How We Deal With Gravity Read Online Free PDF Page A

you need to look at me. I know you don’t want to, but
you have to do it, just for a second, okay?” I say, my hands putting light
pressure on both of his shoulders, just enough to keep Max still on his feet.
He doesn’t like affection, so I try not to touch him too long. “Aunt Claire is
going to take you home, and then she’ll go through your books with you, okay?”
    Max nods yes once,
so I know he heard me, but I really want him to use his words.
    “I need to hear you. Can you say your words, Max?” I ask, my
voice breaking a little, because I hate that I’m begging, and I hate that a
stranger—at least in terms of my life—is witnessing this.
    I look up at Claire, and she’s on the verge with me,
hopeful, but sad all at the same time. She flicks her eyes to mine for a few
seconds, and gestures with her chin to my right side. I reach in and pull out
two candies.
    “I need to hear your words, Max. And you need to make eye
contact, just for a second. And then you can have two candies, even though it’s
almost bedtime,” I say, and instantly Max’s pupils are square with mine. He
holds my gaze for two full seconds, and then looks back down at the corner of
the floor. “We need to read Planets .
The page is marked,” and that’s all Max says.
    I can’t help it that I cry a little—I do every time.
Every little thing is such a huge milestone. Claire understands, and I’m so
happy to see her smile when I stand back up and give her a hug. “Sure, pal.
Auntie Claire will read Planet s,” I
say, also whispering, “Thank you,” in Claire’s ear.
    “My name is Max,” I hear him say from below, already walking
through the kitchen door.
    “You’re right. Max, not pal .
I’m sorry,” I say, laughing while I wipe my eyes with the tissue from my back
pocket. Max doesn’t respond to anything but his name. Sometimes it’s a cute
idiosyncrasy, but I worry that some day someone’s not going to find it as cute
as I do. But I’ll worry about that hurdle another time. Today was a
success—today, Max looked at me…for two whole seconds.
    I don’t even acknowledge Mason when Max and Claire leave. Instead,
I pick up my tray, and head to the back to bus a table that’s cleared. He
doesn’t follow me, but he’s still hanging around. I can’t avoid the kitchen
forever, so I finally pass him with a full tray and a bin of dirty glasses. I
back through the door and he follows. Damn.
    “Here, let me help. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s
washing dishes,” he says.
    “Yeah. Clever,” I say, fighting against my need to look at
him after I speak to see if my words cut just a little. His prolonged silence
lets me know they probably did.
    Mason is reaching for the glasses as fast as I can pull them
from the bin. He’s working so fast that it’s almost like he’s trying to impress
me with his dishwashing work ethic. I dump the last few in before he can catch
up, then slide the bin over and reach for my tray to head back out to the bar.
I make it almost to the door before he stops me.
    “Birdie, wait!” he says, and I cringe. My shoulders
literally fold into my spine, I hate that name so much, and just hearing it
now—after he called Max a weirdo —snaps
something deep within.
    “I’m not twelve anymore, Mason. My name’s Avery, for fuck’s
sake— Avery ,” I say, my hand on
my hip, and my lips pursed tightly. Mason looks down when I finish my
mini-tirade, and draws in a deep breath before squaring back up with me. He’s
always gotten away with his flippant remarks because he’s so damned good
looking. And that might have worked when I was sixteen. But I don’t have time
to take shit now, and the twenty-five-year-old me isn’t really impressed with
his perfect-ass teeth and scruffy chin.
    “Avery. Sorry. Some habits die hard,” he starts, and I’m
already turning to leave. I can’t bear any more cleverness either.
    “No, seriously, please…hear me out,” he says from behind me.
I