by Harper Bliss
“Then I make a new painting.”
“Of course.” Zoe purses her lips and nods. I’m not sure if she’s mocking me or if she truly agrees with my logic. “You must really love painting.”
“I need it,” I say. “Painting is how I… deal with a lot of my emotions.” It’s the only way I’ve ever learned how to do so.
Zoe drinks from the white wine I’ve poured her. She slings one nylon-clad leg over the other. How can she be wearing a dress in this weather? And how did she even walk here in those high heels? Some things I will always fail to understand.
I tried to make an effort in the sartorial department, because I had a sneaky suspicion Zoe would pull a stunt like this on me again, but, unlike Zoe, I have opted for comfort over bling, as I always do. I did iron my shirt and that’s saying something, if only to me.
After we’ve made the obligatory small talk about the store and the weather and Hemingway, who has nestled at her feet, a silence falls. I know it’s up to me to fill it, which makes it even harder to do.
“The very nature of what I’d like to explain, makes it almost impossible to do,” I say.
“If there was a prize for being cryptic, Anna, you’d have won it a dozen times since we’ve met.” Zoe smiles at me and the effortless brightness of it reminds me of how easy I have found it from the get-go to connect with her on a certain level, not deeply, but still satisfyingly, for me.
I try to remember what I rehearsed in my head earlier, after abandoning work for the afternoon, which caused an extra bout of stress. The reason I never miss a deadline isn’t because I pride myself on it, it’s because when I come too close to any deadline the time pressure kills the very creativity I need the most in that moment.
“In A Little Life, do you remember when the character Willem thinks about the three things you can have in a relationship? The three things you can hope for and nothing more?”
Zoe quirks up her eyebrows. “You’re going to have to refresh my memory.”
“He claims that you can only expect your partner to have three qualities you admire, at the most. For instance, being loyal, being a good listener, and being kind. That’s it. You should never expect more than three, because that would be very unrealistic.”
“Okay. That’s not one of the things I remember from the book, but sure.” She holds the bottom of her wine glass in the palm of her hand.
“I’ve learned, from the demise of my relationship with Cynthia, that I don’t even have three qualities to offer. For that reason, it would be very unfair to make anyone believe that I’m open, um, to… that.”
“Honestly, Anna, I don’t believe that for a second. Nor do I agree with Willem’s conclusion that one person can only stand for three things in a relationship. It’s fiction, you know. That I do remember thinking when I read that book: thank God, this is fiction.”
“Yes, well, you haven’t been in a relationship with me.”
“No, but I’m getting to know you and I can already tell you more than three things that I admire about you.”
I shake my head. “You may think so, but you’d only be guessing.”
I realize I went about this the wrong way, which is no surprise. I believed that if I talked about a book we both love, we’d be on common ground, that we could connect over that, but it was wrong of me to assume that would happen.
I’m just going to have to come out and say it, otherwise, I’ll never be able to make myself clear. But it’s hard because it’s not something I go around telling people and it’s the very issue that drove Cynthia and me apart.
“While I was with Cynthia, I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder,” I mumble. I’m not sure Zoe has understood but this is no time for me to be making eye contact. I’m also scared of what I might see in her glance, even if I could find the nerve to meet her eyes.
“Really?” she says, after a few seconds of silence. “Did Cynthia leave you because of that?”
“No. No, of course not. Cynthia is kindness personified. She would never have left me because of it. I drove her away because I couldn’t deal with it.”
Zoe nods.
“It wasn’t just that,” I say. “Life is, by definition, unpredictable. And it’s in my very nature to always try to control everything. That drove her quite nuts in the end as well, but… yeah.”
“So things were going badly before you were diagnosed?” Zoe asks.
“No, not really. There was tension at times, but she was always very supportive. I think, in the end, subconsciously, I wanted to be alone with it. I needed time and space to figure out what this meant for the rest of my life.”
“And? Have you figured it out?”
“No, not even close. Because what the diagnosis basically confirmed is that my brain doesn’t operate the way most people’s does. That I’m impaired in some way. The society we live in is not geared toward people like me, yet I have to live in it. All of that. Being ‘normal’ is really all I’ve ever wanted to be, probably because I never fit in anywhere and I was always the weird one.” I pause and take a deep breath.
“I really wanted for it not to be true,” I continue. “That the suspicions I had about myself were incorrect. But they weren’t. And then I felt like I had to constantly reassess myself and the life I’ve had so far. If only I had been able to say all these things to Cynthia, but I just couldn’t at the time.” I’m surprised I can do it now, even though I’ve had years to think about it. Zoe’s inviting nature must have something to do with it.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Anna. That you’re still going through this. That society isn’t more accommodating or understanding toward people with an impairment.”
“But that’s the thing. I don’t want to be seen as disabled in any way. Not by myself and not by anyone else. I was quite fine just being the weird lesbian of Donovan Grove, you know? And if I was able to be with someone as well-adjusted and lovely as Cynthia, surely I wasn’t that bad. But then I went and fucked that up and now she’s like this big, living symbol of my failure. Another strike against normality.”
