She bends to Levi’s eye level, and he claps his hands over his ears before releasing a piercing shriek that immediately sends her straightening back up.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she says, flushing. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry, it’s not you,” I assure her. I omit the rest, neglecting to explain that today was the first day at a new camp, in a new city. That Levi does best with predictability and routine and that all these changes are inevitably triggering a stress reaction. That he’s likely feeling overwhelmed right now, and that the best thing to do is avoid any additional stimulation until he’s settled. That once he’s in his room, tucked into his favorite sensory swing while watching his iPad, he’ll settle down. Instead, I say, “Just give me ten minutes.”
Shelby nods and offers me a kind smile, just as Toby flicks on the floor-sanding machine. At the sound of it, Levi lets out another scream and begins stamping his feet. This poor baby. It’s been one thing after another today.
Toby shuts the machine off quickly, throwing his hands up in a show of surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My kid would hate that too. I’ll wrap it up and we’ll regroup tomorrow.”
I thank him, then lead the kids into the kitchen. I drop their backpacks on the chairs and grab a couple of apples out of a basket on the counter. I’m intending to make my kids’ favorite snack, apple slices with peanut butter, but a quick glance at Levi confirms that he’s not going to be eating anything right now. His anxiety has boiled all the way to the surface, hot lava ready to erupt from a volcano. He sometimes won’t eat all day when he’s this worked up.
I make a plate for each of them anyway and hand Levi his iPad. His tiny shoulders relax as he cues up one of his favorite videos, a series on hotel elevators. He’s watched it at least a dozen times since we arrived last week.
Once they’re situated, I gesture for Shelby to take a seat in an empty chair. She settles in, placing an iPad with a leather cover on the table in front of her.
“First off, I just want to say that this house is gorgeous,” she begins. “Really incredible bones.” She glances over my shoulder at the kitchen, which is covered in sandy oak cabinets that look straight out of an early-’90s sitcom. I raise an eyebrow, and she laughs as she takes in my skepticism.
“It’s dated,” she concedes, “but spacious. Some modern updates would give it a facelift. I was thinking we could bring in some of the earthy colors from the outside. Forest-green cabinetry, maybe some marble countertops. A large, custom range hood would be the perfect centerpiece.”
“Sounds great,” I say. “It will definitely improve resale value.”
Shelby’s smile droops at the mention of selling. “Well, who knows? Maybe once we finish renovations, you’ll reconsider holding on to it.”
I shrug, unconvinced. “We’re just here for the summer and then we’ll be heading back to the other side of the country. My parents are already planning to move to Florida full time. There won’t be anyone to take care of it.”
Shelby nods slowly. Her face is clouded with disappointment, but she keeps her voice level. “Sure. That makes sense. I’m happy to—”
The rest of her thought is cut off by a thump, followed by a guttural wail. I whip around to see Levi banging his iPad on the table, his tiny features contoured with frustration. His screen is frozen. Damn it. There’s internet in the house, but it’s been spotty. I meant to call someone today, but somehow, I never managed to get around to it.
Levi throws his iPad down and it’s the straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back. His hands fly to cover his ears as he rocks back and forth, his eyes bulging and limbs trembling.
“Mom.” Isla’s eyes are wide as she stares at her brother. I reach over to put my arms around him, but it’s too late. The meltdown spills out of him like molten lava, his piercing scream reverberating off the wood-paneled walls. Instinct takes over and I wrap my arms around him, rocking him back and forth, but it’s of little use. He’s screaming louder than ever, unresponsive as I rub circles on his back. But then his cries are swallowed by a crashing sound behind us.
It’s loud enough that even Levi abruptly stops crying. We all turn to see Jesse standing in the entryway, an enormous pile of hardware scattered at his feet.
“Whoops,” he says. His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze, and only then do I register the lack of surprise in his voice, the note of intentionality. After a long beat, he shifts his attention to Levi.
“Hey bud,” he says, his voice softening. “I seem to have dropped my toolbox and now my nuts and bolts are all mixed up. Any chance you can help me sort them?”
Levi’s expression is curious as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. I don’t expect him to respond but then he’s sliding off my lap and walking over to Jesse. He squats down onto the floor and peers intently at the pile of metal pieces. Jesse quickly demonstrates where each one goes and Levi watches carefully before picking a few up and dropping them into their intended compartments.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Jesse tells him. “Let me just talk to yourmom real quick and then I’ll be back to help you.” Levi nods but doesn’t look up, already fully immersed in his task.
Quietly, Jesse walks over to me. Shelby excuses herself, mumbling something about needing to check in with Toby. I spare a glance over my shoulder at Isla, who is now happily sketching on her iPad, and then lead Jesse around the corner and into the dining room.
It’s just the two of us now, but somehow his presence fills the entire space. He reaches over my shoulder to press a hand into the doorframe and the woodsy scent of him fills my nostrils, throwing me out of equilibrium. My heart literally skips a beat.
“I hope that was okay,” he says, pitching his voice low to keep Levi from overhearing. “I don’t mean to overstep.”
“No, not at all.” I’m not upset, but I am mystified by the sequence that just occurred. “How did you… know to do that?”
Maybe a better question is, why didn’t I? I’ve spent hours in parent training sessions, learning strategies from Levi’s therapists, including the redirection technique Jesse just casually implemented. But in the moment, I tend to forget it all. My instinct is always to just hold Levi in my arms, as if I can hug all the frustration out of his tiny body.
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “My roommate in college was on the spectrum. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he organized the things on his desk. Said it helped his brain quiet down when the world got too loud.”
Suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve never told Jesse or any of the crew that Levi is autistic. I raise my eyebrows. “How did you—?”
