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And I knew something was different. Something was wrong. Her wide blue-green eyes weren’t sparkling and there were half-moon bruises beneath them. Her normally glowing skin was pale, no rosy flush in her cheeks. Two deep dimples that flash every time she smiles were nowhere to be seen. She was hurting. And I didn’t want her to hurt anymore. I don’t want her to hurt ever.
“Just because you experience your emotions differently from other people, Axel, doesn’t mean that experience isn’t valid, or that someone can’t love you for it. With the right person, love is possible for any of us who want it.”
“You know how we are. We have this Gilmore Girls, Lorelai and Rory love. Me, juggling too much, with complicated, albeit well-meaning, bougie parents. You, kicking ass at your dream and forging your own path. We lean on each other hard and eat shitty food together and talk too much and hug like we’re kids instead of full-grown
women, with reckless, bone-squishing abandon.”
It’s being human. This is existence. This is friendship. We love each other. We take turns holding each other up.”
We’re very different people, and neurodivergence is unique from person to person, but there were enough signs that I should have seen before she was in such a rough place.
“That’s a good point. I never really thought of it that way. I suppose it’s just our dynamic. I learned to hide my problems from my mom, because she was miserable enough as it was, and I was supposed to be her happiness. But…I don’t think that’s very healthy.”
And suddenly I am keenly aware that most of the people here use this house for one primary reason: A shit ton of sex. I groan and scrub my face. Right. I’m going to keep telling myself my childhood home away from home is an innocent place that brings us together for wholesome, familial love reasons. Not that I just spent months and the majority of an inheritance I only got access to by marrying the woman I was in lust with, then fell in love
