28. Winter

TWENTY-EIGHT

WINTER

A week later, August and I are firmly settled into a new routine. I'm grateful he's been able to manage the transition well.

Christmas sucked. I spent the entire day alone. Veronica wanted to stay behind with me, but I begged her to go to the Poconos with James as planned. She needed that alone time with her husband, and I've derailed too many of their plans over the years.

I can handle this myself.

So I spent the day on my sofa watching Last Holiday and The Preacher's Wife and sobbing into Kitty's fur until my eyes seared from my tears.

I cried again when I opened my door to take out the trash and learned that Hunter still had security sitting outside my apartment. Further adding to my devastation, Hunter had a gift delivered to me via the security. When the beefy man handed it to me, I chucked it into my apartment and demanded they leave. The man simply shrugged and went back to scrolling through his phone. His refusal to listen to me brought a new wave of frustrated rage-tears to my eyes.

I told Alexa to play "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Moriss ette on repeat until my neighbor started banging on my door to turn it down.

I made it to 1 a.m. before caving and opening Hunter's gift. He got me jewelry, but of course he didn't get me a diamond bracelet like any normal person. He selected a handcrafted white gold ring. Dark musgravite stones surround a large color-changing alexandrite . A ridiculously expensive and thoughtful gift, knowing the meanings of the two stones: musgravite for boundless joy and alexandrite for balance between the spiritual and physical worlds.

Now I sit at the gates of Amelia Manor in the car Veronica's coordinated for me using James' account. The driver, a serious-faced man from Romania, hasn't spoken to me for the entire ride. I appreciate his silence.

I'm outside. Ready?

I tap my fingers on my glossy black phone case until August replies two minutes later.

Yes.

He rolls down the drive in the grounds cart with Rex by his side.

We drive to a small private airfield and head inside August's hangar. Hunter apparently purchased it last summer, but August has just recently decided to use it for storing and working on all his RC stuff.

The small hangar is a teenage boy's dream. August decked the place out with shelves and tables to work on the dozens of remote-controlled aircraft he owns. He has a sofa and chairs, and posters on the walls of characters I vaguely remember from the games he's introduced me to. A fridge, microwave, and string lights complete the scene.

"I need to charge these batteries," August says, already fiddli ng with his tools. "Please pull the chairs and the heater to the edge of the hangar."

It seems like August isn't bothered by the bitter temperatures at all, but I feel like my fingers are a few minutes away from frostbite.

I do what he asks, and once done, I beeline for a chair and thank the heavens for the powerful space heater next to my seat, protecting me from the freezing temperatures. Kitty seeks my body heat beneath the several layers of clothing, and I hold his trembling body close.

More hangars spot the far side of the airstrip, and three bays down I see a couple working on a small two-seater airplane.

Besides the couple, our driver, and Rex, August and I are the only people here. The solitude feels nice.

It's cold, but bright today. Someone cleared the airfield of all the snow that's accumulated over the last forty-eight hours, and August stands at the opening of the hangar, preparing his electric RC helicopter for flight.

Before the holiday, August told me about discovering RC helicopters when he was a young kid before he could use AAC to communicate.

"I used to watch YouTube videos about all kinds of stuff. I didn't understand how you could hold a helicopter in your hand and make it fly," he told me.

Today, he performs tricks in the air, flipping the helicopter in smooth circles and racing at top speed. After fifteen minutes, he sits next to me, assessing his batteries.

His nose is red, and the beanie he wears sits haphazardly on top of his head. He doesn't wear gloves because he hates the feeling, he says. I bet his fingers are nearly frozen.

I'm under two blankets, a space heater, and three layers of clothing including my wool coat, hat, and scarf, and I'm still shivering.

Or maybe that chill is coming from my bleeding soul .

"How have you been feeling this last week, August?" I perch my sunglasses on my face under the guise of protecting them from snow blindness.

He shrugs. "It has been weird not having you in the house. But I like going places with you. I spend a lot of time in my room, but I like doing things."

"A social butterfly, are you?" I tease. He looks in my direction with an expression I've come to understand is confusion.

"I have many friends," he says.

