Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
FINLEY
At a quarter ’til five, I grab Thomas’s calendar and then lock up shop before heading over to his house.
I cannot wait to see the look on his face when he realizes what I’ve done.
I feel strongly that you can’t lie to me and make me cry my eyes out and get away with it.
If I’ve learned one thing on my autism journey it’s that I will not let people treat me like a subpar species.
Every step I take toward my destination seems to rile me more. By the time I’m a block away, I probably look like a soldier marching into battle.
There’s a giant black Cadillac in Thomas’s driveway, which alerts me he must have other company. I can’t imagine who though. As I pass the car, one of the back doors swings open, nearly knocking me over. I jump back to avoid getting hit.
A confused looking woman about my age steps out. She sways on her feet a little before sitting back down. “You must be Thomas’s sister,” I say to her.
She looks up at me and nods her head. “Is this Tommy’s house?”
“It is,” I tell her. My first impression of Vivienne is that she’s nowhere near as functional as Thomas said she was. In fact, she seems almost simple in her confusion.
I scoot inside next to her before shutting the door again.
According to Thomas, Vivienne also enjoys the cocoon effect of small spaces.
“I’m Finley,” I tell her. “I’m a friend of your brother’s.
” I feel bad calling myself his friend given my current state of anger, but I don’t want to upset Vivienne by laying the truth on her.
She takes my hand in hers and simply holds it for a minute. “I’m Vivie,” she says before adding, “Thomas really likes you.” I’m not quite sure how to respond to that.
“How was your flight?” I ask.
She seems to be trying to remember when her eyes pop open like they’re going to make a run for it. “Not great.”
“Turbulence?” I guess. That’s my least favorite part of flying.
She nods her head and adds, “And there was a baby screaming behind us the whole flight.”
A wave of panic hits me. I’m not sure I could have managed the combination. “Are you okay?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “I’m not great. My dad drugged me.”
Ah, maybe that’s why she seems a little off. “Good thing he was there,” I tell her.
“Yeah.” She doesn’t say anything else for what seems like several minutes.
I finally announce, “I’m on the spectrum, too.” As much as I don’t like to share what I consider my weaknesses, I feel like it’s okay to do with another of my kind.
Vivie nods her head. “Thomas told me.” Then she seems to catch herself. “But I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
I laugh. “You can tell me. I already know.”
She appreciates my attempt at humor. Then she turns serious. “I haven’t had trouble like today since I was a kid. I’m pretty disappointed in myself.”
“You should be more upset with that baby and the pilot who couldn’t maneuver around the bumps.”
Vivienne asks, “Do you travel a lot?”
“Almost never,” I tell her.
“Do you feel like you’re missing out?”
“All the time. But that’s our burden, isn’t it? We’ve been taught to believe everyone else is normal and we’re not. So, if we can’t do the things they do with ease, we’re made to feel like we’re on the outside.”
“I do really well at home,” Vivienne says. “I’ve got my routine and all my coping mechanisms in place. If I get overstimulated, I know where to go and what to do. But being thirty thousand feet in the air somehow hinders my ability to self-soothe.”
“I probably would have locked myself in the bathroom,” I tell her.
“That’s not allowed,” Vivienne says. “I researched it and if you do that they arrest you when you get off the plane.”
I think about that for a minute before deciding, “It might be worth it.”
Vivienne turns to me and studies my face. “I like you, Finley. I think we should be friends.”
My heart rate picks up speed. That’s not something I hear every day. “I’d like to be your friend, Vivie.” Although, I’m not sure how that’s going to work with my being at war with her brother. “Should we go inside?” I ask.
“I suppose so.” Looking at her watch, she adds, “I’ve been sleeping for a while.”
I get out of the car first and then I reach out to help Vivienne. The last time she stood up she was kind of woozy. Then I tuck Thomas’s calendar securely under my arm before leading the way up to the porch. Stopping at the front door, I give it a quiet knock.
“They’ll never hear that,” Vivienne says. She proceeds to bang on it like she’s trying to break it down.
A very classy-looking woman in a knit pantsuit opens the door. This must be Thomas’s mother. Under different circumstances I might be a little afraid of her. But when she sees us, she immediately wraps her daughter in her arms and asks, “How are you, honey? Feeling any better?”
“I am,” Vivienne tells her before pulling out of her embrace. Not all autistic people like to be touched and I’m wondering if she’s one of them.
