Chapter 8
8
Juliette
I paced around my small living room, rearranging the framed photos on my bookshelves. One of Nicky, Jenna, and me at our college graduation, and another of us at Nicky’s house on New Year’s Eve a few years ago. My sister, Audrey, and me laughing during what was supposed to be a formal picture. Mom chose another one for the holiday cards, but this was my favorite of us. Audrey was three years older, but we looked like twins in this picture with our identical smiles.
I paced back into my bedroom and smoothed out the already straight blanket. I checked myself out in the mirror again. The dark bootcut jeans, black ankle boots, and flowy black top was my favorite outfit. I’d tried on and discarded half the contents of my closet before coming back to my classic look. I looked carefully to make sure there were no stains on the clothes. No food in my teeth. My hair wasn’t frizzy. My makeup was all still on. I looked alright.
I returned to the living room and rearranged the throw pillows. With nothing left to do, I sat on the edge of the couch, stared at the clock, and prepared what to say. I’d never really opened up to anyone about having dyspraxia before, except Jenna and Nicky, and they were easy to talk to. I’d made a few self-deprecating jokes at work, but never discussed it in any real way.
I’d dated my first boyfriend, Matt, during college, and I didn’t even know all the ways dyspraxia affected me then. Then there was Jake who dismissed it as excuses, so I’d stopped talking to him about it. Although I hadn’t known Dylan long, I could already tell it would be different with him. It was obvious that he was trying to put me at ease but didn’t know how, so if I didn’t tell him, the blame would be on me.
Five minutes before noon, the buzzer sounded. I ran to the door and pushed the button to grant Dylan access into the building. Even though I knew it was coming, I still jumped at the sound of his knock on the door. I opened it and froze at the sight of him. I knew he was ridiculously good looking, but wow. His biceps and pecs were defined even through his black t-shirt and those bulging muscles had me wishing to be wrapped in his arms. His smile was sexy as anything, with his straight white teeth and the most kissable lips.
“Hi.” He smiled as though he could read my thoughts.
I felt myself flush as I stepped back to let him in. “Welcome. Uh, thanks for coming,” I spluttered. My face heated even more at my awkwardness.
He took a step in and reached back to lock the door behind him. “Juls,” he whispered, his deep brown eyes softening as they latched onto mine. Without breaking eye contact, he grazed his fingertips down my jaw, sending tingles through my body. The hand that cupped my cheek was so big it reached from my hairline to my jaw. I couldn’t help but lean into his strength, his warmth.
“I’ve been picturing your beautiful face for days, but you’re even prettier than I remembered. I’m so happy to see you again.” Still holding and caressing my face, his thumb teasing the edge of my lips, he leaned down and pressed a soft, warm kiss to my other cheek, and I nearly melted into a puddle of goo at his feet.
My heart pounded, butterflies waged war in my stomach, and I couldn’t quite decide if it was a good feeling or not. I was happy to see him, relieved that he seemed as happy to see me, nervous for the talk I had planned, excited and nervous for our date, and so freaking turned on I didn’t know what to do with the heat that throbbed through my body. It was too much.
And that was after only a minute with him, from a small, sweet gesture. How was I going to have any control around this man?
“Do you want to come in and see my apartment? I can get you a drink?”
“I’d love to see your place, and then let’s go bowl.”
I walked him through the living room, and now that it was cleaner than usual, I admired it a little myself. The neutral colors and soft textures successfully gave it the homey, earthy, comfortable feel I was going for.
The kitchen off to the left was mostly white with a few vintage green accents to tie it together, like the tea kettle I rarely used, because let’s face it, the microwave was easier.
Should I show him my bedroom too? “The bedroom and bathroom are down there,” I said, indicating the short hallway, wondering if he’d take the lead.
He made a hum of acknowledgment as he looked down the hall, but made no move towards it. Instead, he looked at the pictures and books on my shelves for a moment before turning back to me.
“It’s beautiful, Juls, and it fits you.”
I felt the flush in my cheeks as pride filled me.
“Are you ready to go bowling?”
“Uh, yeah. I just need to grab my bag, and um...”
“What is it?”
“Can we go for a drive and talk in the car before we go to the bowling alley?”
He looked at me sharply. “You want to talk?”
I nodded.
“Like, a ‘we-need-to-talk’ talk? Because those are never good.”
“No. It’s an ‘I-really-like-you-so-I’m-going-to-spill-my-guts-to-you-even-though-I’m-nervous-you-won’t-like-me-anymore-after-I-do’ talk.”
He pulled me in close and wrapped his arms around me. My head dropped to his chest as I hugged him back. God, this felt good. He kissed the top of my head and said, “I like that kind of talk. Don’t be nervous, baby. I really like you too. Nothing you can say will change that.”
“You understood everything I just said?” I knew I said it too fast. I was too nervous not to. I’d hoped he got the gist of it at least, but he actually responded to almost every word I said.
