Max is already downstairs eating his breakfast. He’s eating just like we do almost every morning. We’re sticking with our routine…only today, unlike the rest, we’ll turn left out of the driveway—and go to Cave Creek Public. The teachers are ready, and according to Max’s therapists, Max is ready. I on the other hand am nowhere in the realm of ready.

“So the trick with school is you have to get yourself a good nickname,” I hear Mason explaining as I walk down the stairs. I spare a peek, and Max isn’t listening to him. I’m actually glad he can shut things like this out because the last thing Max needs is a nickname.

“Morning, Avery,” Mason says over his shoulder. He heard the stairs. I hate those stairs.

“Morning, Mason. Thank you for starting breakfast,” I say, realizing my dad is long gone. It’s just been the two of them.

“No problem. Was just learning from Max here about his big day,” Mason says, leaning back, and sipping on his coffee. It’s first thing in the morning, and I can tell he hasn’t showered, but damn it if I don’t find him appealing. I wonder if I would have found him this alluring before last night? His hair is twisted on the top, thanks to his new haircut, and he’s wearing a striped pair of pajama bottoms along with an old Dusty’s T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved—I always like it when he doesn’t shave. I stop myself from getting carried away when the smirk on Mason’s face registers with me.

“So, you sleep all right last night, Avery?” he grins. That damn grin! I’m about to come up with a boring response, when he winks at me, and I just get all flustered, causing him to chuckle. I’m playing right into his hands, and I hate it.

“Max,” I turn my full attention to my son instead. “Do you have everything in your backpack?” I pull it from the back of the chair, but Max stops me quickly. I’m making him nervous, changing the order of his things, so I put it back and just smile.

“We need to leave in six minutes, okay?” I set the stove clock. This is one of the tricks Claire taught me, she uses it when she’s changing up Max’s bedtime routine. He likes order, and when he knows what’s coming next, he does better.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal, and reach for the milk, only to find Mason standing right behind me—close behind me. “Excuse me, just wanted to get a little milk for the coffee,” he says, his breath tickling my neck. I quickly step forward to give myself some safety—some distance. He doesn’t really want milk. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him touch milk. He’s just trying to get to me, and I’m not going to let him.

I reach in and grab the gallon to pour it over my cereal and then hand it to him, and he purposely puts his hand over mine during our exchange. It makes me flinch, and that makes the corner of his lip raise a hint. He’s winning.

I pull out my notebook, and review my to-do list—over and over—while I eat my cereal. I have it memorized, but I need something to do for four minutes, and this will work. With a minute to spare, I lay out everything that I’m about to put inside Max’s lunch bag to review it with him.

“I have all of your favorites in here. And remember, they’re in these bags today, different from the plate, but the food is the same,” I say. Max isn’t looking at me, so I kneel down next to the table, and repeat myself, only this time I ask him to look me in the eye.

“I understand,” he says, his eye contact with me is shorter than he can normally hold it. I know he’s anxious. He can’t say he’s anxious, and he doesn’t understand what it means, or what the feeling is, but I know it’s inside him. His legs are already bouncing under the chair, so I hold my hand on his knee to stop it.

“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” Mason says, his hand on my shoulder. This time, I leave it there, and I don’t even pretend that it offends me, because it’s so very much the opposite. I freeze at his touch, but I slowly let out everything I’ve been carrying inside. My face is blocked from them both as I stay knelt below the table, and I let a single tear fall down my face. It needed to. I probably need to shed more than that one, but that’s all I have time for.

“Thank you,” I say, almost a whisper. When I stand, I blot my eyes dry, and take a deep breath before I turn around. Mason isn’t teasing anymore—he’s sincere. It’s surprising…yet, it isn’t.

“Okay, Max. It’s time,” I say, gathering his lunch bag and backpack along with my school things. We’re venturing into new. I know it’s good, and it’s what I’ve wished for since the diagnosis. But I just can’t shake the feeling in my gut—fear.