She wanted to scoop Bess up in her arms and cradle her, like a defenseless child. Bess, who could solve major legal and computer problems but didn’t know if she loved someone. Beautiful Bess, who didn’t bother with makeup but didn’t even realize she didn’t need it.
“Do you think law school was the right choice?” Anna asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But there are other things, too. I’m drawn to science and research and computers. I just have to go to school forever, I guess.” Then she smiled brightly.
“No, not exactly,” Anna said, also smiling. “Eventually you have to go to work!”
“I look forward to that,” she said. “But work worries me. There are times I get a little bored.”
“Well, that’s always been a problem. So, tell me more about Martin. Is he...kind?”
“He is,” she said with a smile. “He helps a lot of people. And not just with law school. He has a five-year-old brother who is special needs and he helps him and his classmates. He’s a good person.”
It flashed across Anna’s mind that that explained a lot—Bess was never labeled special needs or autistic or disabled or anything, but there was no question she was not the average twenty-four-year-old. “He must be sensitive to your needs,” Anna suggested.
“I guess so,” she said.
“What does he look like?” Anna asked.
“Well, let me think about that,” Bess said. “He’s six feet tall and has dark hair and dark eyes and big feet. But he’s actually good at some sports while I’m only good at chess, bridge and dominoes. He’s not clumsy like I am. He’s steady. He plays football in the park on weekends. Just a friendly game, he says. But he also likes chess.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Yes,” Bess said, grabbing her phone out of her purse and clicking it open to display a picture of a young man in sweats and a tee, holding a basketball against his hip. And of course Bess hadn’t volunteered a picture until she was asked.
He was beautiful. Stunningly, John Kennedy Jr. beautiful. “Bess, he’s so attractive.”
“Is he? I suppose he is. I’ve never been a good judge of physical beauty.”
Anna folded her hands on the table. “What does Martin like best about you?”
“I only know what he says...”
“What has he said?” Anna asked.
“Well, he likes that I’m honest, but I don’t know how not to be. He said he admires my focus, but I think that’s another thing I can’t help. If something takes root in my head, I can’t shake it loose. And he likes the way I taste.”
Anna felt a flush creep up her neck. “You don’t have to tell that. That can be private.”
“Okay. Is your sushi okay?” she asked, nodding at Anna’s plates.
“I ordered too much, as usual. Are you happy?”
“Of course,” Bess said. “I had my usual meal and, as a bonus, I could talk to you.”
That was how Bess structured emotional responses—did they fit into her routine, was it uneventful and was there no anxiety related to uncertainty or change. But Anna just said, “That’s very nice, thank you.”
Being the parent of an adult child like Bess took diligence. Anna had to constantly remember that Bess’s idea of pure joy didn’t bear any resemblance to her own. To Bess, never being spontaneous was joyful. If she could manage her world by wearing the white blouse every Monday and the black blouse every Friday, by eating at the sushi bar every Saturday at four, ordering the same meal, that was joy. She liked the challenge of her studies; conquering them made her feel strong. And when things were off and uncertain, she became very anxious until she could wrestle her routine back into order.
Bess had lived in a group home for a year during college; getting her there had been one of the biggest arguments Chad and Anna ever had. Anna didn’t want her to go away, didn’t want her to live away from her. In that, Chad had been right; he had been wise. Bess had learned to function in a world that couldn’t accept her peculiarities. Would she ever have a normal life? Not Anna’s kind of normal. Not ever. But she could have a comfortable life, a successful life. She could be her own kind of happy. Anna struggled to remember that.
For what felt like the millionth time, Anna was reminded that accepting people as they are is the hardest work there is.
“Tell me something, Bess. What’s the very best thing about Martin?”