He simply nodded like it was no big deal. He had no idea how many people wouldn’t have understood me. Even my mom and dad wouldn’t have gotten it. I was about to enlighten him on all that, and I hoped it wouldn’t change what looked like his easy acceptance of it. Of me.
“Want to stay and talk here? I don’t want to be distracted by driving.”
“No, if it’s okay with you, it’s easier to talk when we’re doing something and you aren’t just staring at me.”
He nodded in understanding.
I got my shoes and purse, and when I returned to the front hallway, he was standing patiently by the door. He took my hand, waited while I locked up, and led me to his car. He opened my door, but before I moved to go in, he stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“Juls.” He waited for me to meet his eyes. “It’s going to be okay. Promise.” He kissed my forehead sweetly, then went slowly around to his side of the car, giving me the moment I needed to pull myself together before facing him again.
He locked the doors, pulled out of the driveway, and asked for a few minutes to get out of the busy downtown area. Finally he turned to me and said, “Okay, I’m listening.”
Shit. Why did I tell him I wanted to talk about it? Now I couldn’t back out easily. He grasped my hand and squeezed it gently. “Juls?”
“Okay, so, I… I have dyspraxia. Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“It’s a developmental disorder. It was worse when I was younger, but I know how to handle it better now.”
“Are you sick?” He glanced over at me quickly, worry furrowing his brows.
“No, it’s not like that. It’s why my speech is the way it is and why I got so weird at dinner that night. And why I’m so awkward sometimes.”
“So what is it? How does it affect you?”
“It’s kinda vague and affects everyone differently. There’s a list—actually a lot of different lists—and if you can check off enough things on the list, you may have dyspraxia. It’s not obvious to diagnose, and I didn’t even know I had it until I learned about it in college during my OT classes. At first, I thought only my speech was affected, but the more I learned about it, the more things started to make sense.”
“That sounds tough, to figure out something so big about yourself as an adult.”
“It was actually a huge relief. I thought I was bad at so many different things. But, suddenly, there was just this one thing that explained all of it.”
Shit, this was the hardest part. It was one thing to talk in vague terms, it was another to list all my weaknesses, to lay out everything I hated about myself in full view for a man I desperately wanted to impress.
“Do…do you…I’m going to tell you how it affects me. Okay?”
He glanced at me before looking back at the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll figure each other out as we go along. You don’t need to tell me now.”
I inhaled a deep breath and slowly blew it out. I forced my hands to unclench. “I do need to. If it’s more than you can handle, I’d rather know now.”
He reached his hand out and I watched as it slowly landed on my leg, just above my knee. He rubbed his fingers in a soothing circle. “I really wish we weren’t driving. I want to hold you and reassure you more than I can in the car.”
“I don’t know if I could get through this if you were looking at me.”
“Go ahead, tell me all the things you think will turn me off, so then I can reassure you that they won’t.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t dismiss it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dismiss it. Fuck, baby, I don’t know what to say. I’m listening.”
That made me feel a little better. “It’s okay. It’s hard for me too. So, the biggest thing is my speech. It affects my articulation, speed, volume, everything about how I talk. It’s also conversational skills. There’s a natural rhythm to conversations that most people just automatically get, but I don’t. I wait and wait for my turn to say something, then I think there’s a good opening in the conversation, so I speak, but I still end up interrupting. I also have no rhythm at all. I can’t clap or sway to a beat. My singing is so bad, I even lip-sync to the happy birthday song. I have auditory processing issues, so it’s hard to listen when there’s background noise or if I’m not really focused. Soft background music is especially hard because I can’t understand it easily, but I can’t tune it out either.” Damn, that was a lot of big words to get out. I knew I’d stumbled over a few, but he didn’t look confused or frustrated, so I continued.
“I’m not good at any sports that require hand-eye coordination. I can’t catch, throw, kick, or hit a ball. I also have really bad time management skills. I’m late all the time and have a bad sense of timing for knowing how long things take. My directional skills are bad too. It takes me a long time to learn how to navigate to new places, I confuse my left and right sometimes, and I have a difficult time even following the GPS when there’s a lot going on around me. My body awareness is off, I move awkwardly, and I don’t know how to adjust my body to make it do what I want and need it to do. It’s like a clumsiness, but a little different.”
I paused to take a breath. This was the most important part, and I had to get it out clearly. His hand on my leg stayed gentle, but I saw his left hand tighten on the wheel. Was he upset with me? Shit.
“The more pressure I feel, the worse it all gets,” I explained. “It’s unpredictable and the more important something is, the more likely I am to mess it up. Even if you think it’s not so bad now, meeting new people that I want to impress will probably make it worse. Your friends and family won’t think very highly of me when they meet me. They might not understand what I say. Hell, you might not understand what I say half the time, but you probably already know that. I’m an embarrassing mess at social events, since they usually include everything that I’m not good at. There’s going to be a lot of things that I can’t do well. I’m really not good girlfriend material.”