Seeing an opening to dive deeper, I say, "Tell me more about them."

He taps his cheek a few times. "I have my RC group. There are four of us, and we met at an Autism meetup for kids that mom's church held."

"Your mom went to church?" I ask.

"Yes, she did. She would go to church a lot, actually. Especially in the last year before she died."

"Did you go with her to church?"

"No. I do not believe in God. It is a logical impracticality."

"Very interesting. Care to share more about that?"

"No."

I throw my hands up. "Fair enough. So you have your RC friends. You have others?"

I wait for him to formulate his response. "Yes, there are my gamer friends and my schoolmates." He shakes his hand, flicking his fingers back and forth. "I have not spoken with them in a very long time now that I do not go to school anymore."

I think about his schooling. And mine too, for that matter.

"Have you asked your dad about going back to school?"

His eyes shift toward me, then back out toward the airstrip. He rocks gently from side to side. "Hunter and I do not communicate."

"Why? You both were making so much progress."

His body stills, and he looks in my direction for a long minute . "I do not like what he did to you. I know about him being engaged. I am not dumb."

My cheeks heat.

"August…" I don't know what else to say. I'd promised myself that I'd keep my world with August and my world with Hunter separate. It's better for everyone involved.

"You appear sad."

I take my glasses off and lean forward to talk with him.

"I won't insult your intelligence by lying or hiding things from you. Your father and I are no longer together. But please believe me when I say I'm okay. I wish him and his fiancée well."

He doesn't say anything. He puts his tablet in his lap, and we sit for several long minutes. "Their engagement party is tomorrow," he says.

I try to fight the tears welling up in my throat, and I put my glasses back on in case I embarrass myself and start crying.

"Oh?" I say. "New Year's Eve. Nice. How do you feel about that?"

He rolls his eyes. I'm unsure if he's rolling them at me or at them.

"I hate it. I do not want to be around a crowd of people, and I do not want to go because I know how they will treat me."

I tilt my head to the side. "They? Who is ‘they,' August?"

"The guests. They will either treat me like a baby or talk at me slowly as if I cannot comprehend their speech. Also, people are loud or smell offensive. It is likely the lights will be too bright. It is stressful. When I get stressed, I cannot control my body sometimes, even if I really want my body to be calm."

He looks at me earnestly now.

He taps his cheek again. "Will you come with me, Winter? "

My initial instinct is to scream no. It's to wail and stomp my foot at the unfairness of it all.

"I can't do that, August. That would be really inappropriate for me to do."

He snorts, and I know he's directing that one at me.

"Was dating Hunter not inappropriate?"

I rear back and put my hand on my chest. "I'm insulted," I say. I smile to let him know I'm being sarcastic. I'm not sure he picks up on it, so I add, "I'm joking."

He shrugs.

"Really though, August, that wouldn't be a good idea."

He gets up from his chair and paces a few steps away from our seats. A few minutes later, after tapping his cheek and flicking his wrist several times, he returns to his chair and grabs his forgotten tablet.

"I do not feel safe going alone. I really need you, Winter. Aunt Ella will be there, but she will also be busy. My grandfather will be there." He holds his tablet to his chest, his head downcast.

I breathe in deeply, analyzing the situation. I know that it will be gut-wrenching if I go to the party. I know I'm not invited. I know I'm not wanted.

And I also know that—even with Ella running interference—for August, attending a party like this one is torture. He's expected to go, but who will he lean on while he's there?

I think about all the tools for managing sensory assault that we've established over the past few weeks. Taking those brand-new skills for a test drive in a high-stress situation isn't the best move.

As a practitioner, I know that's only asking for overwhelming distress.

"Okay, August. I'll go. I know you don't want to be there, so let's limit this to thirty minutes tops. If you get an urge to stay longer than that, I can't commit to staying, though. Deal? "

He smiles and starts pacing again, vocalizing happily.

"Deal," he says.

I smile too, but on the inside, I feel like I'm walking to my death.

Walking into the country club's ballroom is like teleporting into an alternate dimension. My past, the one where I used to attend events at country clubs all around D.C. with my mom and dad, collides with the strange luxury of the Appleton Country Club.

