Page 111 of Wish You Were Her
She wondered for a second if he was kidding. But, despite the darkness within the room, she could see a touch of sadness in his face. She brushed her hands across his jawline, as if she could somehow smooth away the sudden regret.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were unwell. You were dealing with enough.”
He was rubbing her upper arms in a soothing motion and Allegra was reminded once again that she could never be just a friend to this person. As ever, when her mind wandered to romantic idealistic daydreams of the two of them, she wondered if he was still infatuated with an imaginary person on the other end of an email. His kisses and touches had spoken of desire, without question, but she couldn’t forget the frustration on his face as she had found him in the cafe with a book and a flower.
That felt like another lifetime now.
“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” she said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Tell me now?”
“Nope. I had two things on my to-do list. Get a great new job, and tell you this thing. Did one today, gonna do the other tomorrow.”
“Can I seduce it out of you?” she asked teasingly.
“You are definitely welcome to try.”
They listened to the braying sounds of the city at night for a few minutes before Jonah asked, “Does everyone who came tonight know you’re autistic?”
“Yes. February, because I can’t do certain fabrics and textures. Clark, so he knows if he ever does anything ableist on my socials stuff, he’s out. And Natalie has known since the beginning. Apart from my agent and my parents, that’s it.”
“And you don’t want to go public?”
Allegra hesitated. “I don’t know. Telling people that you’re autistic doesn’t magically transform an intolerant person into an understanding one.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
“Well, even the choir needs to rehearse.”
He laughed at that.
“I don’t know,” she said, listening to the beat of his heart as she spoke. “I think a big part of me just wants to blurt it out. Then never talk about it again until I want to.”
“You should be able to do that.”
“Not in my business.”
“Allegra, you’re grown. You’re in charge of you. No one can get you into trouble anymore, you don’t answer to anyone.”
Allegra absorbed the words, which were spoken so casually. Another ode to the strange period of transition between childhood and adulthood. She was still playing by the old rules sometimes.
“Maybe,” she spoke softly. “If I felt really safe. If I felt like I had something more to lose than my career, I would say. Just to be proud for once, instead of careful.”
When he didn’t say anything, she looked into his face. He smiled sadly at her.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Every time he told her that, it was gold paint between the cracks of the vase. “You say that a lot.”
“You need to hear it.”
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself. “You wouldn’t believe how many people like to tell women they follow what they think of their looks. ‘Oh, if you just fixed your nose.’ ‘Have you gained weight, Allegra? Is it for a role?’ ‘Your hair looks dry right now.’ It’s constant. I can’t hear my own voice sometimes, just everyone else’s. It’s why I like hearing yours.”
His fingers massaged her temples and she closed her eyes in bliss.
“People don’t know,” she breathed. “Having a disability… everything I did was wrong. When I was young, I mean. I would fail at things that seemed to come naturally to other people. The exasperation, the eye-rolling, the ‘you’re just not getting this, are you?’ It was inescapable. I always felt like an alien. Nothing I do comes naturally. I just wanted to be like other girls. I wanted to be like everyone else. I would lie awake and pray for it.”
So when the boy she liked called her beautiful, it felt like antivenom to the snake bite that was the world calling her imperfect. Jonah saw through everything.
