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“Andy, that was never about trying to rid you or somehow cure you of your autism. Being autistic is inextricably linked to who you are. It’s one of the many, many things I love about you. I put you in behavioral therapy as a child simply to help you build the skills needed to navigate a largely neurotypical world.” Davis smiled sadly. “Although, I do imagine it would be nice if more neurotypicals attempted to navigate your world from time to time.”
“Yes. That would be nice.” Glancing away, Andy blushed. “I’m teaching Luke about it. He wants to learn. But, I don’t know, after yesterday…” Andy sighed. “Well, I think he got an eye-opening lesson on how triggered I can get—”
“Uh-uh,” Davis interjected. “Stage Two, remember?”
Yes, the grief scale. Shehadbeen in the thick of it.
“You lost a pet, Andy. Anyone going through that, atypical or not, gets a pass on not being at their best socially.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’m a therapist.”
Andy snorted.
Her mother reached out to pick at the long tendrils framing her face. “Have you been washing your hair three times a week?”
Andy rolled her eyes. “Yes, mom.”
“Well, it looks fabulous.”
“I’ve been using a new shampoo.”
“I’ll have to try it.” Davis frowned as she swept at her tangled mane of thick blonde locks. “All those fancy French hotel soaps, and, I swear, not one of them did a thing for my hair—”
Her mother quieted as another sound rose from the living room. The subtle popping sound of a lusty-wet kiss.
Andy grimaced.
Her mother grinned. “There. You see? All couples have their fights. Their highs and lows. Sometimes they might even need a reset. But if it’s meant to be, two hearts will always find their way back to each other.”
Andy wanted to believe her mother. Davis and Timothy Whittenbalmhadgotten remarried after all. But as she glanced at the phone and realized it was pushing ten, and Luke still hadn’t come, Andy was starting to feel anxious about the issue.
From the living room came the sound of the door closing. Then a sad sniffle. Then, “Don’t look at me like that, okay? I can’t always go chasing after Gray.”
That was Kory’s voice.
Who she was talking to — since it definitely wasn’t Petals — was a mystery to Andy.
Her mother as well. Lifting a brow, Davis whispered to Andy, “Does she always talk to herself like that?”
“From time to time,” Andy admitted. Truthfully, Andy wasn’t so sure her roommate was the most neurotypical chick either. But whatever, Kory was still a good friend. A great friend actually. One who definitely needed cake at the moment.
Andy rose from the bed. Her mother followed suit.
They padded into the kitchen still clad in their pajamas, and Davis unpacked the takeout box while Andy sat down at the island next to her miserable-looking friend. “I’m sorry,” she said, patting Kory’s hand on the counter. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you yesterday. I didn’t mean it.”
Kory slanted a teary smile her way. “Oh, I know,” she said, grabbing a napkin from the holder on the counter. “And I’m sorry too. I know how much your bird meant to you.” She blew her nose into the napkin, then crumbled it into a ball. “I’m sure Petals has gone on to a better place.”
“Oh, no, she’s at the cremators being burned into ash.”
“Um, o-okay,” Kory stammered awkwardly.
Andy winked. “Sorry. Aspie-girl humor. It gets a little dark sometimes.”
This won her a grin from Kory and a “smartass” from her mother.
Davis plated three slices of cake, then passed them around with forks.
