Page 127 of Things I Read About
He looks around. “Don’t you think that’s a valid question?”
“Yeah, it’s valid,” I say.
“No, it’s offensive,” Matt says at the same time.
“Listen, as long as you’re not, like, a danger to her”—Shep lifts a shoulder—“then suck it right on up. So, you’re not good enough? Then become good enough.Bebetter. We all did.”
“It’s not that simple,” I start. “I can’t possibly keep up with her, I can’t even…”
I slump down, unable to explain.
“You’re dyslexic,” Emerson says simply.
My jaw drops.
What the hell?
“Are you?” Matt asks.
“Obviously that’s it.” Shep whacks Emerson. “Don’t do that creepy silent observer crap, man, it’s weird. You should’ve just asked, ‘Oh, are you dyslexic?’ Like a normal person.”
“Normal people don’t think to ask that,” I add.
“Sorry.” Emerson raises his hands. “You didn’t look at the menu even once, you were uncomfortable ordering, the font on your phone is unusually large, then you said your brain was broken.”
“So, you’re dyslexic, so what? She’d probably love to research all the nerdy stuff about your brain-eye connection or whatever,” Shep says.
The other two nod and snicker at the idea.
“So what?Sowhat?I can hardly read, man. Reading is her life. If it’s not a textbook, she reads novels. If it’s not books, she reads music. All day long. She is literally reading something from the moment she wakes up, to the minute she goes to sleep.” I lean back, stretching my hands out wide, trying to make them see. “Not to mention, the whole damn family greeting card empire is based on what? You guessed it,Shepherd,fucking reading!”
They sit in silence for a minute. The servers delivers our food and almost runs away, sensing the tension.
“Well,Nathaniel,you make a strong case against yourself.” Shep talks softly and starts tapping his points on his fingers. “Except, one: The family in said family empire will not give one single care about your dyslexia. Two: Sally won’t either and you know it. And three: Dean says you’re a genius.” He looks pointedly at Emerson.
“Fergus too.”
I wave them off. “That’s just security stuff.”
“And Ijustdo tech stuff,” Matt says, matching my tone. “Emerson just does financial stuff. Shep just, well, Shep mostly smiles at himself in the mirror.”
I look for Shep’s reaction and he just laughs. “I’m a good-looking son of a bitch.”
We all laugh too.
Emerson straightens in his seat. “Fergus wouldn’t say that lightly. I’ve known him for ages. And if Sally put herself out there, as you’ve said, she must find you exceedingly interesting, as she would say.”
“Vastly,” I say, without thinking.
“Huh?” Shep asks, his mouth full.
“She says things are vastly interesting.”
Emerson nods. “Right, that's it then. I’m on board.”
“Me too,” Matt says, smiling into his beer.
“What?” I look around the table.
