Chapter 19
Amy
Itake another deep breath, trying to calm myself.
By the way that Alasdair is raising his eyebrows, he can tell I’m angry.
I clear my throat, folding my hands neatly in my lap, his phone balancing on my thigh.
“I’m not a child. I understand you’re trying to be helpful, and I appreciate that, but maybe asking me what you can do to help would be a better way to go about it. ”
Both men look gobsmacked, but one of Alasdair’s ‘brothers’, the one called Jack, looks like he’s going to fall over in shock.
Alasdair is surprised, too, but there’s still that sparkle of amusement in his eyes, like he’s glad I’m standing up for myself.
Regardless, it’s obvious people don’t normally have the courage to stand up to Alasdair.
Especially not a quiet girl that’s at the whims of his mercy.
But I want to make things clear. I don’t want him babying me.
The idea of being a burden like that makes me feel ill.
In everything I do, I try to make myself as small and palatable as possible.
I don’t complain, I don’t ask for help, I go with the flow.
But even if I didn’t request this of him, I can’t let it happen.
He’ll resent me eventually for it, and even if my life wasn’t reliant on him remaining happy with me and our marriage, then I’d still try to stop this.
I can take care of myself. I have to. Quietly and under the radar.
I know it may be unhealthy, but that’s what’s safe.
“I have earplugs already, you see.” I fish them out of my purse to show Alasdair. “I’ll use them if I need them.”
Alasdair nods and then comes to sit down next to me on the bench. “I see. But those probably still let sound in, leannán. The ones I sent Liam to buy are state of the art technology and completely cancel all the noise. They’ll be better, trust me.”
I sigh, feeling frustration bubble up in me again. He didn’t understand. “I get that, but I don’t want all the sound to be gone.”
He furrows his brows. “What? I don’t understand.”
“That much is obvious,” I mumble under my breath.
“The thing is, the noise does bother me, but it’s more than that.
I have to be listening to the noises to be aware of my surroundings.
I’m managing social expectations, interpreting all that information to determine social cues and what not.
If I take away all the sound, my anxiety skyrockets.
How will I know if I’m in someone’s way if they’re behind me?
How can I hear if someone’s speaking to me?
Or if there’s danger? To take away sound is to be at risk, at least in a public place.
These earplugs are specifically designed to filter sounds out so I only hear what I need to.
They still let sound in, yes, and that’s a good thing.
” I exhale sharply as I finish my long-winded explanation, studying his face to see if he understands.
He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I see. I didn’t think about it like that.”
“And why would you?” I say gently. “You don’t have this condition.
You’ve never been in my shoes. It’s impossible for you to truly understand it.
Reading and listening to someone who does have it only goes so far.
But that’s why you do have to listen to me.
No one is going to know how I work better than me. ”
There’s a flickering of understanding in his eyes. “I see. I appreciate the education. Will you be able to use the headphones at all, or shall I toss them in the bin?”
I shrug. “I’m sure I can use the noise-cancelling part when I’m somewhere else, like at home, where I feel safe without sound input.
And I’m pretty sure those have a setting where it filters out noise, much like the earplugs I have.
So I can use those if I forget my earplugs or something.
And, you know, if I want to listen to music.
” I chuckle to lighten the mood. I feel better when he chuckles with me, breaking the tension.
“Ah, well, good. Glad they may be useful yet.” He grabs his phone off of my lap, his fingers brushing against my thigh.
I try to ignore the heat that crawls up my leg from his touch, the desire that unexpectedly floods through me, which I have to beat back with a mental stick.
He unlocks his phone and hands it back to me.
“Now that we have that settled, might we look over the shops now and make a decision?”
I nod and take the phone, looking over the list. It’s mostly high-end boutiques and name-brand stores. What are we doing here? “What are you looking for again? You said to have fun, but what do you mean by that?”
I can tell he’s a bit confused why I’m asking for further clarification, but the thing is, people might have a specific idea of ‘fun’ that I’m not picking up on.
If I just pick based on what my idea of fun is, then they may be put off.
