“I’ve lived here for three years,” Finley tells her before adding, “Elk Lake has surprisingly good Chinese food. I like the kung pao shrimp.”
My family immediately jumps on board with the idea and I place the order. “Use my name,” Finley says. “They’ll give us more fortune cookies that way.”
“You’re a regular, huh?” my dad asks with a smile on his face.
“Sunday night is kung pao night,” Finley responds.
We continue to nibble on our snacks while we wait for our food delivery. My mom has eaten more cheese in one sitting thanshe’s probably had in the last ten years combined. While I know she’s going to regret it in the morning, she’s currently enjoying herself. She asks Finley, “How do you and Thomas know each other?”
Finley side-eyes me, seemingly unsure of how to respond. So, I say, “The hospital hired Finley to take my picture for their wall of fame.”
“You’re a photographer?” my dad asks excitedly. “Do you enjoy it?”
“I love it,” she tells him. A telltale blush comes to her face. I’m guessing she’s remembering our sessions together.
“What’s your favorite part?” my mom wants to know.
Finley starts to run her fingers back and forth across the arm of her chair. That’s when I notice she’s also petting the hem of her sweater with her other hand.Oh, yeah, she’s nervous.“I love the babies,” she says. “They’re perfect in every way.”
“She also has a booming business taking boudoir photos for couples,” I tell them.
My mother’s eyes narrow critically. “Surely that can’t be lucrative.”
“It really is,” Finley tells her. “So much so I’ve recently expanded the size of my studio.”
My mom seems skeptical. “What kind of pictures constitute boudoir shots?”
Finley opens her phone and types something in before handing it to my mom. “These are from my website,” she tells her.
My mom scrolls through the phone slowly. “These are actually quite tasteful.”
Finley nods her head at the compliment before explaining, “It’s a very intimate kind of session. People want to express their love for each other in a visual way so they can look at it from the outside.”
Vivie announces, “You’ve just given me a great idea for a painting.”
“What’s that?” Finley asks.
My sister replies, “I was thinking it would be fun to paint an ordinary couple looking into a mirror and have their reflection be their fantasy.” She pauses for a moment before saying, “In fact, you know what? I’d like to paint an elderly couple and have the mirror image be of when they were young and first in love.”
“Oh, Vivie,” Morgan says. “I love that idea! You could do a whole series like that.”
“I could,” my sister says. At this point she sort of glazes over and remains quiet, which means she’s deep in thought. I love when this happens because I know Vivie is in her happy place, mentally traveling to other worlds.
Finley stares at her, too. Then she announces, “A lot of autistic people are very creative.”
My parents both turn and look at her. I’m not sure what they’re thinking, so I say, “That’s very true.” The room goes unnaturally silent after that.
My mom finally asks, “Are you on the spectrum too, Finley?”
Finley surprises me by saying, “I am.” Then she adds, “It’s been a journey for sure.”
My dad nods his head in agreement. “Have you known your whole life?” he asks her.
“I found out in high school,” Finley tells them.
Vivienne finally joins the conversation again and says, “It’s nice to have a friend who knows what my life is like.”
Finley continues to tug at her sweater. “Do you have a lot of friends, Vivienne?”
