11. Are you propositioning me, carrot cake?
11 /
are you propositioning me, carrot cake?
charlie
The hours tick by, and I end up spending the afternoon cleaning up my flat, then having a shower early enough that my hair isn’t soaking wet by the time I need to leave. I attempt to tame the loose curls but end up giving up, reminding myself that this is just a meeting between two people who barely even tolerate one another.
Despite the slow pace of my walk, I arrive seven minutes early. I’m always either early or late for things. On time? I’m not familiar with that concept. Now, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t want to seem too eager, so I pace around the front of his house until my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
RAFAEL:
I can see you pacing on the sidewalk. Come in before my neighbor calls the cops on you. Front door’s unlocked.
Crikey! This is embarrassing already. I look up and see Rafael’s profile as he stands at the kitchen counter. He’s bobbing his head to music I can’t hear, and he lifts his hand, waving me in without looking out at where I now stand perfectly motionless.
I take a couple of deep breaths and walk to his front door, finding it unlocked as he promised. I’m expecting to be greeted with loud music, but the moment I step in, it’s the smell that hits me first. Garlic, basil, and something else. The music ends up being quite low, a song I haven’t heard before, with acoustic guitars coming through the speakers.
“Hello?” I call out. I can’t see the kitchen from here, so I walk around the corner toward the delicious scent in the air. As I round the corner, his colossal frame comes into view. I should have been ready to see him in his white T-shirt and jeans since I saw him from the sidewalk. Up close, however, the sight of him in a perfectly fitted white shirt, low-slung jeans, and bare feet, with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder is making me a little weak in the knees. I freeze on the spot yet again, my gaze traveling back up his body slowly. Too slowly . By the time I make it to his face, his grin is so wide that I gasp.
“Did you want me to do a little spin, red? Give you all the angles?” I shake my head, and some sort of sound leaves my throat, but no actual words. What the hell is happening? His smile grows impossibly wider, and those twin dimples impossibly deeper. “I made pasta. I hope that’s okay.” He looks at me over his shoulder as he walks away and points to the breakfast nook, where he has two place settings. “What can I get you to drink?”
He’s annoyingly casual about this whole thing. But then again, I suppose that’s far more normal than my speechlessness. Rafael and I have known one another for over three years; we’ve eaten many meals at the same table and even celebrated holidays together. This shouldn’t feel so strange, and yet I have to work hard to remind myself that this is exactly why I asked him for help. I don’t need to make small talk. There’s no awkward getting-to-know-you phase; it should feel easy. He’s not a stranger I’m putting a mask on for. He’s seen me remove myself from social situations and knows I’m introverted. Though it’s not the whole truth, those facts stabilize my rickety emotions.
It hits me that I’ve gone too long without answering his question when I catch him cocking his head to the side, eyebrows raised, but without a hint of irritation. He’s just waiting for me. “Um water, please.” He nods and turns toward the fridge. I take the opportunity to remove my jumper since it’s inexplicably hot in here. I also take a moment to toss my hair up in a bun. I can’t enjoy a meal with hair around my face.
“You ready to eat?” I feel his eyes travel up my body as he sets the glass of water down, but he looks away so quickly I almost miss it.
“Mmhm.” I down half of my glass as Rafael takes a seat in front of me, setting our pasta bowls on the table. It’s spaghetti bolognese, which I absolutely love. It smells divine, and I’m reminded of the fact that I didn’t eat lunch before my cleaning spree today.
“Dig in,” he says with another deadly smile, so I do. As the perfect sauce hits my taste buds, I close my eyes, and I’m almost certain I moan as I chew. Hearing Rafael’s choking sounds, I drop my fork, causing a loud clanging noise as he takes several gulps of his water.
“Are you all right?” I’ve never seen his face so red before, but at least he seems to recover quickly. He gives me a thumbs up, and I take that as my cue to stop staring at him and get back to my delicious dinner. It might be the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten. “You have to tell me what’s in this sauce. This is incredible.”
He has fully recovered, and now he’s the one watching me with a small, dimple-free smile. “Glad you like it. I can give you my recipe.” He looks back down at his plate and resumes eating .
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that. I’m not a great cook. I absolutely need recipes to follow; otherwise, it’s just chaos, and everything tastes rubbish.” He watches me intently as I talk, and I find that kind of attention from him a little overwhelming. Not uncomfortable, but new.
We finish our bowls in an oddly comfortable silence. I offer to clean up, but he makes quick work of tossing everything in the dishwasher and sends me to sit in the living room instead. I take in his space for the first time, appreciating how clean and tidy it is.
The furnishing is minimal but warm, with a few unique handmade pieces mixed in. He has colorful artwork on the walls and a few family photos on the massive bookshelf. “Do you live alone?” I nearly shout, hoping he’ll hear me in the kitchen.
His deep chuckle catches me off-guard as he’s standing closer than I expected. “I do.” I widen my eyes while he rounds the couch, setting two glasses of water on the coffee table. “You seem surprised by that.”
“Not surprised, per se, just pleased I don’t have to spend the evening in some bachelor pigsty.” He laughs softly, and I move around the coffee table to take a seat. “You haven’t shagged on this sofa, have you?” The question pops out because I hate the idea of touching someone else’s bodily fluids, but of course, that’s not how he takes it.
