“Oh no, I’d put that toy to good use on you.”
My jaw dropped. Sweet Jesus. “You would?”
“Definitely. And there wouldn’t be a thing you could do about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d tie you to the bed first.”
“Oh, God.” I fanned myself as heat rose in my body, prickling on the surface of my skin.
“See? It works. Only I imagined it louder.”
“It would be. Trust me.”
He exhaled. “I don’t want to, but I better go. Scotty’s iPad break is about up, and it’s time to get back to math.”
“Ah, math homework. Can’t say I miss it. How’s it going?”
“It’s OK. He’s actually pretty good at math, he just struggles with directions. If a problem has more than one step, it’s tough. He also hates any kind of writing because he doesn’t have good fine motor skills. He gets frustrated and feels bad about it.”
My heart ached a little. “You must be so patient.”
“I try. Sometimes I need these breaks just as much as he does.”
“I’ll bet. Does he like school?”
“He did last year. He had a very understanding teacher who made him feel safe and capable. This year has had a rough start.”
“What about friends at school?”
He sighed again. “Not many. Scotty struggles to relate to other kids his age. He wants to, but several things make it tough. He doesn’t understand personal space, doesn’t understand slang and sarcasm, doesn’t like when kids deviate from the specific games he wants to play, or break the rules. He does better with younger kids, but I worry that he’s going to be picked on for that as he gets older.”
“Poor thing.”
“And he worries constantly about things other kids don’t understand.”
I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my hand. “What does he worry about?”
“God, some days the list is endless. The weather, the schedule, his schoolwork. Crowds. Storms. The dark. Loud noises. Washing and brushing his hair. Hot food.”
“Wow.” I wanted to ask if Scotty had been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder or even OCD, but I also wanted to preserve the casual, friendly feel of our conversation. I was curious about his son, and my natural instincts were to help, but I wasn’t his doctor and didn’t want to act like it. Mostly I was just listening for Levi, to give him an ear without weighing in.
“And then there are his obsessive interests.”
“Which are what?”
“Baseball stats, for one.”
“Well, that’s pretty typical for his age, right?”
“No. When the average second grader wants to talk about baseball, he wants to recap the awesome win from the night before or maybe say who his favorite players are. Scotty wants to recite the list of top MLB career batting averages, like fifty of them, complete with years played, games played, at bats, hits, runs, and RBI’s.”
“Whoa. He has all that memorized?”
“Completely. And hardcore eight-year-old fans might know names like Ty Cobb or Joe Jackson, but even they don’t really care about what happened in baseball in 1915. In St. Louis. On a Tuesday.”
I laughed. “What else is he interested in?”
“Dinosaurs and Franz Liszt.”
I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. “Baseball and dinosaurs, I understand. But Franz Liszt? The composer?”
Levi chuckled too. “Yes. He loves classical music. He went through a Mozart phase, then a Bach, then a Vivaldi. Now it’s Liszt.”
“Have you taken him to the symphony?”
“Not yet. I want to, but I’m worried—one, about the volume level, and two, about the crowd. Same with a Tiger game.”
“Well, he sounds like a very smart, interesting, well-rounded kid.”
“He is. I wish more people knew him like I did. I worry that will never happen.”
Something squeezed my heart. “Sounds like you have a lot of worries too.”
“I guess so, but what parent doesn’t? And maybe I’m making it sound worse than it is. We have plenty of good days too, including today. Anyway, I better get him refocused on math again.”
“Of course. Sorry to keep you with all my questions.”
“No, I’m glad you did. Thanks for asking. And for listening.”
“Any time. I’m looking forward to Friday.”
“Me too. And Jillian…” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I got a little overexcited about sex. I probably shouldn’t say all that to you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to a woman this way, I don’t even remember what I’m doing. I’m like a fucking teenage boy. You’re going to think I’m no different than the asshole who couldn’t last five minutes in the closet.”
I laughed. “Hardly. I don’t think that at all. I think you’re like me. Really focused on one part of your life, so focused that the other parts feel like muscles we haven’t used in a while.”
“Exactly. But I promise I’ve learned a few things since the closet.”
“Guess what?” I whispered. “I have too.”
He groaned. “OK, I’m really going now. Or I never will.”
“Night, Levi.”