Page 88 of Miss Fortune

I could feel her tears fall on my chest. Whereas I’d never cried for the little boy who’d tried so hard to fit in, Daisy would.

“When I was ten, my parents shipped me off to boarding school. I had fantastic grades but continued to struggle with what I’d call social graces. The teachers suggested I get counseling, but my parents wouldn’t hear of it.”

Her hand stroked my chest, giving me courage to continue.

“I remember thinking I’d do anything to prove to him or to anyone else I could excel. I was top of my class, but evidently it wasn’t enough. So I forced myself to break out of my shell. By the time I was in law school, all of those whispers of me being odd had vanished. I’d studied enough social behavior to come across as introverted instead of awkward. It helped I’d shot up past six feet and started going to the gym. So, I graduated law school at the top of my class, had a steady girlfriend and an offer at a top law firm. I did what was expected and got engaged, then married. Shortly after I started as an associate at the firm.”

I exhaled a long breath. I was in too deep to stop now, but this was the hardest part to talk about. “The stress of living with someone for the first time while working long, grueling hours took its toll. My ex was outgoing and would make plans to go out with other couples. Given the strain I was under, let’s just say my social skills took a nosedive. My quirks, as my ex had referred to them when we were dating, started to become worrisome to her. I began hiding things from her, which in turn stressed me out even more. So I sought out help and got myself tested.” I paused, hesitant to reveal the rest.

“What did the tests reveal?”

“A diagnosis of ASD. You’re probably more familiar with it as Asperger’s. Cases can differ greatly from person to person, but it checked my boxes: my hyper focus on routine and order, my awkward social skills, my difficulty in empathizing. My first therapist couldn’t believe I wasn’t tested as a child. But my parents never would’ve wanted the embarrassment of a firstborn son with a disorder. I would’ve been told to suck it up.”

“Which is what you did anyhow. It must’ve been a relief to finally get some answers?”

“For me, yes. I finally had a plan. I went for speech therapy, and I started seeing a therapist for tips on how to manage stress. But when I shared my diagnosis with my ex-wife, she deemed it a life sentence. She acted as if we couldn’t go out in public any longer or hang out with her friends. In turn, I worked harder to try to prove I could be normal. Honestly, living with her became its own form of hell. My routine gave me comfort, but my ex resented it, saying my workouts and strict diet drove her nuts. But for me, it was about taking control where I could. My routine helped relieve stress. Whereas having her point out the downside of my coping mechanisms only elevated the stress right back up again.”

“So me being here last Monday morning was an upset in your routine?”

“Yes, but more than the break in routine, I was triggered to find you in my kitchen searching through the cabinets.”

“You don’t like people going through your things?”

I could tell she was trying to understand. “I was afraid of what you’d see. The obsessive organization of the contents.”

“I noticed your house was neat and tidy, and I even thought, wow, he must think my place is a mess, but I certainly didn’t see it as obsessive.”

“You don’t understand. I organize absolutely everything in this house, my office, my car. Every single thing in my life.”

“This drove your ex crazy enough to want a divorce?”

“Ultimately, she was worried if we had children, I wouldn’t be able to handle the chaos. And then there was the fact my condition might be hereditary. So I did the only thing I could by letting her go. She deserved to be happy, not trapped in my world where I was navigating a diagnosis.”

Suddenly Daisy sat up in bed, her fists clenched. “That’s bullshit. Absolute bullshit. When people truly love each other, they do hard things. They find options, flex, compromise, and even sacrifice sometimes so they can stay together. If she truly loved you, then she would’ve helped you embrace who you are, not expect you to change. She should’ve sought to understand how she could support you, but instead she used your diagnosis as an excuse to leave.”

My lips twitched at the ferocity of her defense. “To be fair, I think we both fell into the marriage; we were simply doing what seemed to be expected once we finished law school. Our families both wanted it, and it made sense logically. But I didn’t love her any more than she loved me. I cared for her, and I hoped things would work, but my motivation was more about not wanting to fail than about wanting to be with her. I didn’t know I was capable of being heartbroken until this last week.”

She lay back down, curling into me, stroking my chest with her hand. I could practically hear her mind humming. “Go ahead and ask questions, I know you want to.”

She kissed my chest, peering up at me. “I only have one. If working at the firm was so stressful, why not choose something else?”

After years of counseling, I had the answer, and this was the first time I admitted it out loud. “Because if I proved my worth in some way, like becoming a successful partner same as my father, I thought perhaps I’d finally be accepted.” But I hadn’t? Instead I still didn’t measure up in my parents’ eyes.

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to share any of this with me. But you have to believe it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

I let out a long breath. “You say that now, but I’m not easy to love.”

She leaned up, fanning my chest with her hair before kissing the base of my throat. “You’re wrong. Loving you is easy. It’s convincing you that you deserve it which might be harder.”

Emotion clogged my throat, making it impossible to speak. There was more to talk about, yet I could feel the exhaustion from the last few days start to seep in. For now, we’d sleep. Tomorrow I’d attempt to do more hard things.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Daisy

When I woke up on Tuesday morning, it took me a moment to remember where I was. Once I did, I sat up, looking for Caleb.

He was nowhere in sight, but I listened for a moment. The house was quiet. Had he left for work? Was he in his gym? Would he be awkward today? Or had last night been the breakthrough I hoped it was? Recalling what he’d said about his ex-wife, I was hit with another wave of anger. How did someone give up on a person they loved? How could she have made him feel as if he was to blame for the way he’d been born?