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He’s under the table having a meltdown, and the eyes of every person in this place are on me right now as he loses his shit. Again. Sweat’s trickling down my neck, soaking into the collar of my t-shirt.
Movement in my periphery draws attention to a redhead sitting at the window, thankfully it’s not Addison. I couldn’t stand for her to watch me fail. Yet again. I feel like every second of every day right now is failure on top of failure. And it’s only day fucking two. How can I do this for years on end?
I’ve spent so long priding myself on being able to provide comfort to people, to taking care of them, and this small child who needs comfort... I just... I’ve got nothing.
Mounting pressure behind my eyeballs draws a groan from me as the server approaches. I order a coffee as big as my head and tell her I hope to order food soon. But considering I have no clue how to calm my son down, we might just take the drink to-go and get the hell out of here.
Oh, shit. No. Addisonishere. She’s sitting about six feet away, staring at me with an unreadable expression painted across her porcelain features. She’s got an employment-focused website on the screen of her laptop that she spins away from me before offering a small smile and wave my direction when she sees that I’ve clocked her presence. I try to return the smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes out as a grimace.
Grabbing my hair, I tug a hair tie over it. Putting it up into a ponytail won’t stop me from sweating like a sinner in church, but it might help. Somehow. Maybe.
I’m going to ask for my coffee to go as soon as the server passes by me again. That was an error on my part. Matty is escalating under the table, and I have no clue if it’s a tantrum or a meltdown. What does he want from this situation? Is it comfort and attention? Is he overwhelmed?
His mom just left him, his whole life is fucking overwhelm. Isn’t that just the poor kid’s new status quo?
Should I just stay home with him forever and never take him outside? Am I being cruel to my son by even trying to bring him out into the world?
The ache in my chest deepens, and the pain behind my eyes increases. Dropping my head into my hands, I sigh. I can’t subject the rest of the coffee shop to my son’s screaming for much longer. I thought I could handle this... him... us... A new father-son relationship with the added difficulties of navigating special needs. But I very clearly can’t.
Addison drops on the seat across from me with a wince. Hopefully it’s the reminder of our night together making her cheeks heat. I don’t even have time to grin, or make a smart ass comment about how her ass is smarting. “Can I try something?” She jerks her head at Matty under the table.
“Of course.”
She ducks under the table with her backpack. I don’t know what she does under there, but she just stays with Matty. Her voice is low, calming, reassuring, and after a few minutes, she climbs out from under the table and sits back on the chair.
It’s not long before Matty settles a bit. Addison keeps one hand under the table. I don’t know if she’s holding his hand, or stroking his hair, or what she’s doing, but it seems to be working. I’m not too proud to admit I’m feeling guilty as hell right now. I should be able to settle my own fucking child.
The server places my coffee in front of me, and I point at Addison. “What are you drinking?”
“Oh.” She waves a hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” The urge to stroke her cheek, or tip her chin so she looks me in the eye is consuming.
Arching a brow, I find it hard to believe she doesn’t want coffee. “You came to a cafe to just sit and not drink coffee?”
Her pale skin turns almost as red as her hair. “I’ll take a caramel latte please.” She pauses. “Do you have somewhere quiet that they could eat?” She points under the table.
The server crouches at the foot of the table, spots Matty and gives him a wide smile. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you want another menu?”
Addison looks at me as though she’s asking for permission to stay to eat with us. I’m not sure what she sees on my face, whether it’s hope, silent pleading, or relief that she hasn’t already high-tailed it out the door, but she nods.
When the server leaves, she leans toward me. “I can leave you guys alone if you’d rather. They just make exceptional soup, and I love their club sandwiches.”
I’d rather barbecue my balls than have her leave right now. I don’t know how she’s soothing Matty but if she goes, I’m afraid she’s going to take his calm with her.
“Please stay.”
She nods, but doesn’t meet my eyes. She looks like she wants to bolt. She gives me a small smile. “Noise canceling headphones. I have an autistic niece, and that’s what my sister asked me to get for her for Christmas last year.”
Glancing around the cafe, it eludes me how she can think this place is loud. There’s a din, but it’s by no means noisy. Suddenly, I feel like a complete idiot. It should have been one of the first things I thought about when I walked in. And yet, since it doesn’t seem all that loud to me, so I assumed it wasn’t an issue.
“You couldn’t have known.” Her voice is soft, quiet, pacifying. But it does little to soothe the ire bubbling under my skin. Matty is my kid, and I don’t know the first thing about soothing him or making him feel better. And this woman, thisstranger, knows him better than I do already.
“He’s holding my hand.” She tips her head as though she’s pointing to where her hand is under the table. “I tried to retract it, but he isn’t ready to let it go.”
Something sharp slinks into my chest at her words. Matty hasn’t let me touch him since he arrived at my door yesterday.
I’m trying not to be bitter about it. I’m trying to put Matty first, this is about him, not me. No matter how difficult it might be for me to accept that other people might be able to help my son when I can’t. I need to let it go and focus on the fact that she’s helping.
Then learn how I can help, too.
