“But, at fourteen, in my sophomore year of high school, my science teacher, Mr. Grey, recognized the signs. One thing led to another, and the school counselor got involved, who then spoke to my parents.
“They took me to see a child psychologist who diagnosed me with a form of autism called Asperger’s. The medical community now uses the umbrella term neurodivergent, but back then, that’s what it was called. My parents blamed themselves for not seeing it, but the doctor assured them that they were not at fault, and neither was I.”
“I, I don’t know what to say. There are so many questions,” I said, wringing my hands on my lap. “What was it like for you when you found out?”
“With the diagnosis, I felt relief to know why I was this way. He explained that my brain wasn’t broken; I was just wired differently. He said my brain would process in a way that worked for me. He also said there would be times when it didn’t make sense to others, but it was important that I accepted it as normal.”
Leaning back in his chair, he pushed his fingers through his wavy hair.
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like, but I can see where it was a relief,” I offered, my own mind whirling like a tornado. I could see the distress this was causing him. “You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want to.”
“I appreciate that, but I want to finish telling you the part about college.”
When I nodded, he continued, “I spent the rest of high school trying to teach myself not to sound so…foreign. I thought that would at least keep me from being so different. I couldn’t do anything about the way my brain worked or my lack of social skills, but at least I could look and sound like everyone else.”
Tears sprang to my eyes as I compared my high school experience to his. He slid his arm away from my touch and said, “Anyway, in college, I decided to tell everyone my name was Nick to fit in. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of high school.
“It didn’t work, though, since everyone in college looked like they’d just stepped off the beach, but the clothes were a shield, I guess.” Looking away from me, he said, “Sorry, I hadn’t intended to tell you all of that extra backstory. Mostly, I wanted you to really understand how hard it is for me to deviate from the way I process things.”
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
“My intention back then, after our fallout, was to talk to you and tell you all this so you would understand me. I do regret thatit came out here at work during a heated discussion, but I’m glad you know.”
My mind was reeling, trying to catch up to everything he’d just confessed, while my heart silently broke. I couldn’t help but try to recall everything I’d ever said to him that could have been reminiscent of his experiences.
Looking down at the desk, my eyes watered. “I don’t know what else to say, but I’m sorry.”
“Listen, I didn’t tell you all that for pity.” His cautious words made my head snap up to catch his eye.
“Wait, no. I don’t pity you, Niko. Not at all. I’m just cataloging our conversations from years ago, and since you’ve been here in the office. I hate that I’ve treated you badly.”
“I appreciate that. But I’d very much like to move forward,” he said quietly.
“Me too, but I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Everyone deserves forgiveness.”
I hesitated to respond, so we sat in silence, unable to find the words to say more. It was a sweet moment that neither of us seemed to want to rush from.
“I’m glad that’s all behind us now,” he said after a few minutes. “And I’m proud to say I’ve gotten better with my communication.”
“So, I can text you now, and you’ll answer,” I teased.
He nodded and heaved a sigh. “There was a lot going on back then. I was under so much pressure in college to keep my scholarship that it caused undue stress and made me dig in deeper to my processes.”
Trying to lighten the mood again, I teased, “You had no reason to worry about doing well. Honestly, you’re the most intelligent person I know. Second only to me, that is.”
When he laughed, it carried a note of relief. “Well, there was thisoneannoying woman in class who was always trying to one-up me. She kept me on my toes.”
Smiling widely, I said, “Right back at you, Paris Geller.”
His smile dropped, as did his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s a Gilmore Girls reference. She pushed Rory to study harder throughout high school,” I explained. When he still looked lost, I added, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you with your pop-culture references.”
“As long as they don’t involve surf-related movies,” he answered cryptically. “I’ll tell you about Mike’s affinity for them another time.”
We were both quiet for several minutes, our thoughts dancing around the nature of our conversation.
