Underneath the Sycamore Tree(60)

“You don’t like noise,” he prompts, when he sees me looking around the half-empty room.

Nibbling my lip, I give him a timid smile.

Shortly after opening up to him about my disease, I saw him googling it and reading various articles on causes and symptoms. He would close out of anything if he saw me looking over at him from my homework and give me lip about what a nerd I am or how messy my hair looked at that moment.

Anything to make it look like he doesn’t care, when there’s no doubt in my mind he does. It’s in the little things he does like putting an extra blanket over me after I fall asleep, or telling Dad and Cam I can’t go out to eat at certain places because their food isn’t something I’m supposed to eat when I’m too shy to tell them myself. He leaves me silly pictures everywhere from my dresser to bathroom mirror—post-its with cartoon images like kissing lips and frozen yogurt and a sun with shades on.

He doesn’t pester me to take my medication like Dad or remind me to get more rest on the nights I have enough energy to stay up and get ahead on homework or read. He let’s me live my life and supports whatever I choose to do with it.

The other night we stayed up making brownies. Double chocolate. I ate way too much batter until my stomach hurt, and then promptly ate way too many warm brownies as we watched a few movies. Things have been great. Fun, even.

After a waitress gets our drink order, we’re left alone to look over the menu. I smile when I see the array of options, debating on one of their cheapest salads just to see what he’ll say.

Surely he won’t throw my plate on the floor here and demand I order a pizza.

I look at him staring at his menu, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. A light fluttering feeling fills my stomach over the image in front of me. He’s reading the food list with such intensity and precision, yet he looks so boyish at the same time.

Cute isn’t the right word to describe Kaiden Monroe, so why do I have the urge to call him that anyway?

He catches me staring, but I don’t dodge his eyes like normal. “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I…” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, tied over his attention toward me. “I, uh, don’t know what to get is all.”

“Liar,” he muses, sitting back. “You can get whatever you want. Their chicken stuff is pretty good. I think I had the marsala once. They’re known for their fish entrees though, and I heard that salmon is good for people with autoimmune diseases so…” He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze by staring at the menu.

My eyes narrow. “Are you…blushing?”

His brows pinch but he won’t look up.

“Oh my God.” I laugh, smiling wider than I have in forever. “The Kaiden Monroe is blushing. I feel like I should take a picture. The school has an Instagram account, right? Maybe I should tag them in it so they’ll share it to their student pride story.”

He grumbles and sets down his menu, giving me a dirty look that looks more like he’s pouting than anything. “I don’t blush. I’m just saying that I heard it’s good for you or whatever.”

I play along, nodding. “I’m sure. Google does like to suggest the best salmon dishes for people fighting inflammatory diseases.”

His eyes cast downward.

When the waitress comes back, I order the salmon dinner with mashed potatoes and green beans, all while smiling at Kaiden. He gets chicken parmesan with the same sides, but I know he won’t eat the green beans because he always leaves them when Cam makes them for supper. He knows I’ll eat them.

After it’s just us, I toy with the wrapped silverware. “I think it’s sweet that you did research. Not a lot of people put in that kind of effort because they choose to believe what they want to instead of getting the facts right.”

He doesn’t fight me on the compliment, which surprises me. “What do you mean?”

I settle into my chair, letting go of a hefty sigh just thinking about the ridiculous stereotypes I’ve heard over the years. “When you have a disease that nobody can see and they find out, most of the time they won’t even believe you. On the off chance they take your word for it, they say the stupidest things like I can be cured if I sleep more or eat healthier.”

Grinding my teeth, I think about a conversation I had once at my old school. My old Phys Ed teacher was trying to get me to participate in the unit, but I’d had a note letting me sit out on my bad flare days. It wasn’t something I did often, just when standing too long put too much strain on my knees and hips. She told me if I cut out junk food and exercised more, I’d be fine.

Diet is always important to stay healthy, but healthy isn’t a universal concept. Eating a carrot won’t make the swelling go down and running the mile certainly won’t help me walk better the next day.

I rest my hands on my lap. “People have preconceived notions about illness. Like when they assume you can’t get sick unless you’re overweight or old or something. Do you know how many times people tell me I can’t possibly be this sick because I’m young? Or how many times I’ve been accused of having an eating disorder because I’m too thin?

“It’s already tiring to live the way I do because my body is attacking itself but having everyone else attack me becomes too much. I have to deal with everyone making their own conclusions about me when they hear I have an autoimmune disease. Like being told to not get stressed like I’ll be cured for life then. And don’t get me started on those who think I’m making it up. People rely too much on what they can see because everyone says that seeing is believing. It’s never been that way though. It’s always the other way around.”