When we pass through, Mason is right there. He wasn’t coming in, but rather stopped, and I know he heard us, and that’s what halted him. I feel bad for a few seconds, knowing I judged him like he’s done to me so many times. But when I see the floppy blond curls on Max’s head as he slides from the booth, I forget all about Mason Street, because in my reality, he’s nothing.
“I’ll have him in bed by eight thirty. What time are you off?” Claire says, her eyes wide as she looks at me because she sees Mason standing right behind me. I ignore it all.
“I should be home by eleven. I just need to get Dad through the busy part. I’m on again tomorrow, so I don’t want to work too late tonight,” I say, bending down to try to look Max in the eyes.
This is always a struggle, but the therapists say it’s something I need to practice with him every chance I get. Max doesn’t make eye contact. He never has. It was the first clue we had that something was wrong. By Max’s one-year appointment, he wasn’t doing any of the things on the checklist for parents—no sounds, no emotional expressions, no pointing or acknowledging things around him at all. I was terrified he was blind, or deaf—or both. Adam and I fought about it—we fought a lot. I had to drag Adam with me to Max’s pediatrician, because he thought I was just overreacting.
But then our world was rocked. The doctor said the word autism, and the next day Adam was gone. I tried to find him for months, but eventually, I just gave up. A year later, I started to get money deposited into my account, and when I did a little investigating, I found out it was from him. Seems my father had a few words with his parents, and they forced Adam to do the right thing…financially.
The money’s nice, but when I’m piecing together my life with help from my dad and best friend, just so I can work as a waitress and take two classes a semester, I kind of wish Max had a father instead of some state-mandated child support stipend.
I can feel Mason’s stare behind me while I try to look Max in the eyes, and it makes me remember the sting on my hand from slapping him earlier tonight. I hate that he’s watching this, because I know he’ll have questions.
“Max, you need to look at me. I know you don’t want to, but you have to do it, just for a second, okay?” I say, my hands putting light pressure on both of his shoulders, just enough to keep Max still on his feet. He doesn’t like affection, so I try not to touch him too long. “Aunt Claire is going to take you home, and then she’ll go through your books with you, okay?”
Max nods yes once, so I know he heard me, but I really want him to use his words.
“I need to hear you. Can you say your words, Max?” I ask, my voice breaking a little, because I hate that I’m begging, and I hate that a stranger—at least in terms of my life—is witnessing this.
I look up at Claire, and she’s on the verge with me, hopeful, but sad all at the same time. She flicks her eyes to mine for a few seconds, and gestures with her chin to my right side. I reach in and pull out two candies.
“I need to hear your words, Max. And you need to make eye contact, just for a second. And then you can have two candies, even though it’s almost bedtime,” I say, and instantly Max’s pupils are square with mine. He holds my gaze for two full seconds, and then looks back down at the corner of the floor. “We need to read Planets. The page is marked,” and that’s all Max says.
I can’t help it that I cry a little—I do every time. Every little thing is such a huge milestone. Claire understands, and I’m so happy to see her smile when I stand back up and give her a hug. “Sure, pal. Auntie Claire will read Planets,” I say, also whispering, “Thank you,” in Claire’s ear.
“My name is Max,” I hear him say from below, already walking through the kitchen door.
“You’re right. Max, not pal. I’m sorry,” I say, laughing while I wipe my eyes with the tissue from my back pocket. Max doesn’t respond to anything but his name. Sometimes it’s a cute idiosyncrasy, but I worry that some day someone’s not going to find it as cute as I do. But I’ll worry about that hurdle another time. Today was a success—today, Max looked at me…for two whole seconds.
I don’t even acknowledge Mason when Max and Claire leave. Instead, I pick up my tray, and head to the back to bus a table that’s cleared. He doesn’t follow me, but he’s still hanging around. I can’t avoid the kitchen forever, so I finally pass him with a full tray and a bin of dirty glasses. I back through the door and he follows. Damn.