Mom grimaces again. “I’m not sure what to say. Maybe you can ask him. That’s what all the experts say. Right? I mean, your dad and I don’t—”
“LALALALA …” I pinch my eyes shut and plug my ears. “I don’t want to hear this!”
I open my eyes when she kisses my forehead. “Understood. Truth be known, I don’t like to talk about sex with your dad either. You’ll figure things out with Dr. Hawkins. Stressing over the sex at this point might not be the best thing for a relationship in the early stages.” She winks and leaves my bedroom.
After trying and failing for hours to get to sleep, I text Dr. Hawkins.
Me: I should have purchased the Q7, huh?
It’s not that I expect him to answer, after all, it’s after one in the morning. I just need to find a way to figure out the sex thing. And not because I want it all the time. I simply want to be good at it in his eyes.
Dr. Hawkins: Hi
I jump when he responds so quickly.
Me: Whoops. Figured you were sleeping.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: I don’t think you need a Q7. I think you need to call in sick tomorrow and come to brunch at my parents’ house.
“What?” I mumble, reading his text.
Me: I’m just having issues sleeping. I’m not sick.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Good. I’d hate for you to get my parents sick at brunch tomorrow.
I’m not tired enough to sleep, but I’m too tired to write in my journal. And here he is, texting me an invitation to eat food with his parents.
Food.
Unknown food.
Food made by other people.
Food not at one of my regular restaurants.
Me: You want me to lie?
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: I want you to meet my parents tomorrow.
* * *
Me: I have never called in sick.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Do it for me.
* * *
Me: I’m not good at lying.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Pretend you’re sick and it won’t feel like a lie. That’s what you did earlier when you tried to cancel our date. I’ll write you a doctor’s note.
* * *
Me: Really. I’m a terrible liar.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Text your boss, then you don’t have to say the lie aloud. It will be easier.
* * *
Me: Do you lie about being sick?
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: No. I’m a doctor. I have to work from my deathbed.
* * *
Me: I’m a patient transporter. If I don’t show up to work, who will transport YOUR patients?
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Please (folded hands emoji)
* * *
Me: (eye rolling emoji)
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: I’ll make sure everything is vegetarian. I’ll even order you a pizza or a dozen tacos from your favorite restaurant so you don’t have to eat my mom’s cooking. Which would be a shame because she’s an excellent cook. (three folded hands emojis)
Dr. Hawkins is an emoji man. That makes him exponentially more attractive to me. Still … I’m not a good liar. But since it will be Sunday, maybe having four days at school before seeing my coworkers again will make it easier to deal with the guilt and not spew my confessions the second someone at work asks me if I’m feeling better.
Me: Send me the address and time. Will Romeo be there?
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Sending … and yes, Julie will drop him off.
The next text is his parents’ address and the time: 11:00 a.m.
Drop him off. That means Dr. Hathaway will be there. Right? At least long enough to let him out of the car. Or will she walk him to the door? Come inside? Meet me?
Hi. I’m Dorothy. Does your ex-husband require anything out of the ordinary to have sex? I tried a sexy dress, stripping for him, offering both oral and vaginal sex. Not sure where I went wrong. Would you mind giving me a few tips? Oh … and I think you’re brilliant. I want to be you when I grow up. Me? Yeah, I’m thirty, but in the Aspie world that’s like twenty … so barely a grown-up.”
I imagine her feeling flattered by my compliments, suggesting we be friends who share knowledge of their favorite scientific studies and tips on pleasing men. My friend list is pretty short. Accommodating Dr. Hathaway seems doable.
Dr. Hawkins: Did you fall asleep?
His text brings me out of my roleplaying.
Me: No. Going to try again now. See you tomorrow.
* * *
Dr. Hawkins: Night, Dorothy. Can’t wait to see you again.
“I don’t mind being me. No one else can do it better.”
–Dorothy Mayhem
Chapter Thirteen
Frittata Fingers
Sleep isn’t on my side, so I make the most of my Sunday morning by texting my boss—lying to her. Then I load up my bike and drive to the trailhead. Two hours later, I return to my car and check the activity app on my watch, fully intending to message Dr. Hawkins to brag about my early start to meeting my activity and exercise goals.
“What the hell?” When I look at my watch, there are notifications that Eli has already completed an eight-mile run and a weight lifting workout—exceeding all of his daily goals.
Before I can figure out a response, my watch chimes with a message from him.
Dr. Hawkins: Good job! Keep up the hard work.
That’s his response to the notification he got about the workout I just completed.
“Oh, I’m keeping it up.” I breathe a determined sigh, securing my bike to its carrier. On the way home, I stop by the gym to make sure I exceed his weight lifting workout. Then I hustle home to get a shower since the drive to his parents’ house is forty-five minutes, and I don’t want to be late.
