White hot pain slices through my chest, far more excruciating than any time I had to listen to Ollie pounding another woman on the other side of the wall.
“Ollie?” I whisper, not caring that a door separates us.
“Your belongings have been returned to your condo,” he informs me. “I do not wish to see you again.”
When Oliver makes up his mind about something, nothing and no one can stop him.
I burst into tears.
Mrs. Cucinelli wraps me in her arms and pets my hair. “Ssh. Oh, no. Don’t cry, precious girl. He might’ve confused who was saying what back at the house because he wasn’t able to see who was speaking. You’re still going to replace me as the number one woman in his life. Just let me go in alone and fix it first.”
I don’t have any choice.
He never wants to see me again.
A knock on my door sends me leaping from my puddle of misery on my couch. It’s not who I hoped for.
“Everything okay?”
“Do I look okay, Mr. Hooper?” It’s mean, but really. My eyes have to be practically swollen shut. There’s undoubtedly snot dripping from my nose, and I have the worst case of sobbing induced hiccups of my entire life.
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “I couldn’t help but overhear what happened. I was out in my yard raking leaves. Thought I’d come over and check on you since it’s been hours since his mom went in there.”
I choke out a laugh that ends in another sob. “There are a lot more leaves than there were a few weeks ago. Maybe you could go back out and continue eavesdropping then report back to me.”
He smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “I don’t need to be nosey to know what’s going on here. Talked to Oliver about it a few weeks ago. I’m guessing he didn’t take my advice.”
Curiosity overrides my better judgment. Mr. Hooper might still be a secret vampire, but I open my door wider and gesture for him to come in. “Hopefully, you have some advice for me, too, because I’m fresh out of ideas, and I’ve had several hours to come up with something.”
He steps inside with his hands still in his pockets and glances around at my living space for a few moments in silence. “Nice place.”
“It’s exactly the same as yours.”
He smiles again. “Same architecture, different ambiance.”
“I’m sure there are different décor preferences between a man and a woman,” I agree.
He nods. “Just like there are different thought patterns between a normie and an autie.”
I snap my gaze to Mr. Hooper. Even though they’re swollen beyond all belief, I feel my eyes narrow. “What did you just call him?”
He shrugs. “He’s autistic. You’re not.”
I’ve had more than enough of people insulting Ollie today. I open my front door again. “Gee, thanks for the advice. Now, get out.”
“You really do love that man, don’t you?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” I snap.
My infuriating neighbor has the audacity to sit on my couch instead of leaving as asked. He pats the spot I’ve obviously been wallowing in all afternoon. “Good. Then I don’t have to feel guilty about betraying his confidence.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I slam my door shut and stomp to my pile of blankets.
Mr. Hooper leans toward me on the couch.
I lean back.
“He doesn’t think you know he’s autistic, and I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess he’s embarrassed to discover you’ve known all along.”
I blink. Blink some more. “What?”
Mr. Hooper relaxes on my couch. “Yep. He’s been operating under the assumption that you’ve been his best friend for so many years because you have no idea he’s autistic.”
“That makes absolutely no sense!” I yelp. “Of course, I know! How could I not know?”
“Did he ever tell you himself?”
“Well…no.”
“Did anyone ever specifically refer to him as autistic when he was around to hear it?”
I can’t think of a situation like that, no matter how far back in my memories I go. “I guess not.”
“There you have it.” Mr. Hooper glances at me. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how literal and visual their minds are.”
I stare at him with building suspicion. “How do you know how literal and visual autistic minds are?”
“My son is autistic,” he answers.
Mr. Hooper moved in as a single man over a month ago. In all the time I’ve spent watching him meticulously groom his postage-stamp sized yard, I have never seen a woman or a younger man coming or going from his residence.
He nods like he’s guessing my silent questions. “We don’t have much of a relationship. Not since my wife died of cancer a few months back. I was the tough-love parent, pushing Jack to go outside his comfort zone. My wife was the one who gave him a soft place to land. Once she died, we didn’t have a buffer zone to meet in the middle anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. I don’t know what else to say.
“I am, too.”
We stare at each other in silence for a bit.
“Maybe he’s just waiting for you to reach out,” I suggest. “Have you called him? Texted him?”
“Uh, well…” Mr. Hooper scratches the back of his neck. “No.”
“What?” I screech. “Why not?”
“I figure he’ll come to me when he’s ready, or when he needs me.”
“That’s a stupid assumption,” I spit.
He doesn’t take any offense. He grins. “I’m going to let you in on another little secret. Men are absolutely stupid. Most times, we have too much pride for our own good.”
I squint and replay his words. “You’ve literally just built a case for why you should be the one to reach out to your son instead of waiting for him to do it.”
Mr. Hooper shakes his head. “I might have pushed him harder than his mother, but I worked hard to understand him, too. Jack needs time to grieve alone. Because he’s a proud man like his father, he doesn’t want me to see his weakness. Just like Oliver doesn’t want you to see his.”
I point at Mr. Hooper, my hand actually shaking from rage. “Autism is not a weakness!”
He raises his eyebrows. “Most people think it is.”
“Well, I don’t!”
“Well, he does,” Mr. Hooper counters.
“Well, that’s stupid!”
“Doesn’t matter if you think it’s stupid,” Mr. Hooper insists. “You know very well autistic people have the same feelings and emotions as anyone else. They’re not robots. Oliver has worked hard to try to fit in with a society that’s taught him it’s a man’s job to be the provider, to be the strong one in a family, not the weak link.”
I might actually punch this dude. “He’s not a weak link!”
“Again, it doesn’t matter what the reality of the situation is. Oliver feels the way he feels.” Mr. Hooper sighs. “Let me explain it a different way. Are you a Victoria’s Secret model?”