“You still doing this?” I say, nodding my head in her direction, pointing out that she’s still in the hall.

“You used to play that all the time. I love that song,” she says, and it makes everything inside me feel warm…right. I smile and finish out the last verse, taking my time and improvising a little on the chorus to make it last just a little longer.

“That song always made me think of you,” I say, putting my guitar away and purposely not looking at her when I admit it. “That’s where Birdie comes from…sorry.”

“I wish you told me that. I probably would have liked Birdie then,” she says, her smile soft, but still so damned cautious.

“I think we’re past you needing to keep the door open,” I laugh, hoping like hell she’ll come closer so I can touch her. She slides up to her knees and crawls inside, shutting the door behind her, and then sitting with her back against it.

“I’m a terrible mom,” she says, her face suddenly full of pain. I hate Adam for doing this to her.

“No you’re not,” I say, forcing her to look at me, rather than the nothingness she keeps trying to go to.

“I’m not?” she asks, her breathing growing harder. “My son probably thinks his father is dead. Not that I’d know, because I’m such a chicken shit that I’ve opted to pretend he never existed. I haven’t said Adam’s name out loud in front of Max once since the day he left.”

Her eyes are full of water when she talks, and I would give anything to fix this guilt she’s feeling. I don’t think she’s earned it—any of it.

“My dad left us when I was five,” I say the only thing I think might make this better for her. Her eyes shift completely to me when I do, and her breath hitches. I can’t take the intensity of her stare along with the weight of the story I’m about to tell her, so I lie back and look up at the ceiling instead.

“I don’t remember much. He had a beard…I think? I had a baby brother. He died when he was maybe two or three weeks old,” I say, and when Avery gasps I stop her. I’m not telling her this to make her feel sad. I’m trying to make her feel less alone.

“It’s okay. Your dad knows, but we don’t talk about it much. I don’t expect people to know about it. I was five when he died. Mom was really sick. I know now she was depressed, but it just looked like the flu to me…you know…from a kid’s eyes?” Avery is holding herself tightly, her arms wrapped around her body. “My dad—his name was Mitch—he didn’t know how to deal with my mom. He was a truck driver, and he used to be on the road for days. Then one day, he just never came home. Mom doesn’t talk about it. And I don’t ask. What good would it do?”

“Do you…ever wonder about him?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“I’m not gonna lie. Yeah, Avery. I wonder about him. But I wonder about him less and less every year he’s gone. I’d give anything to be able to disconnect from it a little, too—like Max does,” I say, and her eyes flash wide for a brief second from my honesty. “You’re not a bad mom. You’re an amazing mom—an unbelievable mom. Hell, Avery, you’re pretty much the best damn human being I’ve ever met. So please, quit doubting yourself.”

I hold her stare for minutes after that. I haven’t talked about Mitch for years—and I’m pretty sure I was drunk with Ben the last time I did. I’m pretty sure I was drunk every single time I ever talked about my father. But Avery needed to hear this, and for some reason, I want to tell her things.

The lights flood my room, and I think if they didn’t, we’d both be happy to sit here, with ten feet of air between us, just staring into each other’s eyes. Avery looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath, drawing her legs in close to her body so she can stand. I sit up and walk to where she is at my door, knowing she’s going to leave because Ray’s home. But before she goes, she pauses and stands on her tiptoes to reach my lips, holding both sides of my face with her cold, tiny hands, and kisses me softly. My body wants to push the door closed behind her and pull her to my bed, but I don’t. I let her leave. And I hope like hell she comes back.

Chapter 14: Deep

Avery

I couldn’t wait to show my dad the drawings Max made. I think more than wanting him to be touched by the fact that Max put him in the father box, I wanted him to know that Mason helped Max through something difficult. My father has always been protective, and when Adam left, he stepped right back into his role of guardian.