“Hey, what are you—”
I hold up my hand to my mom as she pours coffee for herself and my dad. “No time to talk. I have to get showered.”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I’ll explain later.” I jump into the shower, trying my best to multitask—suds and shave while planning out the appropriate outfit. Settling on a dark eggplant skirt and a pale pink button-down blouse with matching flats, I blow out my hair, and then apply my lip balm while pulling out of the driveway.
The traffic isn’t too bad late Sunday morning. Things I wouldn’t know because I’ve always been at work by now. The guilt of not being at work continues to eat at me, but the idea of getting to spend time with Dr. Hawkins and Romeo numbs the agitation grinding against my nerves. I pull into their circle drive at 10:30. The blue Tesla is nowhere to be seen, so I wait.
A red Lexus SUV pulls up behind me ten minutes later. I know that car and the woman getting out—Dr. Hathaway. She unfastens Roman from his car seat and walks up beside my car, giving me a polite smile. I smile back and slowly open my door. If I stay inside, she might tell his parents. Then I’ll be the weird woman sitting in their driveway. There is no disputing my slightly weird personality, but I try to avoid consciously putting it on display to the whole world.
So, instead of being the weird stranger sitting in my car, I turn into the weird stranger staying five steps behind Dr. Hathaway and Roman as they walk up to the front door.
“Dorfee!” He smiles, looking back at me.
Dr. Hathaway glances back as well.
“Dorfee, why are you here?”
“I’m here to have brunch with you, Romeo.”
“Hi.” Dr. Hathaway smiles. “I’m Julie. When did you meet Roman?”
“Dorfee is a superhero!” He tugs on Julie’s hand, jumping up and down with excitement.
“Shh …” I hold a finger to my lips and wink at him. “That’s a secret. Remember?”
Julie’s smile morphs into something a little uneasy. Clearly, I don’t look familiar to her. And I shared secrets with her son. Nothing creepy about that.
; “Dorothy Mayhem. I’m actually a patient transporter at your hospital … and a nursing student.” I stop. Someone needs to send me a high-five emoji for having such self-control. I want—really want—to talk about her work and studies. The million things she’s done to help kids.
“Oh, then I’ve probably seen you there.” The line along her forehead eases a bit.
“You have.”
She nods slowly, inspecting me—the woman who calls her son Romeo and is having brunch with her ex in-laws. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you. I see so many faces.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“So … how is it that you know Roman? Wait …” She narrows her eyes. “Dorothy the superhero. X-ray vision. Roman did mention you. He said you ate spaghetti with him and wore a bib. I thought you were an imaginary friend.”
“Oh. Ha! No. I’m real.”
“So you’re a friend of Eli’s?”
“Grandma!” Roman runs into the house when the door opens.
His grandma hugs him while her gaze ping-pongs between me and Julie. “Hi. Julie. And you must be Dorothy.”
“Hi. Yes. Nice to meet you.” I brush past Julie and hold out my hand, not that handshakes are my thing, but I want to blend in at brunch. I want his parents to like me.
“I’m Lori. It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Dorothy.”
“Bye, Roman. I love you,” Julie calls, but he’s already rushed into the house. “Okay. So, nice seeing you, Lori. And nice officially meeting you, Dorothy.”
I feel bad for Julie. She seems nervous. Not at all like my boss bitch idol.
“You too. See you around at the hospital.”
She nods, sliding on her sunglasses as she walks back to her vehicle, dressed in fitted jeans, a gray sweater, and black ankle boots. Her red hair hangs long and wavy around her shoulders instead of in a ponytail or messy bun like it does at work. At least she looks like I imagined Boss Bitch would look like outside of the hospital—casual but still very classy.
“Come in, Dorothy. Did you get Eli’s message? He had an emergency. He’ll get here as soon as he can. We didn’t know if you’d show up or not. He said he’d give you the option of coming another Sunday. But I’m so glad you decided to come today.”
I glance at my watch. Yep. There’s a message from him. How did I miss that?
Dr. Hawkins: Hi. I’ve been called in for an emergency. I’m hoping to still make it for brunch. You’re welcome to go there and hang out with Roman and my parents, but I assume you’ll choose a different day when I’m not running late. Call you later! Or I might see you at the hospital if you decide to go in now.
Just … great. I smile. “Missed his message. I’ll reschedule for another Sunday.” I turn, taking steps toward my car.
Oh my god! I didn’t have to be here! Why am I here?
“Wait? No! You should stay, Dorothy. I would absolutely love for you to stay. My daughters couldn’t make it today, so it’s just Roman, Kent, and me … and of course Eli when he shows up.”
I don’t want to stay.
Nope.
No way.
Five years earlier, I would have kept shaking my head, slid into my car, and skidded out of their driveway. But I no longer act on total impulse all the time. I’ve practiced deciphering neurotypicals, imagining what they would do in my situation, and reacting/mimicking accordingly.
“Thank you for the kind offer.” I turn, plastering on a smile. “But I’m a vegetarian. I’d hate for you to have to deal with my dietary restrictions. Have a lovely day.”
