Luca loves to offload his problems onto other people. He’s a stereotypical high-maintenance fuckboy, requiring constant support from his trainer and assistant in all aspects of his career and even personal life. Me taking a job with Granata would inadvertently take care of the damage Luca caused with his shitty choices and the consequences of our demise.
I also high-key hate the idea of seeing my ex at every race.
So with a steadying breath, I finally reply. “I would love to work inFormula 1, and maybe I will someday. But now’s not the time. I have a job and responsibilities here.”
Not that I couldn’t do the bulk of my work from anywhere. That was my plan before everything went to shit.
“Thank you for the offer,” I say. “Truly. But no thank you.”
Alaric nods simply. “Fair enough. What do you do for work?”
I sit up straighter, pride and trepidation helixing together into an anxious spiral like they always do when I talk about my job.
“I’m a small business owner,” I explain. “A solopreneur. I have a subscription channel, and I do weekly live streams where I sell my products, sort of like QVC.”
He leans in an inch or two, as if genuinely interested in my response. “What sorts of products?”
“My business is called A-Tizket A-Tasket. I offer body-doubling services through a subscription model for people like me. I also make fidgets and picky pads and sell them in an online storefront and on live streams.”
Surprise and a hint of delight dance in Alaric’s expression. “Fidgets are those little plastic toys kids play with?”
I shake my head. “They’re not toys. And while kids can use them, they’re not just for children. They are sensory tools many people rely on. Most of my customers are adults. I design subtle fidgets that people can use discreetly at work or in a social setting.”
He nods thoughtfully. “And when you say people like you…” he says, though he trails off without finishing the thought.
I appreciate the candidness, actually. I don’t mind him asking. In fact, I welcome the question, especially because he presented it without pretense.
“People like me, meaning people who are neurodivergent. I’m autistic, and I have ADHD.”
I also have a diagnosis for lack of coordination—yes, that’s a real condition—and avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder, but I don’t need to dump my entire medical history onto a man I’ve just met.
He’s quiet for a moment, and the silence sends a tiny wave of anxiety through me. It’s a familiar sensation. One that always hits me when I talk about my neurodivergence. I’ve known I was AuDHD since I was six. There’s no shame or confusion wrapped up in my identity or the way I view myself. Over the years I have even learned to appreciate the way my brain works.
That doesn’t mean I like every response I receive when I disclose this information.
“I have a question, if that’s okay,” he says.
I suck in a little breath through my teeth, bracing myself, then hum out a quiet “Mm-hmm.”
It might be nothing. His question is probably harmless. But I’ve dealt with enough narrow-minded, asshole, ableist comments over the years that I can’t help but worry.
“Is it typical to be both?”
Oh.
My muscles relax on instinct.
I don’t know him well, but if I had to guess, this question is genuine, like he sincerely cares about the answer. It’s rare a person actually cares or ever asks with the pure desire to understand.
I scoot forward, fighting back the smile threatening to take over my face.
“It’s not uncommon, but every person who identifies as neurodivergent is different. My autistic brain processes things differently than a neurotypical person’s brain. My biggest area of differential is sensory processing. I was born this way. I have plenty of coping tools in my toolbox, and I’m damn good at masking my differences to mold myself into what society wants and expects from me when I need to… but at my core, I am and always will be autistic.”
He’s intently focused on me, the curiosity in his expression encouraging me to keep talking.
“I have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and I take medication for it with the purpose of regulating the symptoms, at least to some degree. I’ve always viewed ADHD as a disorder I have. Therefore I have some semblance of control over it. I can take stimulants and avoid certain foods to help with my ADHD.”
I stop myself there rather than drone on like I sometimes have a tendency to do and lose him. One of my many autistic special interests is talking about autism, especially in women. Alaric doesn’t want or need to hear a whole diatribe about gendered diagnosis differentials or delayed diagnoses because of hormonal shifts.
