“I need him to teach me something,” he says, and I let go of the iPad, and he continues on with his game.
“Okay, well I’m sure he will be around later,” I say, getting my things and stepping out of the car. I wait outside his door, not opening it, for a few seconds, just looking at him through the window—watching him live in his own little world. I know he didn’t say he wanted to hang out with Mason. Mason has something he wants, and that’s what Max is focusing on.
But what he said still scratches at me. Max has never asked to learn something from someone. He’s resourceful—he answers most of his own questions with the help of YouTube. But he used the word need just now. He said he needed Mason. I keep playing it over and over in my head, and it both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time.
I don’t have a poker face. It’s a skill I always wished I possessed, especially with Claire. She doesn’t have much of a filter. So basically, I’m an open book for her to analyze without punishment. She’s on to me the second I walk in, and I know I only have a few minutes before she’s at the lockers with me, swapping shifts.
“What happened? Adam wants you back, doesn’t he?” she asks. It’s funny how far from the center of my anxiety she is. Under any other circumstances, my dinner with Adam last night would have been enough to wreck me for days. But then I kissed Mason. And slept in his arms. And he left without saying a word this morning. And somehow that’s the part I don’t want to talk about. So I go with her lead. Yeah, let’s be angry with Adam for a while.
“He’s getting married,” I say, knowing that will be enough to set Claire off. I’m right, and she spends the next ten minutes swearing and questioning, getting bits of answers from me at a time until she has the entire story. I let my friend be angry, and I love her for it. I listen to her say all of the things that went through my head—and the entire time, I think about Mason.
“What are you going to do?” she says, and her question jolts me back. I haven’t really thought about it, not that there’s much to do, so I just shrug.
“I have to think about things,” I say, turning to walk back into the bar. Claire follows, and I can hear her muttering behind me. My dad is at the bar, so I head his way to help him dry glasses and get ready for the night crowd. I give Claire a knowing glance, and thankfully she picks up on it. I’m not ready to have the Adam conversation with my dad yet, so she quickly changes subjects.
“So, when’s Mason coming in,” she asks, and for some reason my heart skips, like she hit an open nerve. I stare at the glass in my hands—shining and drying, and hoping like hell my friend doesn’t start exploring this topic instead.
“He’s rehearsing with the guys. Probably won’t see him tonight,” my dad says, kind of gruffly. He grabs an empty bin, leaving me there to finish the rest of the glasses alone.
“Uh oh, looks like Mason pissed your pop off,” Claire teases. I keep my stare on my work and raise my brow a little with a shrug. It’s not the best acting, but please let it be enough.
Claire heads to the corner to talk with Max, getting him ready to take home. I finally breathe now that her spotlight is gone. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m letting Mason consume me, and all the while, I have this unbelievably enormous other worry that I should be tending to. Adam is getting married, and he basically wants to disown Max.
Max never asks about his dad. He doesn’t remember him, and I don’t bring him up. It’s probably not the best parenting. But, I have thought this through a thousand times. Max’s therapists don’t really see the value in me having a conversation with Max about Adam, and over the years, the topic has just faded into nothingness. I had a worry in the back of my mind that one day Adam would just reappear and want to be a part of Max’s life. But now…
“I’m pretty sure that one’s dry now,” I hear Cole’s voice over my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, lost in my thoughts there,” I smile, and move on to the next line of glasses.
“So, your dad’s pretty much been in a shit mood all morning. Adam bring that on?” Cole asks, tentatively. He’s never been very nosey. In fact, it took him months to ask about Max’s autism.
“Probably. Dad is possibly the only person who hates Adam more than I do,” I laugh. It’s true, though; I’m honestly surprised my father didn’t sock Adam in the jaw yesterday.
Cole nods at my answer and lifts the last bin of glasses up on his shoulder to carry to the back. “Well, maybe we can make Mason deal with him tonight then,” he says. I freeze, unable to follow the line of his sight to the front door where I know Mason has just entered.