“Hang out with Nova and Quinton. Do school shit when I have classes.” He shrugs. “There’s not really much to me, Avery.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” The last thing I ever meant to do was make him depressed. “Everybody has layers. Some just don’t like to show theirs as much as others.”
He stares blankly at me. “I still see you’re as blunt as ever.”
I shake my head, even though it’s kind of true. “No way. I’m not that blunt.”
“No, you kind of are… but it’s a good thing. I like it.” He tousles his locks back into place as he considers something deeply. “So, how are you doing?” There’s an edge to his voice. “I mean, for the last three months.”
His words contain an underlying meaning. He’s not just asking how I’ve been doing for the last three months, but how I’ve been doing the last three months after he had to stop Conner that day in the alleyway behind the bar. I don’t really want to talk about that but the sincerity in his eyes almost makes me spill secrets that were never meant to be told.
“I… um…” I struggle with how to answer.
How can I lie to him?
When he knows so much.
About my secrets connected to my scars.
And the stars.
His blue eyes soften. “Avery, if there’s something wrong, you can tell me. That night was intense and I… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Am I okay?
I’m not sure.
We look at each other.
Unsaid words.
Secrets.
Ones I don’t want to share.
But kind of do.
The way he’s looking at me, like he knows me and he genuinely wants to know only if I’m okay, makes it hard to fight keeping up the wall I placed around myself. There are no expectations in his eyes. No alternative motives.
I’m not one for discussing my problems, but if I was, I just might tell him everything right now.
About Conner.
My marriage.
My divorce.
My past and darkness of it.
And I just might tell him about the stars, too.
I just might tell him about…
Well, me.
My lips part. “I think you should know—”
My phone rings from inside my pocket. Thinking of the call this morning, I tensely fish it out but only grow more anxious when I see Mason’s school’s name flash on the screen.
“I have to take this,” I tell Tristan then turn around and press talk, all my motherly instincts telling me something could be wrong. “Hello?” I answer worriedly.
“Is this Avery Hensley?” a woman asks from the other end of the line. “Mason Hensley’s mother?”
I bite on my thumbnail. “Um, yeah.”
“This is the secretary at your son’s school. I was calling to let you know that there was an incident at the school this morning.”
Panic flares like fire through my veins. “What kind of an incident?”
“He was involved in a fight with another student,” she explains. “No one was hurt, but he’s saying he’s sick now and wants you to come pick him up.”
I work to remain composed and force the internal fire to simmer out. But the fact that he got into a fight has me concerned and not in a normal, worrying mother kind of way. “What kind of a fight exactly?” I ask cautiously, my scars scorching from underneath my shirt. “Like an actual physical fight?”
“No, nothing like that,” she replies and I slightly relax. “Just a little bickering over having to share something. I probably would just send him back to class but considering what was discussed with the principal when you registered him, I’m a little concerned.”
“Concerned about what exactly?” I had to tell the school about Conner, because of the restraining order. The last thing I needed was Conner showing up and trying to pick up Mason from school.
“Well, I’m not a therapist, but—”
“No, you’re not,” I cut her off before she says something that will rile me up. “I’ll be there to pick him up in like thirty minutes.” I hang up and turn to leave, almost running into Tristan’s sweaty chest again.
“Everything okay?” he asks with concern.
“Yeah.” I unfasten my tool belt. “I just have to go take care of some things. That’s all. But can you do me a favor?” I ask, handing Tristan the tool belt. “Can you go find Wilson and tell him I had to take off early but that I’ll make it up tomorrow?” I have no idea how I’m going to make good on that promise, but I’ll just have to figure out a way like I always do.
“Um, yeah, sure.” Perplexed, he takes the tool belt from me.
I stride past him and head toward my vehicle, calling over my shoulder, “Thanks a bunch. And it was nice talking to you again.” I’m blowing him off and I don’t like myself very much for it. But like always, I do what I have to do to keep my life on the right track.
“Are you really sure you’re okay?” Tristan yells out.
“Yeah, perfectly fine.” I wave at him then I take off running for my car, running away from the feeling chasing at my heels, trying to pull me backwards.
***
An hour later, I’m parked in front of the elementary school with the windows down and the air conditioning on. Mason is strapped in his booster seat in the backseat while I listen to him explain what happened and I try my best to keep an open mind.
“I promise I didn’t start it,” he swears to me, clutching his tummy like he’s sick. “And I wasn’t feelin’ good after it happened so I wanted to come home.”
“Mason, you need to try not to fight,” I tell him. “If there’s a disagreement, you should talk to the teacher or try to resolve it without yelling or fighting.”
He sighs. For an instant he seems way older than his five years. “But that’s what you and Dad always did.” He looks away from me, tears bubbling in his eyes at the mention of his father whom he hasn’t seen in two years.
I think I’ve been waiting around for this moment since Conner left our lives. Mason was only three when he left and I knew there was a chance that he might not remember what went on between his mother and father.
And there was also a chance he would.
“Mason.” I bury my emotions the best I can, because this isn’t about me right now. “The stuff that went on between your daddy and I… Well, it shouldn’t have happened.”