The Rosie Result (Don Tillman, #3)

by Graeme Simsion

would have liked more sex, but the frequency was above the mean for our ages and relationship duration, and infinitely better than it had been prior to meeting Rosie.

In the adult world, an uneven distribution of abilities is more valuable than mediocrity at everything. It is irrelevant to me whether or not my doctor is adept at hitting a ball with a stick—or finding her way to work without looking at street signs—but I would like her to be as proficient as possible in the practice of medicine. Conversely, at school, being other than unobtrusively average in every area (with the exception of sports) is a distinct disadvantage. But in New York, at his new school, Hudson’s teachers and classmates appeared to accept his personal configuration.

“You know, When you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s hard to remember that your original intention was to drain the swamp.” Rabbit laughed. “Busy.” It seemed a particularly obtuse way of expressing a state that could be described unambiguously in a single word. I wondered how effectively he communicated with eleven-yearolds.

“But first things first,” said the principal, giving him a look which I interpreted as annoyance. She had delivered good news, then Neil had interrupted with bad news, and now she would need to deliver two pieces of good news to complete the first bad-news sandwich and begin the second, before she could deliver her own bad news. She seemed to be struggling to think of sufficient good news, as I frequently did when applying the formula, and moved directly to the bad news.

When men are the majority, they make the rules; when they’re a minority they get special treatment.” “Do I get to argue, or will that interrupt the briefing?”

There were two outcomes of the event that were continuing to affect my life. I’d had no further contact with Gene. And my position on social skills had changed. I had previously regarded them as unimportant, and still considered them overvalued, but I had to accept that in this case my ineptness had caused terrible damage. Gene and Lydia had generously invited me to celebrate an important moment in their lives. I had responded by destroying their relationship and preventing my best friend from making a new start.

“Okay,” said Liz, “I’m guessing you’re neurotypical. I know Julie is. I know Margot is. And we autistics aren’t always great with the non-verbal stuff. What we just saw was the neurotypicals using their secret language … like, ‘Hey, do you want to take the d-o-g for a w-a-l-k?’ They used it to send a warning about one of us. To shut us down. To oppress us.” She looked directly at me: “Anyway, you had a question?” “Correct, but what you said was so spectacular that I may have forgotten it.” The audience laughed, but I sensed in a positive way.

“Like the civil-rights movement in the sixties. Which side are you on?” “Neither. I consider tribalism one of the worst aspects of human behavior. A major contributor to confirmation bias, lack of innovation in public policy, war …”

I was facing a complex problem with too much information to process and not enough to support an evidence-based decision. I had learned that this was to be expected in all situations involving human interaction.

Fortunately, I could rely on my friends: a group of people from diverse backgrounds who cared about my welfare, yet were sufficiently detached that they would not be overwhelmed by emotions. They had helped me find the perfect partner, prepare for fatherhood, and save my marriage.

“People don’t always mention their motivations. They don’t always know them. That’s why I have a job.”

“I suppose that’s it,” said George. “I just had to get through school. But I’ll tell you, if I knew then what I know now …” Dave said something, but I didn’t notice. George had given me the solution to the problem. To all the problems.

George’s insight was critical to finding the solution to my five problems. But multiple people had contributed. Phil: Keep the psychologists out of it. Claudia: The school cannot be relied upon for psychological expertise. Dave: Do not allow Hudson to be labeled. Laszlo: A label is likely to result in social isolation. “Rabbit” Warren: Hudson requires life skills. My father: Who’s going to teach him to ride a bike? Isaac Esler: Hudson’s life has parallels with your own. Allannah: You and Hudson are peas in a pod. Liz the Activist: The socially marginalized need to support each other. Sonia: You need to spend more time with your son. Margot the Autism Mom: Twenty-five hours a week. We did whatever was needed. And Rosie, of course: Welcome to what women have been doing forever.

She drank the remains of the Last Word. “Maybe this bar will work, maybe it won’t, but something had to change. You’ve made the right call.” As I calculated the quantities of tequila and Cointreau required to complement the thirty-five milliliters of surplus lime juice, I reviewed Rosie’s words. I had almost missed the biggest problem of all.

What else? Times had changed. My knowledge of BASIC and transistors and how to fix a broken cassette tape was obsolete. Motor vehicles and electronic appliances were too complex or inaccessible or uneconomic for amateur repairers. Hudson would never need to read a street atlas or roll a cigarette.

high-quality drinks, where everything worked efficiently, without the need to wave for attention, perform social rituals with staff, negotiate drink orders and bills, calculate tips, check change: no interaction at all, except with your drinking companions. Such company being optional. A variety of entertainment and informative content on big screens, but no superfluous noise or lighting or decoration. World’s best bar.