Chapter 26 Harper #2
Orion’s confidence vanished again as soon as we stepped outside of the room and headed down to dinner.
I learned there were three dining rooms: a formal dining room that could hold over a hundred people, a smaller dining room for half the number of people, and the “family” dining room for tonight.
It was smaller—slightly bigger than my entire house—with high ceilings and cool air despite the fireplace burning in one wall.
A team of servants served a seven-course meal.
Rockwell and Celeste hadn’t seen their sons in months, all of the boys being at their respective schools, but the conversation remained light, jumping along from topic to topic on the surface like a skipped rock.
I waited for Orion to tell them about his diagnosis, or more importantly, his misdiagnosis.
How he’d been suffering in silence for so long, struggling and working so hard to keep up, and how brilliant he was.
I needed them to come listen to him play at the spring concert.
Maybe they’d all finally understand—Orion included—what was at stake.
But course after course was served, and he said nothing. Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared away, Orion shifted in his seat, looking like he was facing a firing squad.
“Mum, Father, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said stiffly.
Celeste lifted her a glass of red wine. “What is it, darling?”
“Father probably told you, but I’ve been struggling academically.”
The tension in the room tightened.
“Now, Orion,” Rockwell said. “There’s no need to bring up a private matter at the table.”
I stared. Private matter? Among family?
“But there’s a reason, Father, and Harper helped me find it. My piano teacher too, and I…well…”
I bit my lip and wished we’d been seated next to each other so I could take his hand. Odin sat frozen, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth, while Octavian watched the scene with wide eyes.
Orion heaved a breath. “I have dyslexia.”
“Oh.” Celeste’s hand went to her throat. She looked to Rockwell from her end of the table. “H-How do you know?”
“I was evaluated. Privately,” he added when their eyes widened in alarm.
“And what did they say?” Celeste said when her husband remained quiet.
Orion explained his diagnosis in full, and a tense silence descended.
“You have ADHD,” Rockwell said finally, frowning, as if he preferred his conclusion to everything his son had just explained.
“Yes, but dyslexia too,” Orion said uncertainly, and every fear he’d had about feeling less than or stupid or not enough were loaded into those four words, so much so that I did want to scream at the top of my lungs or burst into tears.
“But…you read so well, dear,” Celeste said. “In fact, of all your brothers, you read more books…”
“Yes, I can read, but it’s a struggle,” he said. “I need context. Shorter text gives me a hard time, which is why my test scores are so bad. I can do better—perform better academically—if I have help. Accommodations. My teacher can help me—”
“I don’t understand,” his father said. “Dyslexia, as far as I understand it, is a learning disability. People with it are not…” He shifted his large frame.
“Smart?” I said, unable to keep my mouth shut a moment longer.
The entire table looked to me. Orion shook his head almost imperceptibly, but I ignored him. I couldn’t help myself.
“There is no correlation between intelligence and dyslexia, Mr. Mercer,” I said, as if I were giving a formal presentation.
“It is a learning processing condition, in which one’s brain organizes and codes information differently.
That’s all. People with dyslexia are no different intellectually from anyone else and can land anywhere on the spectrum.
But Orion happens to be brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, he’s designated as 2e, or twice exceptional.
For dyslexia and his high intelligence and musical aptitude. ”
Rockwell pursed his lips. “Musical aptitude isn’t the point,” he said. “It’s—”
“It’s exactly the point!” Octavian shouted suddenly, shocking the room like a bolt of lightning.
“Octavian—” his mother began mildly.
“Twice. Exceptional,” he said, banging his fist on the table with each word, knocking his water glass over.
“That’s enough, son,” Rockwell said, unperturbed as a servant hurried in to clean up the mess while another replaced his water glass.
“Forgive Octavian, Harper,” Celeste said with a tight smile. “He’s under a lot of school pressure himself, aren’t you dear?”
Octavian gazed at his mother from under his curls but said nothing. He quietly excused himself from the table and left the room. There were a few beats of nothing, and already I was beginning to understand the silence in this house was frequent and came in a hundred shades and flavors.
Finally, Celeste turned to Orion. “Darling, you’re certain about…this?”
“Yes, Mum,” he said, still looking to where Octavian had gone. “It explains everything.”
Celeste looked to Rockwell, and a silent dialogue passed between them. Finally, Mr. Mercer steepled his hands. “Very well. We’ll ensure the Academy provides you with proper accommodations.”
“Thank you.”
Odin breathed a sigh of relief only I could hear, and Orion looked visibly relieved.
Octavian’s outburst was already forgotten, as if it never happened.
The tension at the table loosened, except mine.
I waited for Orion’s parents to apologize to him.
For one or both to show any kind of remorse for all the silent suffering their son had endured for a decade under a misdiagnosis.
Nothing.
Celeste reached over and gave Orion’s hand a squeeze. Then she looked to me. “Now, tell us, Harper. How are you liking Castle Hill?”
***
“That’s it?” I hissed, later in my room. “That’s all they’re going to say? They’ll get you accommodations but nothing else?”
Orion shrugged. “That’s how it is in my family.”
“But…aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to tell them about how hard it’s been and how hard you’ve worked and—”
“What for? To make them feel guilty? It won’t change the past. And it would only embarrass them in front of you. It’s out now. That’s all that matters.”
I shook my head, a hundred arguments at my lips.
“It’s out but not resolved. And what about Octavian’s outburst? And us?” I said, pacing. “They didn’t ask one question about how we met, or one question about…anything. Nothing of depth or—”
“That’s just not their way,” Orion said. He shrugged at my incredulous expression. “It just isn’t.”
“You’ve suffered a lot. Alone. Don’t you want to sit down and explain that? Make them understand how it’s been for you? You didn’t tell them about the spring concert, either.”
“I will,” he said. “I will,” he repeated, reading my dubious expression. “We still have time. I’ll tell them that it’s important and that I want them all to come.”
I shook my head. “It all seems so superficial. Like everything floats on the surface. Don’t you want to have a deeper or more meaningful relationship with them?”
Orion sighed, frustration creeping into his tone. “Because that’s so easy? That’s how they are, love. They’re not going to change. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Maybe by telling them the truth?”
“Which is?”
I frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. That it’s totally sucked for you for the last ten years? That you nearly had a heart attack with the ADHD meds? That Callister is a dick to you because he has no idea—”
“And what good would that do aside from making them feel like shit?” He ran a hand through his curls. “Look, I appreciate you being on my side. I haven’t had that in a long time. But let me handle my family, okay?”
Every part of me wanted to push past Orion, march down the hall, find his parents, and scream at them for how my boyfriend had suffered. But he was right; it was none of my business. I couldn’t fix it the same way he couldn’t fix my mother.
With supreme effort, I nodded.
“Oooh, you hate that, don’t you?” Orion said, grinning and moving toward me.
“Don’t make jokes,” I said, letting him encircle me in his arms. “And yes, I hate it.”
“That’s because you’re fierce,” he said, kissing my forehead, my cheek, down to my mouth. “My warrior woman.”
“You’re just trying to seduce me out of being pissed off,” I breathed, my lips brushing his.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Is it working?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “Take it out on me…”
He kissed me, and of course I melted into him. Surrendered. My body suffused with that perfect, needy ache that only he could satisfy. I kissed him back. Hard, biting kisses, my hands grabbing at him, doing as he’d said, letting my fiery anger morph into heated want of him.
I didn’t know where else to put it.