Perfectly Adequate(25)

It’s hard to articulate. My gaze returns to the window as I look for even a few inadequate words to describe the indescribable. “Life is more vibrant through her eyes. Simple things like matching undershirts and tennis shoes bring about unfathomable joy. In her world, everyone is equal. And words are poor expressions of feelings. I could just stand in a room with her, not saying a single word, and feel deliriously happy. Her eyes … she has the bluest eyes, and the way she rolls them when she talks animatedly just makes me search for absolutely any excuse to make her talk. And the tiny smirk that seems to be her resting face is like being on the receiving end of the best secret ever.”

Mom’s eyebrows slide up her forehead.

“I know!” I shake my head, laughing at myself. “It’s insane. Just commit me now. I’ve known her all of two seconds, and most of our time together has been with Roman. I’m delusional, just say it. This is a side effect from my breakup with Julie. Maybe my own midlife crisis. Before long, I’m going to be one of those people claiming to see the Virgin Mary in my cereal bowl, or aliens taking me to their planet at night and implanting chips into my brain. Tomorrow, I’ll probably turn into a werewolf on my morning jog through the forest.”

“Or …” She wipes her mouth and leans back in her chair, working her tongue over her teeth a few times. “You have an undeniable chemistry with this young woman. It can be that simple, Eli. I didn’t need three years to fall for your dad. It happened in a single moment. He came out of his shop, covered in grease and sweat, to tell me my brakes were shot. I didn’t care that I was a poor college student who didn’t have the money to replace them. All that mattered was the world tipping on its side, doing all kinds of weird things to me when he smiled at me. A smile, Eli. I knew my life would never be the same from a smile.”

I love that story. So do my sisters. Probably because fifty years later, our dad still smiles at our mom the same way. And she still blushes every time he does it. I thought that would be Julie and me.

“He could cheat on me tomorrow.”

I blink several times before squinting my eyes. “What?”

“Your dad. He could cheat on me tomorrow. You know how people say they could die tomorrow? They do it to give today better perspective, to lessen their worry over an unpredictable future. Break apart lifetime into two words—Life. Time. You spent a time in your life with Julie. Let it be a lifetime. Then move on and give someone else a chance to be part of your time in this life. I’ve spent a lifetime with your father, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend a lifetime with someone else. If something is meaningful … impactful … then it can be a lifetime. Think about phobias. For someone with a fear of something, facing that fear, even if it’s for mere minutes or even seconds, can feel like a lifetime. It’s an impression that stays with you forever. Someday when you find yourself in a really good place again, you will look back at the years you spent with Julie, and it will feel like a lifetime ago.”

I love my psychiatrist because she never talks to me like she talks to her patients. She gives me seventy-five percent heart and twenty-five percent mind. As much as she wants to give me her professional side, it’s a conflict of interest. Her mom side always wins over.

“She didn’t kiss me back.”

Mom grins.

“Dr. Warren told me she’s autistic.”

She shrugs. “Does that matter?”

I frown. “You know it doesn’t.”

“But you’re wondering if that’s why she didn’t kiss you back?”

I nod.

“Has she had other relationships?”

“I don’t know. I’m too busy being infatuated with her to really know her. I need to slow down.”

“Don’t slow down. Then you’ll think … overthink. And trust me, if she has ASD, then she’s overthinking enough for both of you.”





CHAPTER NINE





Never Enough Journals

Dorothy


The kiss disaster took up two entire journals—blue and hot pink. Starting with bold, all caps, one word per page of: I

WASN’T

READY!!!

He wasn’t making fun of me. He wanted to kiss me.

Legit.

No sick jokes.

Dr. Hottie Hawkins hot for Dorothy.

One hundred percent wanted to kiss me.

And …

I

WASN’T

READY!!!

I just sat there frozen, completely unmoving. I couldn’t have been less responsive had I been dead. And that wasn’t a bad idea.

Seriously … kill me right NOW!

What’s next? I have no idea. A different zip code, on the opposite coast, seems like the best idea. He either thought I didn’t want to be kissed or that I didn’t know how to kiss. Both are untrue. Both scenarios are embarrassing. And both possibilities leave me with no options.

The finicky vegetarian who didn’t like chunks, spices, or kisses.

Nooo!!!

I spend the next forty-eight hours coasting through classes while contemplating my options.

One: New zip code.

Two: The afterlife.

Three: New profession.

Four: Ask for a redo.

Five: I have no five. I just like options I can count on one hand. I like the number five.