What do I do? What do I do? What the hell do I do?
My skin is buzzing and crawling, and I rock side to side in the seat of my car. When I was younger, I used to rock and shake all the time and it drove my family bananas. It’s been a long time since I felt this upset, frustrated, overwhelmed.
I think about calling my therapist, but what could she do to help? Dr. Morgan can’t take back my actions. She can’t reverse time.
I can’t let go of the vision of Eila’s eyes, stone cold and unforgiving. I don’t know where to go or whether I should even process the paperwork on my end. Who can I talk to? Who would tell me the right thing to do?
I sit twitching in my official City of Pittsburgh electric vehicle, trying to think. I cannot confide in a colleague right now. Some of them are clearly very skilled in talking to women but would very likely skip over my discomfort and chastise me for getting behind on my inspection schedule.
I let out a humming sound as I drive toward my mother’s house. I promised I’d take a look at her ceiling after work today and I don’t know how to explain why I’m too upset to do it. I park outside her house and tap on the door as I enter the living room. “Mom? It’s Ben.”
“Hey, Benny.” Mom rushes toward me from the kitchen and I brace myself. As per usual, she plants a too-soft touch on my cheek and kisses me with a loud “mwah” sound. I know I shouldn’t flinch at my mother’s touch. I know it upsets her. Today it all feels worse than normal, perhaps because I’m already squirming over what I did with Eila.
“Show me the ceiling,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice pleasant. I know my face looks strange when I force a smile, but I also know my mother likes me to appear happy. I guess I do mask my autism, sometimes. I catch the hurt in her eyes as Mom nods and walks toward the dining room.
“The landlord sent someone to paint, but it just looks worse than before.” She points at a large wet spot above the dining table.
I frown. “That’s water damage, Mom. You can’t paint over it. Did they find the source of the problem?”
She holds her hands up. “How should I know? I called about the weird spot. They sent a painter while I was at work.”
I consider my growing list of follow-up questions, trying to prioritize them so my mother won’t think I’m being stubborn and relentless. “Would you like me to call the landlord for you?” I lick my lips, not sure if I hope she says yes.
“Lord no, Benny. I can’t have you chewing him out. Next thing he’ll raise the rent again. Just tell me what to say and I’ll figure out how to say it nicely.”
I close my eyes. The landlord should send a plumber to address the obvious water leak. Why is this complicated? I don’t think I was meant to navigate the human world, with so many nuances and non-universal rules. Gray areas make me sweat.
I wish I could just summarize all this on a piece of paper, and then ask my mom for advice about the Eila situation. But I can’t figure out a way to do any of that without first telling my mom about my diagnoses. I haven’t prepared for that conversation at all.
No, I exhaust my family just trying to exist in a society where people say they’re going to get “a couple things,” and come out of the store with more than two items.
I make a list for my mom, sticking as close as I can to nouns and verbs only. She pats my hand, which feels a lot better than my face and I turn the ends of my mouth up in a small smile. Mom asks, “Did you eat? Do you want to stay for dinner?”
I shake my head and look out the front window at the Greenfield neighborhood where I’ve lived my entire life never quite fitting in. And then I remember there is someone in my life who sees nothing wrong with my rigid approach to the rules at work. Cash Brennan once called me to tip me off about a heap of code violations in his now-girlfriend’s commercial gym.
I know Cash knows about women, because his girlfriend lives with him, despite his efforts to uproot her business initiatives.
He texts me sometimes. I occasionally see him out working on projects. I can contact him. It’s better than boiling over in panicked frenzy alone.
I pat Mom’s hand with my other one and explain, “I’m meeting a friend, actually. I gotta go.”
Mom’s face brightens at the word friend as she hustles me out the door, promising to follow up with the landlord soon. I try not to think about the ceiling falling in before she gets around to making the call. I have more pressing worries right now…
I know it’s considered rude to show up to visit someone unannounced, but driving to Cash’s house is faster than pulling over to text him and wait for his response.
Please let him be home.
I park near his house, adjust the collar on my polo shirt, and knock on the door. It opens and my eyes sink down to where Cash’s young daughter stands, frowning. I know he has a child, but I always forget.
“Who are you?” She squints up at me but doesn’t open the door all the way.
“Hi. I, uh, know your dad. Is he home?”
“He is.” She doesn’t move and I smile, realizing I’ve done what others are always doing to me, tripping me up in social situations. I didn’t ask her the correct question, the one that would tell me what I want to know. I asked her the question society suggests should come first. I sort of like that she responded this way.
“Sorry. I meant to say, would you tell him Ben Barber is here to see him?”
The kid squints at me and shuts the door. I hear her running off through the house and, thirty seconds later, I’m staring into the perplexed, bearded face of Cash Brennan. He swings the door open and gestures for me to come inside.
