“You are absolutely stunning, Lor,” Lucy squeals, holding her fists to her mouth as she rocks back and forth on her feet.
The woman in the mirror is me, just… modern?
Not that I don’t wear modern clothes, but I don’t bother myself with wearing up-to-date fashion. I wear whatIlike. Like anyone should. Now, I’m wearing black leggings (I don’t wear jeans as the material suffocates my soul) with a flowy white off-the-shoulder cotton shirt with my black sports bra strap poking through. Thankfully the fabric of the shirt is thick enough that the bra doesn’t show through. My hair is in its typical ponytail, and I’ll sport my white sneakers when I leave.
Athletic chic, Lucy called it.
If I wasn’t actually beyond comfortable in this outfit, I would toss it and put on my work clothes. I’m not trying to impress Finley tonight. I’m trying to show him why I am not the woman he thinks I am. Not good for him. Not queen material.
Queen.
My breath hitches thinking about that.
That reason alone is enough to say that nothing can happen between me and Finley. Even if I wanted it to. Which I don’t.
I look at my beige walls and plants in my window and my ordered desk holding my client files and laptop. Frizzle and Frannie lie on my bed. Lucy stands at my side in a cute little pink dress with a bow in her hair. I can’t leave this. My place. My people. My home.
It’s okay. After this evening, Finley will see that I am not the woman for him.
“Hmph,” is my only response to my sister.
She rolls her eyes as we stand in the same place, looking into the same mirror, like we did a mere week ago. Seven days. I’ve known Finley for seven days.
“This is too much too soon, Lucy. I can’t go on this outing. I—” My voice rises to a squeak, choking off my words. My nerves feel like livewire beneath my skin. The places where the ends of my hair meet my neck feel like needles. My brain fogs over as I desperately wish to strip my clothes off because everything feels like too much.
So I do.
I strip down to nothing and tie my hair into a bun. Lucy only gathers the clothing that I’ve thrown haphazardly around the room and folds them into a neat pile on the edge of my bed. I stand there, naked, shuddering. Not because of the cold but because the sensation of air on my skin is grating. I can’t sit on my bed or wrap a blanket around me because the fabric would push me further into panic. I can only stand there, wishing I could levitate so that my feet weren’t touchingthe hardwood floor.
“Lucy.” I choke on a sob. “Help me.”
It’s a lost plea. There’s nothing my twin can do. I have to wade through this on my own. I have no idea how long it will last. It’s been years since I’ve had an episode like this. Patterns keep me safe, and my patterns are broken. Finley has tornado-ed into my life and misplaced everything. He was supposed to love my sister. He was supposed to laugh off our switch and date my sister. He wasn’t supposed to want to date me.
“Breathe with me, Lorelei,” Lucy says, launching into breathing exercises. I follow her lead, breathing in, holding, and slowly releasing. She encourages me to flex my toes. To feel the hardwood beneath my feet. To point out specific objects in my room such as my aloe vera plant, the one bulb that’s out on my string of iridescent indoor lights, and the stuffed elephant that I clung to as a child. As she coaches me through breathing and grounding, she reminds me that I am safe within the confines of my room. That she is with me and everything is okay. She reminds me that even though I’m not well, I am okay. Safe. Secure.
Slowly, ever so slowly, my brain clears and my body relaxes. A chill definitely associated with the air conditioning wracks my body, and Lucy gestures to my clothes then turns around.
Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I am standing naked in my room with my twin. I’m not embarrassed that she sees my naked body, but I am embarrassed that I had that episode. But mostly, I’m unbelievably grateful for this woman who nestled me close in the womb at one point in our existence together.
“I love you, Lucy. Thank you,” I say through tears as I get dressed. The sensations are still lingering, but they are not takingover me. I continue to remind myself that I am safe. Secure. In control.Okay.
“I love you, you amazing, beautiful, wonderful woman.” Lucy opens her arms to ask for a hug, but I can’t risk it right now. I shake my head, so she holds her pinky out. Where most people would view this as a pinky promise, as I interlace my pinky with hers, we view this as a hug. To me, it’s just as meaningful as her real hug would be. “You can do this tonight. I know you can. You’re scared; I see that. But I truly don’t think you should let your fears stop you from what could be a lifetime of love and happiness. Finley really likes you, and I know it feels sudden. It is. The man is a male version of me—falling hard and fast. Sending you on that first date was my romance mistake, but it seems like God has His hand in this. Go on the outing, Lorelei.”
“I’m sorry. But did you just see what happened?” I gesture around the room and then up and down myself. “What if I’m triggered by something while I'm out with him?”
“We should tell him that you have autism and that you just experienced sensory overload. We can encourage him to be gentle with you, and I can instruct him on grounding exercises to help you.”
“But what if I strip again?”
“I doubt you would do that. You retain enough of your sense and are in control enough to wait until you are in private. You stripped so quickly just now because you were safe with me. Don’t discredit all the years of work you’ve put into understanding yourself and learning how to live with your autism.”
She’s saying all the right things, and I want to believe her. She’s right. I have done so much work, and I can still think even through the fog of sensory overload. I could at least make it to a restroom or the car or somewhere private. Finley’s mustang does have tinted windows, after all.
“But what if he runs when we tell him?”
Lucy smirks. “As you tell me when I overthink a date, if he runs away because of something out of your control, we will wiggle our fingers as he leaves saying ‘Bye, scared little boy.’”
I chuckle, and then I remember that I’m supposed to scare him away. That way my life will go back to normal and I can reestablish my routines. Maybe if he learns I’m autistic then he will go back to Korsa and find another woman to date withintentions.
