Page 25 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Tommy was being nice to me.” He stares down at our hands, carefully tracing the side of my finger with his. “He wasn’t mean or anything. Not at the gym, and not today before you came out.” Slowly, he glances up and rewards me with smiling eyes. “He was kinda surprised, though.”

“Why was he surprised?”

He shrugs. “I guess he could tell that I don’t like to talk very much because he didn’t get mad when I didn’t tell him my name in class. He made me pair up with Molly, who is loud and a bit bossy, but he told her to be nice and stuff.” Pausing, he leans closer and whispers, “I think he knows I’m autistic, Mom. Even though I didn’t say so. And then when I saw him this morning, he wasreallysurprised that I was here. He asked if Grandma Bitsy wasmygrandma, and when I said yes, it’s like he didn’t believe me at first.”

He allows his smile to grow a little larger. “Chris was laughing at Tommy because Tommy was kinda too surprised to ask me proper questions.” Then he adds, whispering again, “I think Chris might be autistic too. Maybe that’s why Tommy wasn’t mad that I didn’t want to talk at the gym.”

So perceptive. So smart.

I swallow the ache in my throat and nod. “Yeah, baby. I’m pretty sure Chris is autistic too. But he didn’t go to the doctor like we did. He doesn’t have a formal diagnosis.”

He pulls back and relaxes, releasing the tension in his shoulders and loosening the hold he has on his jaw. Because we’re no longer talking about things that hurt our hearts. “Why didn’t he go to the doctor? I didn’t even have to get needles for my diagnosis.”

I breathe out a soft, barely there snicker and consider how much to share with a boy who absorbs too much. “Things were just… different when we were kids. And Chris’ parents didn’t treat them very nicely.”

“Kinda like how Grandma Bitsy doesn’t treat you nicely?”

“Well… no. Differently. Both homes were hard to live in sometimes, but Grandma Bitsy made sure I had food to eat and a bed to sleep in. She sometimes said things she probably shouldn’t have, but she never hurt me. Not, like, she didn’t kick me or punch me or anything like that.”

“Did Chris’ mom and dad kick and punch him?” His eyes grow wider because, to him, the thought of a parent beating the shit out of their child is simply impossible to accept. “That’s assault, right? Even if?—”

“Yes. That’s assault. And abuse. Tommy and Chris’ parents only sometimes parented. Sometimes there was food to eat, and sometimes there wasn’t. Sometimes they weren’t even home, for weeks at a time.”

“Where’d they go?”

“We don’t know. We never knew. They just went out of town sometimes and never said anything, and they didn’t think about leaving food in the fridge or a babysitter to make sure the boys were okay. Doctors cost money,” I explain. “And diagnoses cost a whole lot more. It wouldn’t have mattered if Chris had two extra legs and three noses. Their parents wouldn’t have done anything about it. But I think you’re right…” I tap his sweet button nose. “I think Chris is autistic, too, and I agree, that’s probably why Tommy was able to understand you at the gym. He’s spent his entire life learning through his brother.”

“Maybe that’s why Tommy is extra mad at you.”

“Maybe… what?” I pinch my brows and try to puzzle out his meaning. “I don’t— You think he’s mad at me because of autism?”

“No. He’s mad because his mom and dad kept leaving him behind. And then you left him behind.”

His words are like an arrow to my heart. But his arrow has a dull tip, wrapped in a rag dripping with gasoline, and set alight with the kind of fire that never extinguishes.

Ouch.

“Can I come to the shop with you today?” Completely oblivious to the damage left behind, he crawls across my unmade bed and off the other side to collect the shorts and shirt he laid out before we went to sleep last night. “I want to help you with your spreadsheet. And maybe we can go to the diner next door to get ice cream floats this afternoon when it’s the hottest.”

“Sure.” I rock backward and drop to my butt, and though I don’t consciously decide to do so, I massage my chest and hope the ache goes away sometime this decade. “I’d love for you to come with me today.”

“And I still want to go to the gym.” He wanders toward our shared bathroom, but before crossing the threshold and closing the door, heglances back with a sweet smile. “I never met an autistic person before. Especially not an adult kind, anyway.”

I mean… I’m sure you have. You just didn’t know it.

“Grandma Bitsy already paid for the entire summer. And I don’t want her money to be wasted. Does it make you mad that I want to go?”

“No.” I lower my gaze and allow my head to simply dangle. “It doesn’t make me mad.”

“You promise?”

“Mmhm.”Not mad. Just sad. And sore. And really, really scared.“I promise.”

ROUND EIGHT

TOMMY

I charge my brother and slam him to the cage wall, earning hisses and jeers from those who watch on the outside. Bringing my knee up and crushing his ribs, I scoop a hand between his legs, lift without a single thought for my back and the poor posture I exhibit when my temper burns hot, and spinning us both around, I dive toward the canvas and make sure he hits with the rage I’ve carried all my life.

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