. I have to focus on school and Max.”

  “Hmmm,” my dad says, sitting back and wiping at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He folds his arms and sucks in his top lip—that’s his tell, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “You know, it’s okay to mess up baby girl.”

  I’m not sure what he means, and my natural instinct is to be defensive. I hold my breath and bunch my brow. I’m unsure what to say, so I just shake my head, and my dad chuckles softly.

  “I’m not talking about Mason. I’m talking about you. You have yourself locked into this pattern—and if everything doesn’t fall into place every second of every day exactly how you have your blueprint set—you take it out on yourself,” he says, pausing to let me catch up. I nod to let him know I’m listening.

  “I have to,” I say, my eyes tearing up from the pressure building in my chest. I don’t do failure well, and even talking about missteps fills me with anxiety.

  “Bullshit,” my dad says, slapping his hand on the table, causing me to jump. “Life is full of things that don’t go according to plan, Avery. And Max needs to learn how to make adjustments for those things. I’m sorry, but you not letting the spontaneous things in life happen isn’t good for Max. And baby girl, it’s going to kill you!”

  “But what if he hurts himself? What if someone hurts him when he’s angry or frustrated? What if I can’t be there to calm him down?” I’m crying hard tears now, my body shaking; my dad reaches across the table, clutching my hands in his, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

  “That’s life, Avery. And you can’t always be there. That’s why he needs to learn about life’s peaks and valleys now, while you’re here to guide him,” my dad says, shaking my hands against the table, literally trying to shake reason into my body. “You love Mason, and Avery, he’s a good man. He’s real, and he’s going to drop the ball sometimes, and he might make you have to make some hard choices, make some changes in your life. But don’t give up on your own happiness just because you’re afraid it’s too damn hard to have. Because Ave, you only get to have right now once in your life—there are no re-dos, there is no going back and doing right now again. You get this once, and you can take a chance
on it, or live regretting you didn’t. I can tell you what, though…the Avery that takes a chance on her own happiness is going to be a hell of a lot stronger for Max than the one that gives up.”

  I’m too terrified to cry, but my insides are holding on, just waiting for the sobs to come pouring out. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, my voice cracking with my own fear.

  “Go,” my dad says, his lips tight, and his face daring me. My legs are wobbly as I try to stand, and my hands shake as I reach for my purse and pull out my keys. “Girl, I can’t drive you, so you’re going to have to pull yourself together. Just breathe—and go tell that boy you love him, and you’ll see him soon.”

  I nod yes and race through the door, dropping my purse open on the porch, spilling the contents everywhere. I shove everything back inside, and toss it in the passenger seat of my car, firing up my engine and actually peeling out of the driveway when I leave. My heart is thumping in my chest, and it races faster and faster the harder I press my foot on the pedal. The streets are quiet, and the main drag is dead on a weekday night, so I don’t even bother to stop at the four-way stop between my neighborhood and Barb’s. I circle through her apartment complex, but I don’t see Mason’s car, and panic fills me.

  “Ben’s!” I think, slamming the car in reverse, and pulling back out on the main road through town. Ben is closer to the city, in a rougher part of town, so I slow down as I get closer, careful to watch for any other drivers. I recognize Ben’s car out front, so I know which small house belongs to him, but I don’t see Mason’s car anywhere. I keep the engine off and I wait, like I’m stalking him in the dark. Minutes pass, and not a single car drives down Ben’s road—nothing to even give me hope. I’m about to give up when a light flicks on at the side of the house, and the side gate swings open. I get out of the car without even thinking, just hoping it’s him.

  “Mason?” I say, my voice a loud whisper.

  “Oh shit! Damn, Birdie. You scared me,” Ben says, and my heart literally explodes with disappointment.

  “Is Mason here?” I ask, my mouth watering with the need to be sick.

  “Nah, he took off an hour or two ago with Matt and Josh. They had some things to take care of, and I think they were going out for a while, meeting Kevin and one of the bands we’re leaving with tomorrow. You need something?” he asks, and I don’t know what to say. I need Mason. I just stare at my phone, considering calling him, but I can’t help but note the shakiness of my fingers as I slide them back and forth over the phone screen. My whole body is shaking, so badly that I have to hold myself up against Ben’s car.

  “Are you…all right?” Ben asks, his face bunched at the sight of me. I feel really ill, and my body is covered with beads of sweat.

  “Yeah, I uh…I suddenly don’t feel very well. God, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling my feet backward closer to my car, suddenly questioning everything I’m doing.

  “You want me to just tell him you stopped by?” Ben asks. I stop and look at his feet, scratching at the side of my face, and tugging at my lip while I think about his question. I could call Mason right now. I could sit here at Ben’s house, or in his driveway, and just wait. Or I could have Ben tell him to call me. But the end is always the same—I’m always…waiting. I’ll be waiting for Mason, just to tell him I’ll keep waiting. And that’s the change I would have to make in my life—to decide to wait on Mason for the rest of my life. Because in my heart, I know that the second he gets on that bus in the morning, his career is going to take off—he’s that good. And I have to decide if I want to wait for those moments he can fit me in between everything else. And I don’t know if my heart can take all of the doubt and worry that comes along with Mason’s success.