Oh, to have a peek inside Zoe’s mind now, to be able to see her thoughts without the filter of her turning them into acceptable words.
“Do you have people to talk to about this?” There’s concern in her voice.
“I have my family,” I mumble. “My mom’s a terrible busybody but she’s been such a gem through all this. Because of my dad. I’m a lot like him. It’s often genetic and it’s obvious I got it from him. Except, until a few years ago, no one ever knew because ASD presents very different in women than it does in men.”
“Are you getting professional help?”
“Like a shrink? Do you mean something like talk therapy?”
Zoe nods. The smile has been wiped from her face.
“No. I… Honestly, the mere thought of seeing a therapist makes me so incredibly nervous, it immediately defeats the purpose. Seeing someone to help me curb my anxiety gives me such anxiety, that I just can’t get myself to do it. I can’t rise above the initial anxiety. It’s a bit of a vicious circle, I do realize that.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in, Zoe. I don’t expect you to stay. I—”
“Not for me, Anna. For you. That’s a lot to deal with all on your own.”
“I have my family.”
“But still,” she says.
I’m again surprised by her kindness, and her willingness to remain on that couch.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit of an education about this.” Zoe’s tone is soft, a little guarded. “I don’t want to presume what ASD entails just from what I’ve seen on TV or have accidentally come across over the course of my life.”
“Are you serious?” Even though most of my energy reserves have been depleted just from disclosing this at all, something inside me is still lit up, still wants her to stay. “You want to know more?”
“I w
ant to know more about you, so yes, I do.”
“I can recommend a very comprehensive book about it. About ASD in women specifically.”
“That should be right up my wheelhouse then,” Zoe says.
Part of me can’t help but wonder if she isn’t just being polite. Whether Zoe feels she can’t blow me off right now and have that come back to bite her in the ass, as the newcomer in town, later.
“I’m really glad you told me, Anna. That must have been really hard.”
“I’m glad I told you, but…” I’m also very surprised that I was able to. “I never wanted for this to define me, or to elicit any special treatment from anyone. Yet, it is something you need to know about me… Or not. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m doing, just blundering through life. And then…” For the first time in a while, I look Zoe in the eye. “Then you came to town.”
“This doesn’t change anything for me. I just know you a little better now.”
How I wish I could just go along with Zoe’s fantasy. I might have told her, but that doesn’t mean she understands what it actually entails.
“You must realize that, because of what I’ve just confided in you, I’m absolutely not looking to date. It would be so unfair.”
“Unfair on whom? On me? Because I think I get to decide that.”
“I’m hard to love, Zoe. I’m stuck in my routines and my anxiety cycles and half the time, I’m completely wrapped up in some drama in my head.”
“Not when you’re with me. This person you’re describing, I don’t know her much at all. I haven’t met her often, Anna. That’s not who I think of when I think of you.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, but…” Either I have too many arguments against this and they all fail to come to me just because of their sheer number. Or, when faced with Zoe, with her patience and warmth and that delightful smile that can break through at any moment—it’s as though every nerve ending is poised, waiting for it to appear—I have no arguments at all. Maybe that’s what she does.
The point is I know very well that I can’t trust whatever’s going through my brain right now. Whatever momentum of sensation, of feeling a tiny bit more like other people, must be ignored because I know it’s treacherous. I know from years and years of experience. From over and over again being convinced that this time will be different, this time, I will be able to forge a true connection to another human being—and time and time again, I’ve been let down. Sometimes by others—whom I’ve never blamed for one second, because how could I?—but mostly by myself.
“We all make mistakes, Anna,” Zoe says. “Then, we learn from them. I screwed up a bazillion times with my ex-wife and so did she. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever make the same mistakes again, but at least I have the experience and perhaps even the wisdom that came with making them the first time around. Which gives me hope that things can always be different. Better. Even if it’s only a fraction.”
I grin at Zoe. “I’m just so amazed at how… patient you are with me. How hopeful.” I don’t really understand why, but that’s a question I can’t push out of my mouth right now.
“Maybe I like you,” she says, and drinks from her wine again.
Why? A voice in my head screams. Why would you like me?
When I don’t say anything, Zoe clears her throat. “At the beginning of this conversation, you claimed that you’re not very good at expressing emotions and at articulating what you want to say, but you just did exactly that. You told me something that was extremely difficult for you to verbalize.”
“What I told you is just the tip of a mammoth iceberg.”
“So? Isn’t that what getting to know someone else is all about?”
“Wow. You’re such an optimist.”
“What will it take for you to absorb a tiny fraction of my optimism?”
