Page 56 of On My Side
I blink at her. “Are we not already?”
“No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. I don’t have friends. I haven’t since high school. I don’t really let people in, you know? Since everything happened.”
“Understandable.”
“I think you’re like… a mom friend. But not a mom friend because you’re not a mom. But we’re friends because I’m Piper’s mom. And I think… I think maybe I’d like to be friends beyond that? Friends not because of Piper… but friends because of us?” She peers up at me, eyes so full of hope, and I’m willing to ignore the fact friends don’t usually make out and grind to orgasm.
“Is that what you want?” I ask slowly. “Do you want any… benefits?” I want to run through a damn wall. I don’tdofriends with benefits. For me, sex is a commitment. It sounds like something my Nonna would preach as she shook her rosary at us, that sex is sacred, blah blah blah.
It’s not a morality thing, rather that for me personally, physical intimacy is woven together with emotional intimacy.
“I mean…” She eyes me, and suddenly, I want to hide myself. I feel raw, exposed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re in Piper’s life, too, and I don’t… I don’t want anything you and I do to impact her.”
“I understand.” I nod slowly, watching the hope of something more with her float away. But being friends means she wants that emotional intimacy with me, too. “I’d love to be your friend, Audrey.”
Chapter 20
Audrey
Playlist: Heart Attack | Demi Lovato
“So.” Piper scoops a heaping spoonful of Reese’s Puffs into her mouth. “Where’d you go last night?” she questions, words muffled by the sugary cereal filling her cheeks.
My cheeks heat. I guess she didn’t buy the excuse I gave her before I left.
“I told you,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “They had some booking issues at the inn so I went to help.”
Piper makes a noncommittal grunting noise.
I lift my mug and take a too-large gulp of coffee. It scalds my throat as I drink.
“I’m just saying it’s okay if you went to Mr. Q’s last night,” she says casually.
I sigh heavily and put my mug back on the table, a little rougher than I intended, the heavy thud echoing through the kitchen.
“Whoa.” My daughter seems both impressed and uncomfortable at my sudden show of emotion.
“Sorry,” I apologize, guilt washing through me.
“Fuck,” she says casually, spooning another pile of cereal into her mouth. “You mustreallylike him.”
“Piper, I love you, and I am setting a firm boundary right now,” I say, using the tone of voice I reserve for when I need to make it clear I’m not being silly. “You joking or asking about anything between me and Mr. Q makes me uncomfortable. Please don’t do it again. If I were to have a partner, I’d tell you when I was ready.”
Piper’s face falls, and I feel bad for a moment. But the reality of autism is that sometimes, because of her difficulty with subtext and nonverbal cues, being blunt is the best way to communicate with her.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I need you to hear me, birdie.”
“It’s okay,” she says quietly, staring intently at the handful of cereal still floating in her bowl of oat milk. “I didn’t realize it bothered you.”
“I know, and I should have told you sooner. I’m very sorry for waiting such a long time and for hurting your feelings.”
I reach across the table for her hand, but she pulls away. I wince. Fair enough. “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Piper tells me, still staring at her bowl.
“Okay, but if Ihad, it would be okay. I wasn’t kind, andifyour feelings were hurt, which, I know, I know, they aren’t, that would be valid.”
“I’m sorry for disrespecting your boundaries,” she answers, voice shaky.
I scoot my chair closer to her, and my whole body relaxes when she lets me wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I know, birdie. But I wasn’t clear on my feelings about it, so maybe this is something you and I can work on together? Communicating effectively with each other?”
