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Chewing on my thumbnail isn’t helping, in fact, I’ve bitten my cuticle so much it’s bleeding, and I can’t leave Matty to go get a Band-Aid.
“Okay, so you take a few days to get to know Matthew, build some trust with him, and take it a day at a time. I can come down in ten days, for a couple weeks, but then I have to come back. I’m booking flights right now.”
Ten days. I just have to make it ten days and Mom will come and help me out of whatever shit storm I’ve managed to bury myself in.
“What else did the note say?”
“He has autism.”
Mom grunts. “Thor, honey, you don’thaveautism, youareautistic.” She clucks her tongue. “It’s not something he has, it’s something he is. Turn off the music I hear in the background.”
“What?” I glance over to the speaker on the counter. It’s not all that loud, and it’s certainly not offensive music.
“Turn off the music, honey. It’s probably contributing to his overwhelm.”
“But—”
“Now, Thor.” Her stern voice has me moving across the kitchen.
“I thought it might help to keep us both calm.”
“I know, sweetie. But that’s not how autism works. We’re going to need to educate you quickly on the ways of ASD.”
I pour myself a glass of orange juice and sit at the table. “How do you know so much about it?”
“Betty McClay’s granddaughter is autistic. She’s younger than Matty, but it’s been a baptism by fire for Betty. She has thirteen grandkids, and Darlene is the first who is neurodivergent. Betty calls her neurospicy.”
“What the fuck is neurospicy?”
“Watch your language around my grandson, Thoren.”
Ouch. She’s breaking out my full name again. I suppose at least this time there was no middle name drop. “Yes, ma’am.” I guess parents don’t get a cussing pass when they’re consumed by the terror of being entirely responsible for another human being for the first time in their lives.
“You scared?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hisses out a breath. “I’m sure you’re terrified. But it’s all going to be okay.”
“That’s what I said. He didn’t look too convinced to be honest.”
Her doorbell rings in the background, and a seed of panic sprouts in my chest. “Sweetie I need to go. That’s the first Stitch and Bitch member to arrive. She can hold the fort while I have a quick shower. I’ll talk to Betty about some resources for you, and we’ll get it figured out, okay? Don’t panic. Just keep breathing. And if you get stuck, Google is your friend. I’ll see you in ten days.”
The call ends abruptly, and I’m left staring at my cellphone wanting her to come back and give me all the answers.
“How about we get you settled into your new room?” Forcing myself into action, I crouch down to his level. I’m hoping that giving him some control over his situation, his surroundings, will help calm him a little. When shit feels out of my control, anxiety takes root, so maybe it’s similar for him, too.
“Okay.” He doesn’t look as sure as he sounds, but at least the screaming has stopped.
Sure, my guest room is bland as vanilla ice cream, but with time and some input from him, well, it could be anything he wants it to be.
After a while, we’re unpacking his bags into the closet and drawers, and making up his bed. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘me.’ Most attempts at trying to start conversation fail, but that’s okay, as long as he knows I’m here if he needs me, he doesn’t need to talk to me.
There are two binders among his belongings. I open the blue one to find pages and pages of plastic sleeves, filled with hockey cards.
He holds his hand out to me. “I like hockey.”
Fuck. I scrub my jaw. Maybe this is my saving grace. I speak hockey. Living in Minnesota for most of my life, well, it’s one of our state’s sports. It’s hard to escape being a hockey fan. “The Wild?”