“I don’t know. I mean…” I wring my hands. “I like you too, Zoe, but…”
“‘Buts’ don’t fit into my optimistic theory, so my suggestion is that you just drop the buts and see what happens.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“Anna.” She moves to the edge of the couch and puts her glass down. “Stop it. Just simply stop it. Right now, the only thing that really matters is that I like you and you like me. All the rest is of no importance.” She holds up a finger to preemptively silence me. “It’s not.”
“Okay.” I obey because there’s that smile I’ve been waiting for. It’s not because I’m convinced that I’m utter crap at being in a relationship that I don’t feel the longing for Zoe course through my every cell right now. The longing to sit with her for hours, the desire to trace a fingertip over the soft-looking skin of her cheek, the need to see her again tomorrow and the day after, and the week after.
“Maybe we should go on a proper date, then,” she says. “Not drinks at Lenny’s or an impromptu lunch or anything like that.”
“What do you suggest?” I ask. “I’d cook for you, but that would really not make for a great first date.”
“How about I cook for you?” Zoe offers. “Here, in your house. Unless you want my fifteen-year-old daughter hanging around.”
“That sounds good. Very good, actually.”
“Wonderful. When?”
“Hm.” I pretend to think, although my social calendar always looks the same. At least it did until Zoe came to town. “Saturday?” Or is that too soon?
“Saturday it is.” Her face lights up even more. “You do know what date Saturday is?”
“Oh, God no.” I shake my head in genuine despair.
Zoe sits there nodding triumphantly. “Valentine’s Day.”
“You’ll be exhausted from selling all that last-minute Valentine’s Day crap. I can’t possibly expect you to cook for me after that.”
“I’m a single mother to a teenager. I’m used to much more than that, Anna. Don’t worry about me.”
“Let me at least do the shopping. Send me a list of what you need and I’ll go to the store.”
“Deal.” She finishes her wine. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No, that’s all right.” The truth is that I’m mentally completely drained, although a surprisingly large part of me would like Zoe to stay, but she very much looks like she needs to be somewhere.
“I promised Brooklyn I’d help her with something for school and it’s getting late.”
“Of course. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“On Valentine’s Day.” Zoe gets up, a huge smile plastered across her face.
20
Zoe
The next day, as soon as I’m in the shop, I place an order for the book Anna recommended to me about women with Autism Spectrum Disorder. When prompted for the number of copies I’d like to order, I order five, because if Anna says it’s ‘very comprehensive’, it must be. I completely trust her on that. And I figure that at least a few people in Donovan Grove would think it important to find a book about autism in women in their local bookstore.
Or maybe I’m ordering five copies because I want to show Anna that I care, that I’m not scared off because of what she confided in me.
After Brooklyn went to bed, I spent the better part of the evening and night scouring the internet for information, because I want to know more. I want to know all the things Anna didn’t tell me about ASD—about her.
I’ve only just turned around the shop’s Open sign, when the door opens, and a familiar face walks in.
“Hi,” Cynthia greets me warmly. “Thank goodness you’re open already.”
“How can I help you?” I ask.
“Years of not being allowed to celebrate Valentine’s Day nearly made me forget that the big day is tomorrow. I need to get something for… John.” There’s definite hesitation in her voice when she pronounces her new partner’s name.
“What does he like?” I give her my warmest smile—the one that Eve always said would make me the most natural sales person in the world, after which she would kiss me
profusely, and keep me smiling until my cheeks hurt.
“The man sure loves to bake a cake.” She pats her hips. “I’ve gained quite a few pounds since we’ve started dating.”
“They look good on you,” I say.
Cynthia waves me off. Now that she’s here, I’d like to take the opportunity to extract a little information about Anna.
“When you weren’t ‘allowed’ to celebrate Valentine’s, was that because you were with Anna?” I try to make my voice sound light and innocent—as though my question doesn’t have an ulterior motive.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, of course she’s told you about that. I can just picture her storming in here and giving you the sermon about love being the last thing that should fall victim to capitalism. It just got her so incensed. I could barely believe it. Like she held a very personal grudge against it.” She shrugs. “Maybe she did.”
I step from behind the counter to close the distance between us, while hoping that no one else will come into the store.
“Anna has, um, told me some of the reasons you and she broke up.”
“She has?” She quirks up her eyebrows.
I nod. “We’ve been… getting to know each other better.”
“Oh, right. I see.” She narrows her eyes and studies my face. “Oh… Okay.” She chuckles nervously. “She told you about her diagnosis?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. In that case, she must really be very fond of you.”
Something inside me glows. “I’m quite fond of her as well,” I hear myself saying, even though Cynthia is the last person I should be saying that to.
She inhales quickly, then exhales slowly. “Look, Zoe, Anna and I are friendly now, but our break-up was… gruesome, in many ways. She can be her own worst enemy, but, maybe the fact that she has told you already means she’s changed. That she’s become more accepting of herself.”
“I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but yeah… we’re going on a date tomorrow.”
“No way! Not on Valentine’s Day,” Cynthia blurts out. “She would never.”