28. Kellen
Twenty-Eight
Kellen
She’s not just some regular babysitter. Lisa has a son with autism, too. If I’m honest, I’m disappointed that I let myself get my hopes up so high for something like a sexual encounter. Elizabeth was pretty clear that she wants and needs things to go slowly in that regard.
I stomp around my living room tugging at my hair.
This isn’t like me. I don’t act rash. I don’t upset people.
I’ve spent decades being the voice of reason in my family network, taking care of Mick and Mick’s kids as much as my own.
I didn’t get this far in life by having temper tantrums, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
Because, shit. I’m still bothered by what happened. It’s true what I said. Elizabeth never gets a break. I’m mad for her. I’m mad that she can never be off. I stop pacing in my hallway as I realize that deep down, I might actually be mad that she can never fully prioritize me.
Am I okay with that?
“That’s something to think about,” I mutter.
I decide to head into the office even though it’s a weekend.
I can’t think here, when my whole house seems to smell like Elizabeth.
I’ve been neglecting these projects I’m supposed to be grooming Liam to take over.
Hell, I didn’t even call Orla to check in before the two of them left for Kentucky this weekend.
I was still too worked up over my fight with her Thursday evening.
I’m losing control, and that’s not good. Control is the only thing I have going for me. That feels off, so I sit back and take stock. Family. Work. I have those things. They can reciprocate and we can prioritize each other. I need the work, and the company needs me.
I manage to pore over a few files of employee projects, noting inconsistencies and taking a red pen to some of the reports from our junior engineers.
Eventually, I take a break and sit back in my desk chair to consider Jake.
My argument with Beth yesterday sticks into me.
I don’t like that Elizabeth doesn’t feel able to trust anyone else to support Jake.
He’s got a sharp mind, very detail oriented.
It makes sense that he applies that same mathematical fastidiousness to all aspects of his life, including what he eats and how he spends his free time.
What will it take for Beth to trust me if she can’t trust her best friend of ten years, who also has an autistic son?
I scratch at my stubble, considering how some of our staff members remind me a lot of Jake.
I don’t have access to their personal health files, but I’d bet a lot of these engineers are on the autism spectrum, too.
So how is it that they manage to succeed in a work environment where the unpredictable often happens, I think.
Sure, these are adults and Jake’s a teenager.
That has to account for some of it. But I start wondering how they get here, to this adult ability to roll with things that maybe used to send them into a panic.
That would perhaps get them so upset they call their mother while she’s trying to get it on with a handsome suitor.
I roll my eyes at myself for thinking the word suitor, but I start tapping around my search browser until I discover an ad for an autism coach.
“Huh,” I say aloud, leaning closer to my monitor and reading about this concierge service, pairing teens and young adults with a trained coach who helps them navigate social situations and build skills for independent living.
They have a link on their site for an advocacy organization, a group where adults with autism get together for social outings, to discuss issues impacting them, to share resources. Like a club, I decide. Nothing too different from the support group I attended after Helen died.
I reach for my phone and call Elizabeth. I’m worried she won’t answer, but she picks up after a few rings. “Hey,” she says.
“I was studying services for adults with autism,” I tell her.
“Oh?” There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s not sure what to feel about this revelation.
“I was,” I say. “And my takeaway is that there is a network of people out there who really care and understand.”
“I guess you can’t hear me nodding,” she says after she’s quiet for a bit. “I know you want me to be able to rely on more people. I’m working on it, Kellen.”
“I know you are, Beth. You’re working harder than anyone I know.”
Another silence before she says, “Thank you for acknowledging that. I don’t think I’m anywhere near being able to take some time off.”
“Well,” I shift in my chair and flip my notebook shut, closing my laptop with one hand. “I was wondering if you and Jake wanted to come with me to this event I found online. It’s kind of a meetup for adults with autism.”
“Oh,” she says. “Kellen, thank you for looking into that.” She pauses. “Jake already has a number of social skills groups and a therapist and—“
“I just thought you’d want to meet some adults who have made it past these tricky years you’re navigating with Jake.” This time the silence feels pointed, even over the phone, and I can tell I’ve overstepped somehow.
“Kellen, the adults at that group aren’t past a tricky time. They’re all working very hard to navigate a world that overwhelms them.” She sounds like she’s disappointed in me, and I hate this.
“That came out wrong,” I try to tell her, but she cuts me off.
“You have to understand that all the therapies Jake does, all the support I’m finding for him, it’s never for a cure.
” I try to interrupt her, to say I didn’t really think there was a cure.
But maybe I did think that it was something that sort of passes with adulthood.
Nobody at my office is ever flipping out the way Jake does.
“Jake is who he is,” Beth says. “I’m working to provide ways for him to open doors for himself.” There’s a pause, and I want to tell her I know that, but she charges on. “Besides, I don’t know that the public would necessarily be welcome at an event like you’re describing.”
“Not the public,” I start to explain. “You and me and Jake.”
“Hm,” she says. “Again, I appreciate you starting to research this stuff.”
“I messed up somewhere, didn’t I?”
“Oh, Kellen,” she breathes. “Your impulses are so caring and good. I can feel that, I can. I wish that Jake’s father would take such an interest in better understanding what he’s experiencing.”
I run a hand through my hair, questioning whether I should admit my motivations. Fuck it. “I mostly wanted to understand what you are experiencing,” I say. “I guess I figured…Jake is going to be fine.”
“Hm,” she says again. I can almost hear her trying to figure out the right thing to say next. “How about if you and I do things together that we both enjoy and let’s follow Jake’s lead if he wants to include you in any of his therapeutic activities.”
Ouch. I recoil as if I’ve been slapped, even though I have no right to take these words so personally.
Even worse, I think Elizabeth can sense that I’ve been hurt and I can hear her slip into the role of trying to comfort me from the consequences of my own choices.
“We visit an autism resource center north of Pittsburgh, up where we used to live,” she says.
“I’m sure Jake would love to show off his new favorite physics coach during his next teen group meeting… ”
Of course Elizabeth would be plugged in to resources for Jake. I’m not sure what I was thinking, searching for coaches and adult groups. “I’d love to be included in Jake’s group,” I say, feeling humble.
“I’m going to get going, Kel. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
We hang up and I’m left feeling deeply unsettled. I know I’ve messed things up, and I don’t know how to fix it.