A good-looking older man, who looks an awful lot like Thomas, walks over and repeats his wife’s inquiry and embrace of his daughter. She lets him hug her but seems relieved when he releases her.
The couple quickly turns to me, and Thomas’s mom asks, “Who are you?”
I suddenly feel like I’m intruding and I don’t quite know how to answer. Luckily, Vivie does it for me. “She’s a friend of Thomas’s.”
His mom cocks her head to the side and narrows her gaze like she’s inspecting me for fleas, before saying, “I’m Morgan.” Then she gestures toward her husband. “This is Jason.”
“I’m Finley,” I tell them. “I think maybe now isn’t the best time for me to be here.”
It looks like Morgan is about to agree but then Vivienne takes my arm and declares, “It’s the perfect time.” She looks at her parents and adds, “Finley and I have had a nice chat in the car. We’re friends now, too.”
Apparently an endorsement from their daughter is all it takes to be welcomed into the fold. Morgan announces, “We’re drinking vodka and eating cheese. Can I get you something?”
“No to the vodka and yes to the cheese,” I tell her, while following her into the living room.
Thomas walks in moments later and calls out, “Vivie!” He runs to her side and hugs her. He holds on longer than his parents, which his sister seems to appreciate this time.
“Did Mom and Dad tell you?” she asks.
He nods his head. “It sounds like an awful flight. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You weren’t the one crying,” she says.
That’s when Thomas notices me. “Finley, you’re here, too.” He sounds nervous. I guess I can see why given our exchange this afternoon.
It’s amazing how fine a line there is between heartbreak and anger. And while I’ve crossed that line into rage territory in the last few days, my heart still aches.
Thomas looks at the package under my arm and says, “Can I take that from you?”
So much for my plan to unveil it to them all at the same time. But I realize how inappropriate that would be given the current circumstances. Handing Thomas the calendar, I say, “I think maybe I’ll go now.”
Morgan interrupts. “Nonsense! You can’t go until you’ve had some cheese.”
Thomas looks at his mother with confusion. Then, instead of showing me the door, he gestures for me to sit on one of the giant overstuffed chairs. As I pass by him, he leans down and whispers, “I’m happy you’re here. I’ve missed you.”
Liar. But even though I’m mad at him, shivers run from the base of my neck to the tips of my toes. I’m practically vibrating in response to his nearness. I feel like I’m betraying my own best interests.
Instead of sharing his sentiment, I tell Thomas, “I’m happy to meet your family. They seem lovely.” You, on the other hand …
Vivienne pushes her brother aside and comes to sit on the chair next to me.
She tells Thomas, “Finley and I are already friends.” He looks between us with a smile on his face but it’s clear something is off.
In fact, the energy in the room is downright weird, and I’m pretty sure this time it’s not just my perception.
“Are you feeling okay now?” Morgan asks Vivienne.
Her daughter shrugs. “I might have to take the train home.”
Jason interjects, “You just let me know and I’ll book the tickets for us.” This is clearly a family used to making concessions for a person they love.
Thomas picks up a tray full of cheese off the coffee table and brings it over to me. I only want one piece but I grab three. I take a bite before saying, “Wisconsin has the best cheese.”
“It’s surprisingly good,” Thomas’s mom replies.
Thomas stares at her like she just professed a love for mud wrestling.
“Are you planning on joining us for supper, Finley?” Jason asks.
Before I have a chance to answer, Vivienne says, “Please, do. It will be such fun.”
The current vibe of the room indicates no such impending enjoyment. So, I tell them, “I think Thomas has planned to take you all out for supper.”
“We’re going to stay in,” Morgan says. “It’s already been a big day.”
Vivie shifts in her chair and puts her feet up on the coffee table. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s plans. I can stay here and go to bed early if you want to go out.”
Thomas makes eye contact with me and holds it, while telling his sister, “We can go another night, Vivie.” Then he adds, “And we’d love for you to join us, Finley.”
Part of me feels like I should run and never look back, but I don’t. Instead, I find myself drowning in the depths of Thomas’s hazel eyes while saying, “That would be nice, thank you.”
What am I doing? I’m mad at Thomas for lying to me. I’m mad that he didn’t call in four days.
I warn myself not to fall for his smooth ways. The problem is, I’m not sure I’m listening.