I didn't think twice about not bringing Kitty, even though his presence would make this hellscape at least seventy percent more tolerable.

But I didn't want more eyes on me than necessary. Plus, I think I saw it as a challenge: will I be able to make it through this without leaning on my supports?

Genevieve's wise voice echoes in my brain, telling me, lovingly, that that's a dumb thing to aspire to.

Everything is pure white, gold, and crystals. There must be two hundred guests milling around the ballroom, and at the center of them is Hunter Brigham and his fiancée, Blair Winthrope.

I beg my eyes to move from looking at him. They fail to listen.

"I think thirty minutes is long enough." The accent August uses, an overly proper lady who sounds a little like Maggie Smith, feels hilariously perfectly imperfect.

"I agree, friend." A waiter passes out champagne, and I snag one, resisting the urge to grab a second. When August reaches for one, I say, "Not on your life, home skillet."

He rolls his eyes. We arrived as late as we dared. It's eleven thirty, and we planned to stay through the countdown to the new year, and then we'll bounce.

I feel an arm link with mine and jump at the unexpected touch. Looking to my right, Ella's bowed head leans on my shoulder.

"Doesn't this blow?" she asks. "They're all so disgusting."

She looks beautiful tonight. Her long black hair wraps into an elegant chignon and a diamond necklace gleams from her neck. The floor-length strapless silk maroon dress looks molded to her body. The corseted top makes her bust pop. She straightens, facing me.

"At least you look beautiful, Ella." I try to smile, but I know my face is doing weird things.

Thirty minutes, tops.

"How are you here?" she asks in a low voice. Not why, but how.

"I'm here purely on the strength of my love for August," I say.

"I get it. Sometimes, I only run on rage and Warheads." She nods sagely.

I suppress the first laugh I've felt enough to utter in the last week. Looking around the room, I see a few faces I recognize. Security staff from Amelia Manor. August's guard, Rex. The goddamn Vice President.

And Hunter.

Suddenly, the lights are too bright, the sounds too percussive. I look back at Ella but still see Hunter in the periphery. He's looking straight at me. His eyes reflect shock. Then longing. My throat feels like it's closing, and I struggle to keep a calm appearance. I don't want to stress August out more. I also don't want Hunter to see me lose it.

You will not have a panic attack here. You will not give him the privilege of seeing you break down.

"Excuse me. I need to go to the ladies' room. August, you're good here with your aunt, right? "

August's eyes narrow slightly, but he nods.

I smile as brightly as I can. "I'll be back in a minute."

I turn around and try to temper my pace toward the restrooms. I saw them when we entered the club, and I pray my muscle memory will bring me to the right place.

I rush into the bathroom, rejoicing when I see it empty. Locking myself in, I thank the club's over-the-top design when I see a small sitting area next to the stall.

Breathe in. I am calm.

Breathe out. I am safe.

Breathe in. I am protected.

Breathe out. I am love.

Love.

Love, love, love.

I put my hand on my heart, wondering if I can feel the breaks in it.

One day, when you are old and gray and looking back on your life, you will laugh at how impossible getting over this feels.

Right now, every breath hurts.

I've got to get out of here. I pull my phone out of my clutch and pray Ella has her phone on her.

Ella?

Five minutes pass, and I'm about to give up and search for August and Ella when a reply comes.

Are you okay?

I let out a breath.

Yes, I am, but…this is really tough for me. I need to go home. Can you get August home? I feel terrible for bailing on him, but I just can't .

Dots appear on her side immediately.

Of course, Winter. I've got it covered.

Please tell August I will see him Monday.

I muster up my courage, leave the stall, and re-enter the empty bathroom. I wash my hands and look at my reflection. Besides my nose being slightly rosier than it usually is, I don't look like I've been crying.

Score one, Winter.

In the background, I hear someone announce that there's twenty minutes until the new year. I pull my phone out to schedule an Uber and rejoice when I see one forty-five minutes down the road. Reserving the car, I tuck my phone back in my clutch and exit the bathroom.

And walk right into the chest of the one human I'd desperately wanted to avoid.