“Long time, no see, man. You want something to drink?” He looks over his shoulder, where his daughter is dancing in the living room. “I’ve got apple juice, water, and some sort of fermented tea that Piper likes. I think it tastes like piss, but your mileage may vary.”
“My mileage?”
He shakes his head. “Never mind. Let me get you a water. Sit down.”
I pull out a chair in the dining room, noticing that the walls of Cash’s house are covered in kid drawings and family photographs. A lot of them look candid. My mom always tried to get me and my sister in matching outfits in the studio at JCPenney. Then the bright lights would pound down on me, and the photographer would say weird, confusing things to coax me to smile and it wouldn’t work. I always winced. And later, my mother would look at the pictures and cry.
I glance at Cash, approaching with a glass of water and his signature scowl. Some people just have frowning faces. “Thank you.” I reach for the glass and take a hesitant sip. I can always taste it if someone is using ice from an ice maker in their freezer. It just tastes…salty or something. I hate it.
But Cash’s cubes appear homemade, from a tray. The water is flavorless and perfect. I gulp some down and he slides a coaster toward me. I arch a brow, impressed.
“Sooo…” he pauses, looks at me and sighs. “What’s up, dude? You don’t usually drop by like this.”
I nod and drag a hand down my cheek. My stubble is coming in. I’ll need to shave again when I get home. Some days it seems to grow faster than others. Or I’m just more aware of it. “I need advice.”
Just then the back door opens, and Piper sings her way into the kitchen. “Hello, family! Is everyone ready to smell like garlic? ‘Cause I’m making falafel and—oh. Ben?”
My mouth works up and down as the words leave me. Cash gestures at me with his water glass. “Ben needs advice. He was about to explain.”
Cash’s daughter runs through the room and crashes into Piper, who scoops her up in a jiggly hug before plunking her back on the ground. I’m always surprised when people enjoy that kind of thing. I hated hugs as a kid. But maybe I just hated when adults gave them to me with no advanced notice. Ruby—that’s her name!—seemed to expect that embrace and looked forward to it.
“Sorry, Ben. Go on.” Piper sits in the chair next to Cash and drapes her body over his side. It looks uncomfortable. Neither of them seems to think so. I clear my throat.
“I met the one.”
They stare, unblinking.
“A woman. She’s the one for me. End game.”
Cash’s eyes widen and his red brows disappear up under his hair. “That’s great, Ben. What’s your move? How can we help?”
I describe seeing her at the bar, my fascination with her hair, the way she insisted I buy her a beer. How I sent the city trash truck to help her haul garbage from the lot next door.
“She sounds fascinating,” Piper says, shifting in her seat to lean her chin on her elbows on the table. Cash wraps a hairy arm around her back, his palm rubbing slow circles, like he’s not even conscious of doing so. “What happened next?”
I roll my lips inside my mouth and bite down on them, a bad habit I thought I’d broken. I release them with a click. “I wrote her a citation for trespassing on the vacant lot next to her house.”
Cash groans. Piper’s arms slowly sink to the table and her jaw slackens. “I know. I know. That’s why I’m here. I still have the citation.” I pull it from the pocket of my polo shirt. “I haven’t filed it yet. But I have to. I’m a city inspector and she’s breaking all kinds of rules.”
Cash squints at me as I list her transgressions. “I crushed her dreams instead of wooing her and now she hates me. And I’d like to fix it if it’s at all possible.”
He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know this is going to sound hypocritical of me, since I actually sent you on purpose to shut down Piper’s business.” And it’s true that he did that. He called me and told me about her operating a business in a property that was horrifically unsafe, and I had no choice but to act.
Piper punches Cash in the arm and he doesn’t react. “I just need you to know, Ben, that this is not a great strategy to win over the one.” He pulls out his fingers to make air quotes and I wish I hadn’t said that about Eila.
It’s statistically improbable that each person should have a designated, predetermined soul mate. The chances that I’d find mine in the same city seem so outlandish. And yet…Eila captivates me. “Well, what do I do? Do either of you have advice?”
Piper leans forward and snatches the citation from my fingers and starts ripping it up. My heart races and I lean forward to grab the pieces, but Cash sweeps them off the table and onto the floor. Piper points a finger at me. “First, you are not citing her for trespassing. It’s bad enough you shut down her garden without talking to her more about it. Tell me and Cash the main problems with her trespassing. There has to be a way she can plant stuff there if that’s what makes her happy.”
“Of course there’s a way. There’s a whole process she didn’t follow, paperwork she didn’t fill out, permits she didn’t apply for…”
I drift off as Cash and Piper stare at one another and shake their heads. I think I see Cash roll his eyes. “Pipes, do we have ink in the printer?” She nods and Cash turns to face me, sighing. “Ben, come with me to my office.”