  “You know what, it’s nothing,” I say, and my pulse slows down as soon as I give in. “I’ll just…I’ll just call him later this week. Really, it’s not important.”

  Ben just nods and shrugs his shoulders. “A’right then. Well, see ya when I see ya! Hey, maybe the next time we play Dusty’s we’ll be fucking millionaires!” he says, tossing the small bag of trash in the can outside and heading back through his gate. All I can do is smile and hold up my hand, a total farce to the self-loathing now kicking off inside. I get back in my car, and I drive home. My dad has gone to bed, and I’m thankful—I don’t think I can handle having him talk me into risk ever again. I’m starting to think regret is just easier, and I resolve myself to learning how to swallow it.

  Chapter 22: The Road

  Mason

  The shows are good. That’s what’s getting me through. That and the way the crowd reacts every time we play some of our new songs. People seem to love “Perfect.” It’s probably because out of everything, that’s the one song I play with everything I can. We did a cool thing during the last show—I talked the guys into letting me play it solo on the piano. My piano playing isn’t the best, but the melody is simple enough. I had chicks in tears by the time I was done.

  I think about her every time I play it. We’ve been on the road for a month now. Kevin started us out with this folk rock band called the Tenenbaum Revival. They have a lot of radio hits right now, and I really dig their sound. They’re from Denver, and the lead singer is married to the bass player. I envy their lives, the way they get to be together. It’s easy when your paths are the same, I guess.

  I called Avery the night before our first show. She didn’t answer, but I figured she was busy with her shift. But she never called back. I sent a few texts, and at first she’d respond—simple things like smiley faces and “happy for you” notes. But I quit sending things a couple weeks ago. Maybe this time apart has made her start to think that everything was a huge mistake. If she wants to forget me, maybe I should let her.

  I miss Max. I found a book at this little trading post in Utah. It was all about rocks from other planets. He’d love it—probably memorize it. I bought it with the intention of sending it to him, but every night I just flip through the pages and think about him and Avery, wondering if she’s working or getting to tuck him in. I wonder if that girl in the playground ever became Max’s friend.

  “Mace, we need to do sound check in thirty. You know where Ben is?” Matt asks, popping his head in the green room.

  “Probably giving his paycheck to a hooker,” I say, causing Matt to chuckle. “I’ll go look for him in a few.”

  We’re in Reno tonight. Probably the smallest show we’ve played. Kevin wasn’t lying, this tour is different, and I really believe there is a recording deal waiting for us at the end of this. We have a couple weeks left before Kevin decides if he wants to tack us on to some more shows.

  Ben has behaved, for the most part. Only once or twice did I have to drag his ass to the bus out of some nightclub or bar. He’s had a few flings, probably five or six different girls, but so far he’s kept them out of the bus. I think if we weren’t bunking with the other band, it would be a different story.

  I walk out to the lot, and notice a few groupies hanging out over on the other side of a fence where the busses are all lined up. During our first few shows, the women were always hanging around to see Ryan, the lead singer in the Tenenbaums. But they’ve started screaming for me when I walk out, too. It feels pretty surreal, and there have been some pretty tempting offers, not gonna lie. But I keep waiting for that hint of reddish blonde hair in the crowd. I keep waiting to feel something—a pull, I don’t know, something.

  The girls scream as I climb into the bus, and I wave once just to show them I appreciate them—and I do. I hope they want more of our songs, want to buy our albums, and come see our shows over and over. But I don’t want to sleep with them. I guess maybe after a while I’ll get over that, and then maybe I’ll want that, too.

  “Ben, get your ass up! We tune in twenty!” I say, kicking at the bathroom door, hearing him sniffle and move around inside.

  “Hang on,” he says, and I hear the sink for a few seconds before the door finally pops open. Ben’s eyes are wild, and
he keeps rubbing his arm along his nose; I know the second I see him he’s fucked up. He’s been like this before. It’s been a while, and he’s never completely fallen into full-on addict, but he’s dabbled—usually when some stripper hooks him up, or he shacks up with the wrong girl. I’m sure that’s the case tonight.

  “Fuuuuuck, dude? What did you do!” I say going into the bathroom to search for what I know is there. There’s a small bit of powder left on the sink counter, so I grab a handful of toilet paper, wet it and wipe everything clean.

  “I’m fine man, really. Just a little hit,” he says, his arms twitchy and his whole fucking body keeps jumping around. He sits on one of the benches in the living room area and looks at me, his whole foot bouncing up and down. “I might have overdone it, maybe a little.”

  “You think so?” I yell, leaning back against the other bench seat, pulling my hands to my temples and rubbing. “You think you can play through this?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be good,” he says, edgy as shit. I shake my head, and pull the blind back to look out the window; just making sure we’re really alone. The last thing I need is someone walking in on this. My phone buzzes once, and I know it’s Matt or Josh wondering where the hell we are.

  “Look, I’ll just tell them you’re not ready yet for tune. We can do that without you. But fucking get it together,” I say, watching him stand and look around the bus, like he’s searching for something.

  “I just need my wallet. Shit, I think that bitch took my wallet,” he says, heading to the back of the bus to check the bed area. My phone buzzes again, so I pull it out to let Matt and Josh know what’s up. When I see an unknown number, I shove it back into my pocket, but the second I do, it buzzes again.