Marissa #2
“I hope that was okay,” he says, pitching his voice low to keep Levi from overhearing. “I don’t mean to overstep.”
“No, not at all.” I’m not upset, but I am mystified by the sequence that just occurred. “How did you … know to do that?”
Maybe a better question is, why didn’t I?
I’ve spent hours in parent training sessions, learning strategies from Levi’s therapists, including the redirection technique Jesse just casually implemented.
But in the moment, I tend to forget it all.
My instinct is always to just hold Levi in my arms, as if I can hug all the frustration out of his tiny body.
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “My roommate in college was on the spectrum. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he organized the things on his desk. Said it helped his brain quiet down when the world got too loud.”
Suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve never told Jesse or any of the crew that Levi is autistic. I raise my eyebrows. “How did you—?”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “Oh, sorry. Shelby told me. I guess she saw an interview? It must be weird, having fans who know things about you when you don’t know anything about them.”
That’s an understatement. Even after years in the industry, it’s still surreal to meet a fan and realize they know every detail about your life.
Normally I brush it off. But I dislike having this imbalance of familiarity with Jesse.
He knows personal details about my life while I know virtually nothing about his.
After every interaction, I’m desperate to know more about him.
Like, where did he go to college and meet this roommate?
Did he always plan to join the family business?
And what about his love life? Is he single? Divorced?
But there’s no way I can ask any of those questions without completely overstepping, so I land on, “Parasocial relationships can definitely be strange.”
Jesse offers me a small, reassuring smile. “I promise you, Shelby doesn’t have a malignant bone in her body. You can trust her. You can trust all of us. You’re safe here.”
Fans can be way too familiar. I almost don’t blame them. When so much of our personal lives are written about for public consumption, it must feel like strangers really do know us. In reality, it’s only the slightest glimpse into who we really are.
But when I meet Jesse’s gaze again, I believe him. I feel safe. Maybe it’s because I’m once again struck by that sense of familiarity. As if we’ve met somewhere before. As if, when he looks at me, he sees who I really am.
What’s especially striking is how he sees my son.
Despite how much they love him, few people know how to behave around Levi.
Even my parents are subtly skittish. I know they’re afraid of setting him off, of not knowing “the right way” to treat him.
No matter how many times I tell them that Levi’s autism does not define him, does not change who he is as a person, it’s clear that my words never quite land.
But Jesse? He might be the first person outside of Levi’s therapists who’s ever known how to treat him. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it endearing. It makes me want to hold him close and never let go.
Speaking of his closeness, I’m starkly aware of the fact that Jesse’s still leaning over me.
I steal a glance at the muscled forearm pressed into the wall above my head and swallow.
My eyes trace up the path of his skin, pausing at the broad, capable slope of his shoulder, before my gaze settles on his.
We hold eye contact for a long beat and then his eyes drop to my lips.
Just like that, every coherent thought melts from my brain.
Game over. Forget being the adult in charge.
Screw being responsible. There’s no way I can be held accountable for anything when this man’s attention is so thoroughly focused on my mouth.
Is he going to kiss me? God knows I want him to.
My body is screaming at me to close the space between us, to grab hold of him and press his lips to mine.
His pupils are blown out, turning his eyes dark as he studies my face.
He swallows and I watch the Adam’s apple bob beneath the scruff of his throat.
“We should get back in there,” he says gruffly, his words cutting through the haze. I nod absently. Right. We are not alone in this house. There are other people just a few feet away, two of whom are counting on me. Neither of us makes a move to separate.
Jesse’s tongue swipes over his lips. He leans forward, moving his face an inch closer to mine.
I watch the rise and fall of his chest, mesmerized by the erratic movement of his breath.
Reason is pricking the edges of my consciousness.
I know this is wrong, that I can’t give in to the urge my body is so desperately craving.
But right now, I can’t think of one solid argument against it.
I take a step forward and Jesse’s eyes widen. I tilt my head upward, lifting my chin closer to his and—
There’s a crash on the other side of the wall, and Jesse jerks back, like he’s being yanked by an invisible chain.
Footsteps approach and then Shelby appears in the doorway.
Her eyes go wide as she looks between us, like she knows she’s missing something but can’t work out what it is.
I hope she figures it out, so she can fill me in.
I feel like I’ve just returned to earth after an out-of-body experience.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Toby thinks we should wrap for the day. Let these fine people enjoy some peace and quiet.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Should we postpone the rest of our design conversation until tomorrow morning?”
I let out a grateful sigh of relief. “Thanks. That would be great.”
I steal another glance at Jesse but he’s no longer meeting my eyes. Whatever spell was cast between us is officially broken. It’s probably for the best, but I can’t help but feel a prickle of disappointment.
Jesse heads back to the hallway to gather his toolbox, and I follow behind him.
“Thanks again, bud,” I hear him say. His voice sounds strained, and I wonder if he feels as upended by our encounter as I do.
Levi is beaming at him, clearly delighted to have completed his assignment.
I note that it’s the first time he’s smiled since I picked him up this afternoon, the tension in his shoulders dissolved.
Jesse finally meets my eyes again and gives me a small smile and a nod. His expression has slipped back into an impassive mask of professionalism. If I hadn’t heard the strain in his voice, I might think I imagined the entire thing.
Isla calls for me, and I head over to check on her. By the time I finish, the team is already heading out. I feel a pang of something I can’t quite put my finger on as I watch Jesse disappear through the front door. Regret? Longing? Bottomless sexual frustration?
Whatever it is, I doubt even the best book boyfriend is going to cut it tonight.