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The server comes back with Adi’s coffee, and takes our order.
She crouches at the end of the table again and addresses Matty directly. Reaching toward him, probably to catch his attention. A quick glance under the table confirms he’s slipped his headphones off one ear to talk to the server.
“Would you like something to eat... eh...?” She looks up at us.
“Matthew,” Addison supplies.
“Matthew. I love that name. Would you like some soup or some grilled cheese Matthew?”
After a short silence, Matthew’s little voice answers her. “I like grilled cheese.”
She grins. “Grilled cheese it is.” She tells us that her manager said it’s okay for us to eat in the room next to her office. Addison and I coax Matty out from under the table and follow the server into the quieter part of the cafe. It’s also darker back here, and Matty seems to visibly relax at the change in environment.
I don’t know how they did it so quickly, or if they have other ASD families who come back here, but there’s a table and chairs, silverware, coloring books and pencils, crayons, and markers.
The server tells us that the owner’s son is autistic. He’s working on adding an ASD friendly space, protected time to their opening hours for ASD families to stop by and have somewhere to go without “strange looks,” her words, and ASD friendly items to the menu. She says if our family ever wants to come back with Matty and bring our own food for him, that’s okay too.
My hand trembles as I fight the urge to cry. I didn’t realize how much stress I was carrying over finding somewhere for us to be social and eat together until this woman told me that this was a safe space.
We’re hiding out in a back room to have lunch, it’s not quite eating out front with all the other patrons. But it’s a start. Matty isn’t hiding under the table, he’s not screaming, and he’s pulled a book out of his backpack about the history of hockey and he’s quietly reading it.
This gives me hope. “Are there other ASD friendly businesses around?”
She nods. “We don’t have fliers yet, but I have a list of places the owner takes his son sometimes.” She pats me on the shoulder, sympathy etched in her smile. “I know it can be overwhelming. But there are plenty of businesses in Minneapolis that offer ASD friendly times, or activities. More and more places are catering to our neurodiverse community.”
I’ve got so much homework to do, my head might actually explode. But this gives me hope, and a renewed sense of determination to try all of the places on the list and to go out of my way to find even more.
I’ve spent my whole adult life swearing I’d never turn into my father, and yet I was apparently just like him this whole time without knowing. What must this child think of me? Does he think I left him and his mother? Fuck, does he think I left because of him? He was pretty astute at recognizing that Addison left because he arrived. The urge to tell him I didn’t know he even existed is overwhelming, but I don’t want him to think ill of his mother for not telling me, either.
Addison pats my hand. Everyone keeps patting me. I hate it.
“I could ask my sister for some resources for you as well.”
I hate how much sympathy is in Addison’s eyes. I’m not used to being the one needing to be taken care of, and I don’t like it. Control. That’s my thing.
We spend our quick lunch making small talk. Safe territory. Where we grew up, where we went to school, what we like to do, and eat, and watch. And when we’re done eating, we argue over who’s going to pay the bill. She eventually caves, but she’s very clearly not happy about it. Her face and neck is flushed, and the way she holds herself suggests something else is going on with her, but that isn’t my circus, and she isn’t my monkey.
Right now my monkey is gripping her hand like grim death. “Any chance you want to walk us home?”
She nods, and we step outside into the sunshine. It’s a glorious fall day with just enough of a nip in the air to remind you that the weather could change at any moment. I’m glad I didn’t need to explain to her why I wanted her to walk us home. She seems to justget it.
But I can’t have her around forever, I need to figure out how to understand my son without having the random hookup from the bar interpreting everything for us.
Ouch. That was a dick thought to have about her. She’s only trying to help.
We don’t say a word the entire ten minute walk back to my place. I don’t know that there’s much to say. My gratitude to this woman is overpowering. I want to take her inside and ravage her until she comes a million times just to show my appreciation for her help today. But that was old Thor.
New Thor is a father, a man responsible for someone’s well-being other than his own. He’s not a Casanova, a player, someone who could hook up with two women on the same day, sometimes even at the same time.
Standing in silence at my front door, just staring at her face, her auburn curls catch the sunshine making her hair look like flames.
“It was lovely to see you again, Matthew.” Her smile to my son is warm and genuine. “Thanks for letting me have lunch with you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice is small, but hearing him engage with her and speak a little more than... well... not at all, is nice. He doesn’t meet her gaze, staring at his feet, but he hesitates for a second.
“Did you know the Minnesota Wild was granted an NHL expansion franchise on June 25, 1997, and began playing in the 2000-2001 season?”
She giggles. “I did not, in fact, know that. I don’t know much about hockey, perhaps you can teach me?”
