Wrong About the Guy(73)

A little while later, I walked into my house with that incredible feeling of lightness that comes from knowing you have five days of vacation ahead of you—and will be seeing your new boyfriend as often as possible during those five days—and found Lorena and Grandma sitting and chatting in the kitchen.

Lorena was a good listener and Grandma loved talking, so they had always gotten along well, but I think the last couple of weeks, when they’d spent a lot of time alone together in the house, had turned them into real friends.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, joining them at the table.

Grandma said, “Your mom and Luke took Jacob to an appointment with that doctor she wanted him to see.”

“The developmental pediatrician? I thought they couldn’t get an appointment for like two more months.”

“The office called this morning—there was a sudden cancellation.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And Luke Weston’s kid just happened to jump to the top of the waiting list?”

“We don’t know that,” Grandma said primly.

“I’m just glad for Mom’s sake.”

They walked in a little while later. Luke was carrying Jacob, and Mom was close behind them. Lorena was instantly on her feet; she held her arms out for Jacob and whisked him off.

Mom said, “Who wants to make me a cup of tea?” as she sank down on a chair.

“I will,” said Grandma, getting up. “You relax and tell us what happened at the appointment.”

Luke said, “I should go work out. I had to cancel with my trainer today.”


“Not yet,” Mom said, and patted the chair next to her. “Let’s all talk about this for a second.”

He sat down and reached for her hand. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of their clasped fingers—whatever they’d heard hadn’t driven them further apart. “What did the doctor say?”

They looked at each other and then Mom said slowly, “She does think Jacob falls somewhere on the autism spectrum. But she also thinks he’s incredibly bright and that he can learn pretty much anything we want him to, with just a little bit of work.”

“Okay,” I said. I felt like I should have a bigger reaction to the news, but we’d been inching toward that possibility for so long that I guess deep down I’d already kind of accepted it. “It makes sense, right? What do you think, Luke?”

“You’ll be happy to know I listened quietly to the doctor.”

“Because you promised me?”

He nodded. “But also because you were right. It was time for me to shut up and listen. Plus I really liked her.”

I beamed at him. I felt like a proud parent. “And?”

“I told her I still don’t like the idea of labeling a two-year-old, and she said she completely understood and that the label didn’t matter anyway—the important thing was just to recognize that Jacob’s a little behind other kids his age and we need to help him catch up. Which I’m fine with.”

“Me too,” Mom said.

“Whatever it takes.” He brought Mom’s hand to his mouth for a swift kiss. “Can I go now?”

“You may go,” she said. “And thank you,” she whispered to me as he left the kitchen. “I don’t know what you said to him, but it made all the difference.”

“I have awesome powers of persuasion.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Speaking of which . . . can I persuade you to let me stay out past one tonight? I’ll just be at George’s. You know you can trust us.”

“Curfew’s midnight,” she said. “Same as always.” Grandma put a cup of tea in front of her and Mom nodded her thanks while Grandma sat down with her own cup.

“I know,” I said. “But I’m on vacation. And you should be proud of me for not sneaking home later than curfew without permission even though you’re usually asleep and don’t even notice what time I get home. I’m always honest with you. Which is why you can trust me. And it’s not like I want to go drinking or anything. I just want to hang out in George’s apartment and watch movies with him, and it’s so much nicer not to have to rush home early.”

“That’s all?” she said. “You’re just going to watch movies?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I used to tell my mother that, too,” she said, and the two of them looked at each other and laughed a little too loudly.

“Don’t worry,” Grandma said to her. “I already had the condom talk with her.”

“And I endured it without complaining,” I said. “For that alone I should get one night without a curfew.”

Mom laughed some more and gave in.





thirty-six


Crystal took the baby (and Megan, who never seemed to get any holiday off) back to her parents’ house in Boston for Thanksgiving, so Mom invited Michael and Aaron to have dinner with us.

We ate in the dining room, which we saved for big formal dinners—which meant we almost never used it. I don’t know about the adults’ end of the table, but Aaron, Jacob, and I had fun at ours. We piled mounds of mashed potatoes on our plates and sent cranberries crashing through them on skateboards made of turkey, while Aaron told me stories about life in the hotel—it sounded like he was basically an older, male version of Eloise, wheedling everyone who worked there to give him free food and drinks, making friends with the other guests, and driving the staff crazy. He was having fun, he said.