Page 79 of Free Heart
His voice softens again as he addresses his former nemesis. “Her cat bit the hell out of me. More than once.” He shows the prominent scar on his arm. “His name was Reynolds, like Burt or the tin foil wrap, and he’d get into my closet and pounce on me whenever I opened it. He’d hide behind his cat tree and claw the crap out of me as I walked past. He had it in for me. I hated him.”
Romeo purrs harder as Dan scratches behind his ear in the place he likes best. “My foster mother took his side. She kepthim,and I was sent along to another family. And then another. And so on and so on.”
He’s silent a moment. But then he looks up and meets the camera’s focus head on. “Later, there was Mrs. Crawford. I was fifteen. She was young in comparison to most of them. So, thirty, maybe? She tried to help me. Got me assessed and diagnosed with autism. She also tried to help me do better in school, but I didn’t want a mom by then. I didn’t think I deserved one because I’d never had one before, and I figured there had to be a reason for that.”
He clears his throat. “So, Mrs. Crawford, yeah, she was a good one too. I hope she got a better kid after me. She would have been a good mom to someone who’d actually let herdothings for them.” His voice breaks slightly.
Straightening, Dan sighs. “Like I said, I have a lot of unhappy stories. I could make severalweeks’worth of videos about all the assholes I’ve lived with. But today I wanted to remember the two who didn’t suck. Edith and Mrs. Crawford. They were good.”
He scratches his unshaven face, lifts Romeo up to show off his floofy belly to the camera, and ends the video with, “I’m Dan McBride, world-class athlete, reluctant cat foster-dad, boyfriend of Sejin, pseudo-son of Peggy Jo, and a professional climber with no sponsorships and a broken leg. Until next time. Bye.”
My head spins as I digest what I’ve learned. I sit with my phone in my hand, staring at the frozen image I’ve paused on.
When Dan finally hobbles out, swinging on one crutch around the corner of the bed, he collapses next to me. “What’s up, Doc?” he asks, tossing the crutch aside and catching a glimpse of my face.
“You never told me.”
He glances at my phone and sees what I’ve been watching. “About Edith? I told you about her that night at Pothole Dome. I’m pretty sure I mentioned Mrs. Crawford too.”
“No. Not them. You never told me you have an autism diagnosis.”
“Oh.” Dan shrugs. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t. Does it matter?”
My eyes burn. “Yeah, Dan. It matters.”
“Why?”
“Because there have been so many times…” I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand.“So many timesI’ve been unfair to you in my mind, and sometimes out loud, and you didn’t deserve it. Worse, you just accepted that what I was saying was true. I’m sorry.”
Dan stares at me, baffled. “Isthissomething I should understand, but I don’t?”
I choke out a laugh, and another tear squeezes out. “Probably.”
I hate that my tears are making this all about me, when it’s Dan who deserves loving kindness and apologies right now.
Dan shrugs again, but sits up more, adjusting his leg so he can put his arm around me. “I hate when you cry. Except when we’re fucking. Then you can cry all you want.”
“I know.” I shove my cheekbone-length hair out of my eyes, and growl in frustration when it falls right back into them.
Dan brushes it back and holds it off my face with a palm against my head and peers at me. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Hey, Danny?”
“What?” He smooths my hair back again, and it falls in such a way that I’m not frustrated with it.
“I have to confess something.”
“Alright.”
“Sometimes when you haven’t understood how I feel, or you’ve said something rude…”
He tilts his head.
“I’ve called you an asshole. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes in my head.”
He exhales on a small laugh. “Oh, well, lots of people call me an asshole. I guess I am one.” His eyes go distant like they had while remembering Mrs. Crawford. “I don’t know how not to be one even when I try.”
I clutch his hands, bringing his fingers to my lips to kiss them. “That’s just it, Dan. You’re not an asshole. You’re autistic.”
