He’d reply with pics of their dog, Mildred.
It was fun and sweet. There was no pressure, no stress. Just cute animals and smiles.
What was not to like about that?
I had called him on Friday night when I got home. We’d ended up talking for a long while, about books and movies. He lovedThe Wizard of Oz, even though the wicked witch and her flying monkeys had scared him as a boy. He never did understand old Elvis movies, even though his mom loved them. He loved DC comics and Marvel movies, and even though he loved history books and documentaries, hehated war movies—refused to watch them—even though his dad enjoyed them.
I told him I was a sucker for black-and-white romance movies, circa the 1940s with Humphrey Bogart, Rita Hayworth, Cary Grant, and Katharine Hepburn.
He preferred chocolate cake over vanilla, and his favorite candy was peanut M&Ms.
He wore polar fleece sweaters and not the knitted kind because knits clung to him and the texture was wrong, and he couldn’t stand how they felt on his skin.
I told him that was one hundred percent relatable, and then we discussed the woes of ill-fitting socks.
“I don’t know why people think he’s a bit weird,” I told Ro. “Because I totally understand what he means.”
We were standing in my bedroom and I was up to sweater number four in the outfit check.
She hummed.
“What’s that supposed to mean? There’s nothing worse when your clothes feel weird. What do you think of this one?” I fixed the collar. “I think the blue’s a better choice. Blue is a safe, calm color. If I want his parents to like me... You know they’ve done studies on how the color of clothing affects your perception of that person, especially with first impressions. Politicians and the color of their neckties, for example.”
“Well, I kinda liked the pink,” she said. “But you’re right. The blue is good. Very passive and smart.”
I pulled at the collar again. “It feels kinda scratchy. Did the detergent people change their recipe?” Then the sleeve felt weird, and I needed to take it off.
Immediately.
I tossed it onto the pile and pulled the gray sweater out from the bottom. It had been sweater number one in today’s fit check, but I wasn’t sold on it at first, because Iwasn’t sure monochrome was the look I was going for. But once I had it on again, it felt so much better.
“Okay, this is it.” I looked into the mirror, readjusted the sweater around my arms and had to pull at it a bit... “No. Nope.” I pulled it off and tossed it onto the pile. “What the hell?”
Ro handed me the pink one. I pulled it on and checked myself in the mirror, and doing an all-over torso check, there wasn’t anything bothering me. As per usual, she was right. It possibly was the better choice.
“So, Win,” she said, using that tone again. The one where she was about to drop another truth bomb.
“Just say it.”
“Well, do you think there’s a reason why you and Deacon click?”
I turned to face her. “What?”
“And a reason why some clothes feel weird, and why you’ll have a meltdown and have to pull your shoe off, regardless of where we are, if your sock feels weird? And why you don’t like loud crowded spaces, or why you need to decompress in silence after a busy day, or?—”
“Is there a point to this character assassination or are we doing this for fun?”
She chuckled and tilted her head. “Darling, you know I love you.”
“Oh god. What is it? What’s wrong? I thought you liked the pink.”
“I do. The pink sweater is the correct choice. I’m just saying that you and Deacon have a lot in common, and you know, birds of a feather and all that.”
I stared at her. “Are you trying to say you think I’m neurodivergent?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But neurodivergence is a broad spectrum.”
“You think I’m neurodivergent,” I said. It wasn’t a question, because that was one hundred percent what she was implying.
