“I can work with this,” Roman said at last. They then went over how the food would be stored. Or, if it was a trigger that happened during preparation, Roman would cook it when Ezra was going to be out for a little while and make sure the house was well-ventilated so that the smell would clear before he returned. But even with their workarounds, it didn’t answer Roman’s larger question. He didn’t quite know how to approach it, and though he had his own suspicions as to Ezra’s peculiarities, he didn’t want to make any assumptions.
“Ezra, why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Roman wanted them to be able to trust each other and talk openly about any difficulties that might arise.
“I probably should have warned you about my sensitivity to smells and sounds, but I really wanted the job, and I didn’t want to give you any reason not to hire me. I really do want to be a good roommate and an exceptional housekeeper.”
Roman smiled. “I appreciate you saying that, Ezra. Is there anything else that you think I should know about you, as your roommate?”
Ezra’s eyes shifted away before landing on the tabletop again. “I’m worried that if I tell you, it might affect our arrangement.”
Roman wished that he could hug him right then. Being a black gay man from a predominantly white midwestern city meant that Roman understood what it felt like to be discriminated against, as well as how people tended to automatically cast him as a certain type of person, for better or worse. During high school, he kept being put in average classes when he was more than capable in his honors ones, and again in college, the administrators assumed that because he played football, he wouldn’t want a rigorous course load. He’d had to learn how to become his own advocate. He suspected he and Ezra might have that in common.
“I know that we don’t know each other that well,” Roman said, “but I’m pretty open-minded, and I try not to judge people without giving them a chance to prove their character one way or another. Whatever you tell me, I don’t think it will change the way I feel about you or your work ethic.”
Ezra deliberated a little while longer and then said, “I’m autistic.” He glanced up briefly as if to gauge Roman’s reaction.
Roman nodded, his suspicion confirmed. He’d had a couple of autistic friends—his lab partner in his high school chemistry class and one of their kickers at Michigan State. Both individuals had been methodical, driven, and bracingly honest, all characteristics that Roman had noticed about Ezra as well.
“Do you have a special interest?” Roman asked. His lab partner had been very much into military aircraft and weaponry, specifically those used in World War II, and his teammate had focused his energies on kicking footballs with incredible, unerring accuracy.
“I have a few,” Ezra offered.
“Oh yeah? What are they?”
“Cleaning because it’s practical. Space travel because it’s fascinating. Plants but mostly orchids, because they are beautiful and every species is unique. Also programming and strategy games. Those are my current special interests. I have several others that I’ve put aside for now.”
“Wasn’t Steve Jobs autistic?” Roman asked.
“Yes, and Nikola Tesla and Alan Turing, a codebreaker during World War II. He’s my programming idol. Did you know Steve Jobs wore black every day because he didn’t want to use up his brainpower on deciding what to wear?” Ezra smiled sheepishly. “I relate to that because I spend a lot of time choosing my clothing.”
“I didn’t know that about him or you either.”
“That’s why I like my uniform so much,” he said with a little smirk that made Roman wonder if he knew just how scandalous it was.
“Your uniform fits you very well,” Roman said appreciatively. A bit of flirting never hurt anyone.
“I know,” Ezra said with another grin that Roman found terribly tantalizing, so much so that he had to remind himself of the conversation at hand.
“Is there anything else I should know about you or your autism so that I can make you more comfortable while you’re living here?” Roman asked.
Ezra tilted his head and stared at the ceiling, clearly thinking about it. “I’m very particular about the way things are done.” Roman had noticed that already in his housekeeping routines. He nodded for him to continue. “I probably cry more than most people, but I’m not a baby.”
“I never thought that.”
“It makes me feel better afterward. I have a lot of stressors that build and build and then…” Ezra made an exploding gesture with his hands.
“That’s what I like about working out and playing football. Helps me get out my aggression.” Playing sports had always been a healthy outlet for Roman and a way to connect with others in a structured, disciplined way.
“I don’t enjoy working out very much,” Ezra admitted.
“You should come with me and Jay sometime. We’ll make it fun for you.”
Ezra smiled shyly. “You’ll laugh at how weak I am.”
Roman said with complete seriousness, “Ezra, I like to tease you, but I will never laughatyou, onlywithyou, okay?”
Ezra nodded and offered a small smile at the tacit agreement they had made.
“You know, when you talked yesterday about this not working out, it made me very worried,” Roman said, “because I don’t want you to leave.”
