I finally announce, “I’m on the spectrum, too.” As much as I don’t like to share what I consider my weaknesses, I feel like it’s okay to do with another of my kind.
Vivie nods her head. “Thomas told me.” Then she seems to catch herself. “But I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
I laugh. “You can tell me. I already know.”
She appreciates my attempt at humor. Then she turns serious. “I haven’t had trouble like today since I was a kid. I’m pretty disappointed in myself.”
“You should be more upset with that baby and the pilot who couldn’t maneuver around the bumps.”
Vivienne asks, “Do you travel a lot?”
“Almost never,” I tell her.
“Do you feel like you’re missing out?”
“All the time. But that’s our burden, isn’t it? We’ve been taught to believe everyone else is normal and we’re not. So, if we can’t do the things they do with ease, we’re made to feel like we’re on the outside.”
“I do really well at home,” Vivienne says. “I’ve got my routine and all my coping mechanisms in place. If I get overstimulated, I know where to go and what to do. But being thirty thousand feet in the air somehow hinders my ability to self-soothe.”
“I probably would have locked myself in the bathroom,” I tell her.
“That’s not allowed,” Vivienne says. “I researched it and if you do that they arrest you when you get off the plane.”
I think about that for a minute before deciding, “It might be worth it.”
Vivienne turns to me and studies my face. “I like you, Finley. I think we should be friends.”
My heart rate picks up speed. That’s not something I hear every day. “I’d like to be your friend, Vivie.” Although, I’m not sure how that’s going to work with my being at war with her brother. “Should we go inside?” I ask.
“I suppose so.” Looking at her watch, she adds, “I’ve been sleeping for a while.”
I get out of the car first and then I reach out to help Vivienne. The last time she stood up she was kind of woozy. Then I tuck Thomas’s calendar securely under my arm before leading theway up to the porch. Stopping at the front door, I give it a quiet knock.
“They’ll never hear that,” Vivienne says. She proceeds to bang on it like she’s trying to break it down.
A very classy-looking woman in a knit pantsuit opens the door. This must be Thomas’s mother. Under different circumstances I might be a little afraid of her. But when she sees us, she immediately wraps her daughter in her arms and asks, “How are you, honey? Feeling any better?”
“I am,” Vivienne tells her before pulling out of her embrace. Not all autistic people like to be touched and I’m wondering if she’s one of them.
A good-looking older man, who looks an awful lot like Thomas, walks over and repeats his wife’s inquiry and embrace of his daughter. She lets him hug her but seems relieved when he releases her.
The couple quickly turns to me, and Thomas’s mom asks, “Who are you?”
I suddenly feel like I’m intruding and I don’t quite know how to answer. Luckily, Vivie does it for me. “She’s a friend of Thomas’s.”
His mom cocks her head to the side and narrows her gaze like she’s inspecting me for fleas, before saying, “I’m Morgan.” Then she gestures toward her husband. “This is Jason.”
“I’m Finley,” I tell them. “I think maybe now isn’t the best time for me to be here.”
It looks like Morgan is about to agree but then Vivienne takes my arm and declares, “It’s the perfect time.” She looks at her parents and adds, “Finley and I have had a nice chat in the car. We’re friends now, too.”
Apparently an endorsement from their daughter is all it takes to be welcomed into the fold. Morgan announces, “We’re drinking vodka and eating cheese. Can I get you something?”
“No to the vodka and yes to the cheese,” I tell her, while following her into the living room.
Thomas walks in moments later and calls out, “Vivie!” He runs to her side and hugs her. He holds on longer than his parents, which his sister seems to appreciate this time.
“Did Mom and Dad tell you?” she asks.
