Page 88 of All Her Broken Pieces

Together, we clean up our mess, him scrubbing and washing, me drying.

“There’s something I want to prepare you for tomorrow,” he begins, handing me a pot to dry.

Toweling the dish off, I set it on the counter. “What is it?”

“I told you Lizzy is autistic and nonverbal.”

“Yes.”

“I just want you to be prepared in case she doesn’t react to you the way you’re expecting.”

“I appreciate that. I’ve been around children before, but I don’t have a lot of experience with anyone on the spectrum. Is there anything I should know?” I ask, understanding how important this is to him.

“She has sensory issues, especially with loud noises. They tend to overwhelm her and can send her into a panic attack. While Lizzy prefers to spend a lot of time in her room, we’re careful not to yell too much in the house so we don’t trigger her. It’s hard with that many people, especially when emotions run high, but she does have a pair of noise-canceling headphones that help.”

“Good to know.”

“Also, she has difficulty making and maintaining eye contact. I don’t want you to think she’s rude if she doesn’t look at you or speak to you. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

“Got it. Is there anything I can do to make her comfortable?”

“Just be yourself around her. I’ve already told her a lot about you and shown her your picture, so she’ll be prepared.”

He leans in and kisses my temple as he hands me the last utensil to dry. Fuck, it’s getting harder to keep these feelings for him inside, and I wonder if he knows already. His ability to read me is so profound it’s as though he’s deciphering a language only we understand.

CHAPTER28

Ethan

The casserole is coolingon the counter, and all the dishes are put away in their designated places. The chaos of cooking is now contained, like a painter’s studio after a masterpiece is finished.

“Are you saying I can call you my girlfriend?”

“Jesus Christ. You’re exhausting.”

“Yeah, but you like it when I wear you out.” I notice how she shivers at my words and touch.

“We’re not doing the girlfriend/boyfriend thing. It’s juvenile. And despite your age, this is anything but juvenile.”

I’m going to ignore that comment about my age. “What can I call you?”

“I’m yours. Does it need a title?”

“How is that going to work? ‘Hi, Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet Bridget. She’s mine.’”

Her head falls back, a throaty laugh bubbling out of her. “Fuck no. That’s ridiculous. It sounds like you’re a dog pissing all over his property. Claiming me in the bedroom with a ‘mine’ is one thing. Saying it out loud to another adult sounds ludicrous.”

“C’mon, Bridge, just say you’ll be my girlfriend.”

Immediately, her body tenses.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot about that. What is it about that nickname that shuts you down like this?” I reach down and tilt her chin up with my finger. Pushing the hair out of her face, I tenderly kiss her forehead, letting her know that she can trust me with all her broken pieces.

“I dated someone who called me that. That name reminds me of him, and I don’t want to think about him or who I was back then.”

“Can I ask what happened?” She shifts uncomfortably. My hands slide up to cup her cheeks, and I look into her eyes, deciding to take a different approach. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but you’re amazing, you know that?”

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