The Things We Cannot Say(88)

“No way.”

“It’s true. Mom told me the other day that she’d tried to convince Mom to give me that name, but we had no idea where it came from,” I say.

“That’s incredible. Any idea why she used another name once she moved here?”

“We don’t know yet. Oh—and Zofia is lovely, by the way—an excellent driver, and very knowledgeable. Well done.”

“Thank you.” Wade does a fake bow for the camera, and then we both pause. Things seem more peaceful at home today, but I’m nervous to ask how Eddie is.

“He’s in his room, watching his videos,” Wade says, correctly “hearing” the question I haven’t asked, which thrills me. “He’s doing okay, Alice. I took him into the office yesterday and he made friends with some of my team.”

My eyes widen at that.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Wade says, and he shrugs. “Well, when you think about it, my office is kind of Eddie’s ideal place. I mean, there are rules upon rules upon rules, and everything is written down. I just gave him the visitor’s safety manual, he read through it and then he sat quietly in my office all day and played with his iPad. Oh, then he came with me to a meeting and he just sat and played with that dreidel thing for a while. It probably helps that none of my lab rats are particularly chatty—Eddie was right at home, in a way.” Wade pauses, then clears his throat and admits with obvious difficulty, “Made me wonder why I haven’t done it before.”

I feel a sudden rush of confusion, because I’m somehow delighted and relieved at this admission, but I’m also instantly resentful. In these last few years I’ve given up trying to convince Wade to try to connect with Eddie, but before that? In the early years?

Back then, I tried all the damned time.

Be the bigger person, Alice. Don’t say it.

Do. Not. Say. It.

“I told you years ago you should take him to the office with you one day. I told you he’d love it. I told you that your team would understand but you said it would be too dangerous but I... I told you,” I blurt.

Wade’s jaw tightens.

“I know you did,” he says stiffly. I have to redirect this conversation before it spirals into an argument, but I need some more information about my son, so I try to brighten my tone as I ask, “And did he sleep last night? Has he eaten?”

Wade is staring at the camera a little warily now.

“I gave him the melatonin last night, and yes, he slept pretty well. He’s been asking for you on the iPad sometimes—Pascale has been pointing him back to that calendar you made him.” His gaze softens, and so does his tone, as he provides me with reassurance I desperately need. “It’s nothing we can’t handle though, honey. Everything is okay.”

All I can think about for a second is my poor son, bewildered by my absence, asking again and again but with no way to really understand why I disappeared while he was at school one day. Just as the tension starts winding through my body, I force myself to think about how bad this all could have been—how bad I expected it to be, and the positive things that have already come out of this trip. If Wade can just take Eddie to work with him on the very rare occasion when I’m sick or I can’t juggle Eddie and Callie’s schedules—

My whole life would change.

I’d have a backup plan for the moments when I so desperately need one. I’d have a chance of some respite every now and again.

I’d have someone to pick up the slack when I need a break, someone to share the ups and downs with. Which is all I ever wanted in the first place.

I open my mouth to say something like this but at the very last second, a stack of out-of-place objects in the background of the video feed catches my eye.

“Wade—what’s that on the countertop?”

Wade glances behind himself, then he shrugs.

“Cans of soup.”

“Why... Wade, why are there six cans of Eddie’s soup on the bench?”

“I don’t know, Alice. I didn’t notice them until now. I guess Eddie is putting them there...” He clears his throat, then adds with audible bewilderment, “...for some reason.”

There’s only one reason Eddie puts soup on the bench. He does it when he’s hungry and I’m running late or busy with something so he wants to hurry me up. If there are six cans of soup there, that probably meant he asked for dinner and didn’t get it, so he tried to hurry things along by getting a can out. And when that didn’t work, he tried it again, and again...

“What did he eat for dinner the last two nights, Wade?” I demand. My tone has sharpened again—that gratitude I was feeling a moment ago is gone. I’m shifting into full Tiger Mother mode, and Wade knows it. Even over the slightly pixelated video feed, I can see the defensiveness in his gaze.

“I gave him some McDonald’s the first night like Pascale and I had, and last night we had mac and cheese.”

“How much yogurt did he eat yesterday?”

“It’s fine, Alice,” Wade snaps. “He’s eating. I’m handling it. An attempt at variety can only be good for him. How healthy do you think it is for him to eat only two foods for his entire diet?”

“How healthy do you think McDonald’s and mac and cheese are!” I exclaim incredulously. “Just make him the damned soup! I knew you’d do this, Wade. He doesn’t eat anything that’s solid or has lumps in it. He has sensory—”