Page 121 of Hoax and Kisses
“I’ll be fine,” I insist, patting his arm before he strides away. “Where is Daphne?” I ask Deb as I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Oh, she went back to her room,” she says, waving vaguely toward the hallway. “She’s such an introverted kid. I can’t keep her here with me for more than five minutes.”
“She’s been away from home for a while now. I’m sure she missed her space and needs a moment to get her bearings.”
Deb shakes her head, her curls bouncing. Her hair is the same shade as Matt’s, though time has threaded hers with silver. With a sigh, she drops into the chair next to me. “I wish she wasn’t so difficult to handle. I’d worry less.”
Rather than let her words rankle me, I pause, collecting myself, remembering all the times Matt has mentioned this type of comment from her. “For what it’s worth,” I start gently, “Daphne was an absolute gem while you guys were gone.”
Would Matt be upset if I went down that road? It’s none of my business, really. But she’s giving me the perfect opportunity. And I can’t ignore it, right? It’s for Daphne’s well-being. Matt would do the same.
“We even took her to Vancouver for a weekend.”
Deb lifts her brows. “Really? And she didn’t make a fuss?”
I shake my head. “She handled it like a champ. Autism is a spectrum, and for Daph, what helps most is consistency. Reassurance. From what I’ve witnessed, she thrives when she knows what to expect, whether it’s bringing the things she loves or talking through the plan ahead of time so she can prepare. Mentally, emotionally. Physically. They’re small gestures, but they can make all the difference.”
Deborah stays silent for a while, sipping her coffee, her gaze distant. “How do you know all this?” she asks, her focus suddenly sharp and pinned on me. The stare reminds me of someone else’s. The same eyes, with the same intensity.
“I studied it. A long time ago,” I say, and her brows go up again. “It was the most meaningful moment of my life. Neurodivergent people are the best of us. Sometimes I wish we could see the world the way they do.”
She hums, unconvinced. “What do you do now if you don’t work in that field?”
“I work for my dad in hotel management. Although… it’s a bit complicated right now.”
I’m not about to unpack my existential crisis on this poor woman’s lap. I’ve traumatized her enough for one day.
She peers toward the hallway.
“I don’t understand my own kid,” she says, though her voice carries a quiet hope, as if she wishes she knew how. “Matt is angry with me because of it.”
My heart breaks a little. She looks tired and out of her depth. When Daphne was diagnosed, her parents weren’t handed an instruction booklet or given the tools they need to understand her. Sometimes, ignorant people close themselves off. They activate their defense mechanisms when faced with situations they’ve never encountered. It’s not fair for Daphne at all. Deborah should be doing the work. But maybe she needs that extra push.
“Start by listening to her,” I say softly. “Not just to what she says, but to how she moves through the world. Her cues, her rhythms. You won’t be perfect the first time, and youwillmake mistakes. But Daph will see that you’re trying. And she’ll love you even more for it, for choosing to understand her, even when it’s hard.”
I place my hand on top of hers, my stomach churning. Am I overdoing it? Maybe, but now that I’ve begun, it’d be silly to stop here.
“She doesn’t need you to change the world for her. People will be mean and unfair. It’s as inevitable as the sunrise. But you can help her navigate it.”
Footsteps come from the hallway, garnering our attention.
As Matt bursts into the kitchen, massaging his pinkie finger, I retrieve my hand. Beside me, Deborah blinks her emotions away.
“Mom, your fucking demon bit me ag—” Matt looks from me to his mom and back again. “You guys good? Did I miss something?”
I get up from my seat. “Nope, everything’s good. I was telling your mom about our trip to Vancouver.”
He sidles up beside me and wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me to him, like it doesn’t bother him one bit that his parents are right there, watching us with every ounce of hope in their eyes. “Are you ready to head out?”
“Whenever you want,” I say.
He grins down at me. “Let’s go, then. I have to stop at the store, and then we can go home.”
Home.
The word sinks into my heart with a softness that makes me dizzy. That single word feels so right. And it has nothing to do with his place.
It’s him.
