Page 8 of On My Side
Shit. Jocelyn doesn’t know my older sister, Nic, was diagnosed with autism last year, so this hits close to home.
I’m imagining my sister as a high schooler: cranky, freckle-faced, and curly-haired. She told me it never felt like she quite belonged in the world, like if she were a robot, she was missing a mechanism that everyone else had.
I wish someone had believed in her the way she deserved before she was in her late twenties.
I sigh. “When is it?”
Jocelynn squeals and claps excitedly. “You’re the best! I told her she deserved a two week break, as long as she practices consistently, so you’re scheduled Saturday the twenty-fifth at ten a.m.”
I pull out my phone and open my calendar, making sure it won’t double book me. “Where?”
“The SandPiper Inn.”
I look at her blankly. “Where’s that?”
“It’s the inn on the other end of the seawall.”
My brows raise. “I thought that place closed.”
“Nope. Piper’s mom owns it, and Piper uses the baby grand in the lobby. That’s her name, by the way. Piper. And she’s great—funny and sarcastic as hell. You’re gonna love her.”
I frantically type in the information as she gives it to me. Piper, rising sophomore, autistic, adult owns the inn I didn’t know existed.
“Did you talk to her adult about payment?” I ask, eyes on my phone.
Jocelynn snickers. “You’re such an elementary teacher. Heradult. She lives with her mom, and I did tell her to tell heradultto expect that discussion with you. But I’m sure Ms. Hinton won’t give you any trouble.”
“I can’t promise the whole summer.” My therapist made me promise to set better boundaries, to pay attention to what will energize and make my life better, versus what I’m pressured to do to make other people happy. “But I’ll meet with her on the twenty-fifth, and we’ll go from there.”
“You’re the best.” Jocelyn leans forward and squeezes my forearm. “Next Guinness is on me.”
And there it is. That warm, fuzzy feeling whenever I know I’ve made someone happy, made things better.
My therapist is going to be pissed.
Chapter 4
Audrey
Playlist: Peach Fuzz | Caamp
“Don’t forget about my piano lesson later,” Piper says as we’re eating breakfast one Saturday morning.
I peer up from the Port Haven Herald crossword puzzle I’m working on. “Huh?”
“My piano lesson.” She says it slowly, enunciating each syllable, like the concept of a piano lesson is what’s confusing me. It’s not. What’s confusing is I have no memory of her telling me about a piano lesson. Or I’ve forgotten to remember. “When someone teaches me technique to help me play better.”
“Thank you, smartass.” I roll my eyes. “When did you tell me about this lesson?”
“On the last day of school,” she tells me through a mouthful of Reese’s Puffs. “I swear I told you, Mom—I even put it on the shared calendar.”
I pull my phone out, groaning when I see she did indeed put a piano lesson at 10 a.m. on our shared calendar. “I’m so sorry, birdie. I must’ve forgotten with the events getting canceled.”
Last weekend, the inn hosted a bachelorette weekend that ended with both brides pulling a Julia Roberts. I received a call this week telling me the upcoming wedding, which was also supposed to take place here, was canceled. I’ve been stressed about vendors, and figuring out how we’re going to make up the money. I told Piper the brides canceled, but haven’t told her about my money anxieties.
“Mom?” Piper waves her spoon in front of my face, flicking drops of milk onto my lenses. “Earth to Mo-om.”
I blink, startled, but force a smile. “Of course. Yes. I want to get a few chores done today, is it okay if I pop in toward the end of the lesson?” I take my glasses off and clean them with my robe, mind running wild.