Have a lovely day seems to make everything okay, like the time I told Kelsey, one of the X-ray techs, that her deodorant had worn off and she was emitting an offensive odor. At first she gasped, which led me to believe I’d worded the FYI incorrectly, but then I followed it up with “have a lovely day,” and she nodded slowly while hugging her arms to her chest. Aspies may not be best friends, but we are the most honest ones.
“Eli told me. Everything I made for brunch today is vegetarian with lots of cheese. He said you have a thing for cheese.”
He did, did he?
She has a better hand of cards today, so I take a deep breath and retreat toward the house. There is nothing I love more than spending time with strangers, eating food they make that I probably won’t like, and making small talk—the hardest thing in the world for me to do.
Lori leads me to her kitchen. It’s big and clean. Tons of food fills a buffet table behind a large dining room table adorned with a sprawling bouquet of fresh flowers, real plates and flatware, and cloth napkins. It looks like a nice restaurant. Even the trays of food are garnished with herb springs and fresh fruits.
“Whoa, this is quite the brunch. I honestly imagined coffee, bagels, bacon, and maybe a few donuts.”
“Sounds like continental breakfast at a hotel.” She laughs. “I’m all about presentation.”
Me too.
Only, I have to work really hard at it, and rarely do I one hundred percent nail it.
“Kent?” she calls out the back door. “Let’s eat. Bring Roman.”
“What can I get you to drink, Dorothy? Do you like mimosas?”
“Yes. But I’m driving so I’ll pass?”
“You can just do orange juice. It’s fresh squeezed.”
Fresh squeezed, as in she fondled the oranges and squeezed them … maybe with her hands. “I have my water bottle in my bag.” I pull it out of my handbag.
“You sure?”
I nod.
“Please, grab a plate and help yourself.”
First through the line. I can do this. Yes … she probably touched everything on these platters, but I choose to believe she wore gloves. And first through the line means no one else has had a chance to touch the food first or sneeze on it. I grab a plate and silverware. Real silverware, not the plastic kind that tastes like plastic. Yuck!
“Dorfee!” Roman rushes in with a tall, older version of Dr. Hawkins behind him—a few more wrinkles, gray mixed with dark blond hair, and a more pronounced receding hairline. He’s dressed in jeans and a Trailblazer sweatshirt.
“Dorothy, this is my husband Kent. Kent, this is Eli’s friend, Dorothy.”
“Papa, Dorfee is a superhero.” Roman reaches for a plate behind me. Kent quickly grabs it from him.
“Nice to meet you, Dorothy.” Dr. Hawkins has his father’s smile.
I return a genuine grin. It isn’t awful here—yet. Just the four of us. I can do it. With a few deep breaths … I can handle brunch with strangers.
“Show me what you want, Roman,” Kent adds food to Roman’s plate after Roman pokes the things he wants with his finger.
I keep reminding myself I’m first in line, and clearly there will be no second trip for me, even if I do like the food. It’s not that I don’t adore Romeo, but I know darn well the chances that he spent most of the ride to their house with that same finger stuck up his nose are pretty good.
“Stop touching everything, silly.” Lori rolls her eyes at Roman. “We have company, and I don’t think your friend, Dorothy, wants your little fingers touching all the food.”
A small amount of bile works its way up my throat. I just want to ignore his fingers and stay one step ahead of them without imagining eating toddler contaminated food.
“It’s a little chilly out, but we have the porch heaters on, so you can head out that door.” Kent nods to the door that he and Roman came through earlier.
“Okay.” I head out the door and take a seat on one of the comfy outdoor chairs. After I steady my plate on my lap, I text Dr. Hawkins.
Me: I didn’t get your message in time. I’m at your parents’ house. Hope you’re going to make it soon. Don’t kill a patient to get here, but please hurry. (grinning face with sweat emoji)
“I sit by Dorfee!” Roman crawls into the chair next to me.
“Maybe you should sit at your table. It might be easier for you to eat, buddy.” Kent puts Roman’s plate on the little table in the
corner of the porch.
“No! Listen, Papa, listen! I sit by Dorfee!”
“I’ll sit by you, Romeo.” I grab my stuff and move to the toddler table, twisting my lips at the little red chair for a few seconds. Surely it will hold me. Easing into it, I smile. “Coming?” I ask him.
Romeo jumps out of the big chair and runs over to the table, taking a seat next to me in the blue chair.
“You really don’t have to.” Kent grins while chuckling.
“I prefer the kids’ table.” I shrug. It’s one hundred percent true.
Lori makes her way out to the porch, letting out a little laugh when she spots me sitting next to Roman. “Your dad’s going to be jealous of you, Roman. You’re stealing his friend.”
Roman plays with his food, ignoring his grandma.
“What’s dis?” Roman jabs his finger into one of the tiny piles of food on my plate.
I freeze, trying to play it really cool. “Um … I’m not sure.”
“Roman Alexander … keep your fingers out of Dorothy’s food!” Lori scolds him. “It’s frittata. Do you want some?”
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