Page 47 of Wish You Were Her
She asked him the question without reproach but he felt shame at the memory of their first meeting. “I don’t know.”
He glanced at her and was surprised to see apprehension in her eyes.
“Did my dad say that I am?”
“God, no,” Jonah said, and he was so desperate to relieveher of her anxiety, he accidentally blurted out the truth. “I googled you and—you were so beautiful, I got flustered and had to tell myself you weren’t very nice to people in order to get control of myself again.”
She was clearly stunned at this revelation, as was Jonah. He didn’t add that he had since learned how deep that beauty went. He was amazed by her memory, her varied reading tastes and her quick wit. He was astonished by her composure when confronted with boorish, bullish people with no understanding of boundaries.
“It wasn’t from George,” he added. “He was so thrilled you were coming.”
Allegra regarded her fellow bookseller as he worked away at his task. She had noticed how handy he was around her father’s shop. While he and Simon had worked there in chorus, their employment time almost identical, Jonah was the one who knew everything. He fixed things. He found things. He knew every contact. He called Mary and Nick, the part-time booksellers, when George forgot. He took the deliveries. He checked the stock and the orders. He spoke to the wholesalers.
He was indispensable.
So she had often wondered about him. When the two of them fought, when it got messy, she wondered why no one defended him. Perhaps it was because he almost always started it. They would bicker and bite at each other and everyone watched as though they were hired entertainment. It made her feel like she was playing a part in some film, only she couldn’t walk off set and leave it behind. When Jonah would storm off, no one followed. She wondered why a loyal employee, one whowas integral to the business, was treated so coldly by her father. Especially when Jonah showed the man such loyalty.
“Do you like living in such a small town?” she asked him.
She watched him visibly consider the question, while he worked. He smelled incredible. He always did. Allegra was so used to adolescent men smelling of unwashed odor, it was something poor makeup artists often whispered to the third ADs about on set. Wardrobe, too. They would quietly beg the thirds to have a word with the actor, perhaps suggesting that the scene would be more comfortable for everyone to shoot if he were showered.
Jonah always smelled of a delicious cologne with undertones of soap, applied generously all over. His clothes were always fresh. She had seen him, during her second week in town, carrying large bags over to the launderette. He was, according to Simon, fastidious about cleanliness. He had criticized some of her dusting once. That had turned into the argument of all arguments, partly because Allegra was embarrassed to have been found wanting.
Now, as he worked with a hammer and screws and wood, there was the slightest sheen on his face. His shirt had ridden up slightly as he lay on the ground to fix the bottom shelf with supports. They were very close and she couldn’t quite bring herself to examine what she was feeling. She didn’t want to wonder why she was staying there, when she should be out having a perfectly nice time with Simon.
She shouldn’t be here with the sullen one.
“I like it fine,” he said, answering her question while oblivious to her thoughts. “It’s a bit much, at this time of year. Population triples and all that. And people always know your business. But it’s nice enough.”
“Don’t answer if it’s too personal,” she said quietly, “but isn’t it hard? Being autistic in a small town?”
His eyes lifted to hers for a moment while he pondered the question, and possibly her intentions. “Yeah. Can be. But I don’t know any different. I’ve always lived here.”
“Was school horrible?” It had been for her. In fact, it had been unbearable. Leaving for a film set, with homework in her trailer, had been so much better.
“Yes.”
There were a thousand stories in the one word he uttered. Allegra almost didn’t need to know more. She could imagine. Or rather, she could remember.
“You said autistic.”
She frowned at him. “Yes. Is that—”
“Most people say ‘with autism.’ I hate it. Makes it sound like I have a little hamster in my pocket called Autism.”
Allegra laughed at that. “Autistic is much better. Sounds more… whole.”
“Exactly.”
They smiled at each other for a moment before Allegra looked away.
“Don’t waste a nice summer evening in here with me,” Jonah said. “I’m doing the boring stuff. Too hot out there, anyhow. For me, that is. Don’t let the cold air out when you leave.”
Allegra wanted to say that it was too hot for her, too. She wondered if he would believe her. She wanted to tell him her secret. She flinched at the fluorescent lights, just as he did. They both asked people to explain things when they were choosing vagueness and politeness over direct communication. They both winced when the shrill landline rang. They stimmed. They took their breaks in isolation, to decompress from the overstimulation and the masking.
Look at me, she wanted to say.We’re so similar. Maybe that’s why we have such friction. We’re two stones scraping together and the sparks come off because we’re just the same.
She said nothing, though. She was meeting Simon. Their email relationship was about to come off the page.