It’s happened a lot. People have specific interpretations of things that they don’t necessarily express.
It’s important to get to the bottom of what they’re really seeking in order to give them the proper answer.
And, yes, there is a proper answer, because people are usually looking for something specific, even if they don’t realize or communicate that.
“Just whatever you think is fun, leannán. Whatever you want to do.” He gives me a gentle smile, and my stomach does a little jump and a flutter. Dumb monkey brain.
Unfortunately, his answer has the opposite effect on my anxiety.
People rarely want me to actually pick something I think is fun.
What I think is fun is rarely what most people define it as.
I search his face, trying to read him and figure out what he’s actually asking.
For me to pick something fun for us to do?
My answer wouldn’t be something I think is fun, but something that is generally considered fun for more than one person. Context matters.
I sigh, my mind running a mile a minute.
I run my hand through my hair before looking back down at the phone.
I scroll over the list, trying to pick a place based on my best guess at context.
But it’s mostly just stores? That’s not great for an activity for a couple.
Then maybe he really does want me to have fun, but I’m not going to buy anything at luxury stores like this.
This isn’t my idea of fun. So, then, it’s a matter of choosing something he thinks I would like.
Shit. I hate playing social chess.
I feel his hand on my arm, making me look up at him. His brow is arched questioningly. “I can tell you’re overthinking this. Don’t overcomplicate it. When you look at that list, what’s the first store that looks interesting? Somewhere you’ve always wanted to go? Pretty things you’d like to buy?”
I look back at the list. Gucci. Prada. More names I don’t recognize. None of it fits me. I keep looking it over until I hit one name.
I hope he actually wants me to be honest, because he’s about to get honesty. “Well, there’s a bookstore on this list. At least I think it’s a bookstore? Or some sort of library? It looks like a historical site, too.”
I show him the name, and he raises both eyebrows.
“A bookstore? I offered to take you to any luxury store and you choose this?” My heart sinks.
He didn’t want honesty after all. “Very well.” He stands and takes his phone back from me.
“You’re sure you don’t want to go shopping?
Clothes, shoes, jewelry, handbags, whatever you want. Makeup? No? Nothing?”
I fidget with my sleeves a little. How to tell him that, even if it was my style, I can’t afford to shop there?
It’s not like my grandparents have given me their credit card or anything.
There’s no way I’m going to presume that he’s going to pay for it, that’d be a dangerous gamble in case he isn’t planning on it.
And even if he was, I wouldn’t want him to.
Food is one thing. Lavish and unnecessary clothes shopping?
That’s an entirely different matter. Besides, I really don’t want a repeat of visiting the boutiques in the hotel and getting snubbed by the staff, especially with an audience this time.
Nothing is going to fit me in these shops, anyway.
But clearly, he’s not happy with my answer, so I have to find a way to appease him. “I mean…maybe after?”
He chuckles, tilting his head at me like I’m a math problem he can’t solve. “You like your Walmart clothes that much, hm?”
I think about that question. He really doesn’t get where I’m coming from, which is okay. That’s normal in my experience. And I’m certainly not going to make a fuss to correct his thinking, at least not on this. I know when to pick my battles. “I mean…I guess.”
We begin walking, and Liam comes jogging back to us with ipods in hand. I notice the quick exchange that happens as Liam hands them to Alasdair. My fiancé pockets them quickly, as if the sight of them would spark another fight. It made my skin itch. I didn’t like being viewed as a problem.
Of course, I hadn’t thought that was a fight. But other people usually viewed any protest or explanation from me as me arguing.
“Are Walmart clothes part of your identity? Your style? I know some people feel that way about name brands. Does it fit you better to be in cheaper clothes, in your mind?”
No, they just actually fit me, as in my body, forget my personality. That doesn’t get a say in this, unfortunately. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I just shrug in response.
Alasdair pokes my arm, and a flash of annoyance fills me. “Just a shrug? You don’t know?”
Oh, I want to snap at him and tell him that he doesn’t understand. He’s ignorant of how the world works, at least for someone like me. Does he realize how spoiled he is, being able to afford nice things and tailoring?