“Are you propositioning me, carrot cake?” His smirk causes his dimples to pop, and I glare at him, waiting for him to answer the question. “No, red. I haven’t fucked anyone on this couch. I don’t bring women here.” He says it so matter-of-factly, so easily, that every instinct tells me he’s being truthful.
“Like ever?” I ask incredulously, despite his sincerity.
“Like ever,” he answers simply. “I know you think I’m some kind of fuckboy based on how we met, but that’s not really who I am.” He shrugs as if to diminish the statement that I’ve pegged him all wrong all this time.
As I lower myself to the couch, the words slip out of my mouth, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Then tell me who you are, Rafael Machado.”
“I’m… I’m not that guy you met who says crude things on the phone. I mean, I am, but only when I know someone likes it. And that particular person liked it. She told me so.” He eyes me intently, and he must see the question written on my face because he blows out a breath and continues, “I don’t know why I said it back to you that day. I guess I liked the reaction I got, and Maeve had told me you were a bit more serious, so I pushed. I know I pushed too far. I do that sometimes, and I’m sorry for it.” Again, I don’t hear any dishonesty. His body language hasn’t changed. He’s still sitting up, still looking at me with those unwavering chocolate eyes.
If I’m very honest with myself, I liked hearing him say those words the day we met. It was hot. No one had ever spoken to me like that before, and I wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end. But it was much easier to be repulsed by it than to admit that I wish it had been me he had been talking to. Not even necessarily him, just someone. Anyone.
Now, I have no idea what to say. I struggle with reacting to things like this, and being surprised only mars my ability to show emotion. I feel my mouth moving, but it’s not until the words have left my mouth that I realize what I’m saying.
“I’m autistic,” I quite literally blurt out. “And I have ADHD.” I can hear my heart beating. I have never flat-out told anyone else this. I’m not even sure ‘I’m autistic’ is a sentence I’ve ever said out loud before.
The people who know are my family, Elaina, and, of course, every doctor or teacher I’ve had since I was seventeen. And Robert, because I asked him once if he thought I fit the description of an autistic person, and he laughed and said no. When I revealed to him that I’m an AuDHD’er—a person with both autism and ADHD—he was disbelieving, saying he thought I was “just one of those really smart people who acted a little weird sometimes.” Those were his actual words.
Rafael hasn’t reacted to my revelation. Once again, he’s simply waiting for me. “That’s why this is all so hard for me. It’s why I’ve always struggled to talk to you or literally anyone else I come in contact with. It’s why I sometimes don’t understand if you’re being sarcastic and why I don’t always look you in the eyes. Not just you, of course.”
I look up, and while I don’t dare meet his eyes, I know they are steady on me. I can feel them. He doesn’t say anything though, and the lack of words being said is making my skin itchy, so I keep talking. “Sometimes, it feels like autism and ADHD are in a fight with one another inside my body. Sometimes, I feel one more strongly than the other. Mostly though, it’s just a lot of pretending and learning what society deems as acceptable behavior and then just doing that instead of being myself.”
“Is eye contact difficult for you?” Rafael’s question catches me off-guard. Considering I was mostly expecting him to dismiss my outburst or laugh about it, this is truly shocking.
Is it shocking, or is that what I keep telling myself because I’ve learned to expect the worst from him?
After many seconds of silence, I find him patiently waiting. “Sort of. I find it a bit uncomfortable, sometimes distracting, and it doesn’t come naturally to me. It’s easier to focus on what someone is saying when I can look at their whole face, their body language, or simply whatever’s around me so I don’t have to focus on them at all.”
Rafael nods and links his fingers together as he leans in, elbows resting on his thighs. “I need to say something to you, but I’d really like it if you could look at me when I say it.” I suck in a sharp inhale as his words sink in. “Just for a few seconds, can you try to look at me? Please? ”
I shut my eyes tightly, wanting to say no, but something about the way he just asked makes me want to say yes. The vulnerability in his voice is brand new to me. I nod, but my eyes remain closed.
“Take your time,” he urges.
And again, the softness in his voice stirs something so deep in my chest that I can’t help but look up. And up and up until my eyes meet a pair of brown ones filled with emotions I couldn’t possibly name. It lasts half a second before my eyes move over the rest of his face, noticing the thickness of his lashes and how one of his eyebrows has a scar through it. I’ve looked at Rafael dozens of times, but never this openly.
“I’m sorry, Charlie.” My eyes flit back to his again, and this time, I can’t look away. His coffee-colored eyes have me transfixed. He said my name; he’s never said it before. Not to me, anyway. There’s an erratic fluttering in my chest that I need to shoo away, but it’s also weirdly pleasant. I don’t have time to process it before he continues, “I’m so, so sorry. I never would have said or done so many things if I had known. And that’s not an excuse, I just want to apologize. And thank you for telling me. For trusting me.”
When I blink, I look away, focusing on a random spot on the floor. I feel two hot tears travel quickly down my cheeks. I don’t wipe them away, and before I can retreat into myself, I hear the whisper of my voice. “I’m sorry, too.” I don’t say what for. My throat suddenly feels tight, and I can’t get any other words out. I close my eyes again and hastily swipe the tears off my cheeks. “Do you think we could pick this up again tomorrow, or perhaps another day? I’d like to go home. I’m feeling quite tired.”
There’s no hesitation in his response. “Of course. Yeah.”