Page 8 of Hoax and Kisses
I grit my teeth, tamping down my irritation. “Mom.”
“What? I’ve tried so many things, Matt, and she’s not getting any better. Last time I took her to the mall for back-to-school shopping, she freaked out thirty minutes in and we had to leave.”
“You know the mall is too crowded, and you brought her there anyway?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. That must have been hell for my sister. Guilt sinks in my gut. If I’d been with her, I could have protected her. I was probably busy with the store, and the thought makes me sick. “The mall overstimulates her. Did she at least have her headphones to cancel out the noise?”
Mom lets her arms fall to her sides with a huff. “I don’t know, Matt. I can’t keep up with all her little quirks. Why can’t she be more like you? You’ve always been so easy-going, even when you were a kid. I’m telling you, it’s a phase. She’ll grow out of it.”
I clench my jaw and groan. “It’s not aphase, Mom. Daphne’s autistic. It’s not something she can get rid of.”
Mom frowns. “You shouldn’t call her autistic. Barbara at work says it’s ‘people with autism’.”
I drag a hand down my face. “We’ve been over this already. Daphne’s autistic. Saying ‘with autism’ makes it sound like she’s sick or something. She’s not. It’s just how her brain works. And since when do you care what Barbara thinks anyway?”
Bouncing my knee, I glance at my dad, who stays focused on cleaning the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the conversation. It’s always been like this—this weird dynamic between the two of them.
Dad understands Daphne. He went to every one of her specialist appointments, joined parents’ information sessions, and carved out time in his schedule to take her to activities with other autistic teenagers. Ever since her official diagnosis, he’s done all he can to support her. Except shut my mom down in situations like this, I guess.
But Mom? She’s a different story. She isn’t a bad mother, despite some of the shit that comes out of her mouth. Her love for her kids is beyond any measure. But with Daphne, it’s likeshe’s hit a wall of ignorance and has no idea how to move around it.
Her generation was raised with hands of steel. The only wounds that mattered were physical. All other slights, hurts, and disappointments could be fixed with a bit of hard work and perseverance. Dad’s upbringing was less traditional in that regard, I suppose.
Mom really does try with Daph, but she often falls short, and then, they both end up miserable.
And I’m caught in the middle. Being my sister’s most fervent protector while trying to live up to Mom’s perfect image of me.
Dad moves behind Mom and cups her arms, dropping a kiss in her hair. “She’s doing her best, honey. Matt, can you get your sister? Dinner’s ready.”
I study Mom for a second, noting her frown, and sigh. “Sure.”
Upstairs, Daphne is locked in her room, with a “You shall not pass”sign hanging on her door.
I snort and tap my usual pattern on the wood: three knocks, a pause, two knocks. “Dinner time, Daph.”
“Coming.”
There’s a thump, and an instant later, the door flies open and my sister stands proudly on the other side, a sprig of echinacea in her hair.
“That’s very pretty,” I say.
“Thanks.” She pats the flower. “I want to stare at the flowers all the time, but that might be hard. So this way, I can have a piece of the bouquet with me. Then, if I want to, I can take it out and look at it.”
“That’s very true. Come on, Mom and Dad are waiting.”
As I hit the bottom step with Daphne on my heels, Dad’s voice carries all the way to us. “Maybe we can still cancel it.”
“Cancel what?” I say as I slide into my usual seat at the dinner table.
“Well, sweetie—”
“Deborah.” My dad presses his lips together, his attention drifting to Daphne.
I follow his line of sight, then look at him, frowning. “What’s going on?”
With a sigh, Mom sets her napkin on the table. “It’s not a big deal, sweetie. You know our thirtieth anniversary is coming up. And, well, we booked a month-long cruise for the occasion. The reservation was made months and months ago. We’re leaving next week.”
Dread curls in my gut. “Daphne’s first day at her new school is next week. You can’t leave.”
Dad clears his throat.
