Like me, Bea’s neurodivergent, though she’s autistic while I have ADHD. And while she doesn’t quite have the temper I do, she gets how hard it is to regulate your responses when you’re over-or understimulated, when your thoughts are splitting in a hundred directions, and your skin’s buzzing, and your brain feels like a Technicolor disco ball. My medication helps with this—it makes my thoughts flow better, allows me to complete multistep tasks that I’d otherwise struggle to stay focused on long enough to see through. Medication for me feels like I spend less time frustrated, spinning my tires, feeling like life happens to me rather than being something I actively choose.
But the great irony is that my naturally routine-disinclined, deeply curious, easily redirected brain needs to follow a routine in order to keep track of my medication regimen. On top of that, keeping track of my medication, which is already challenging for me, gets even more challenging with how irregular my work is, when I happen to be on a job somewhere that interrupts my routine and I miss a dose, or we relocate quickly, and I lose track of where my meds even are.
“KitKat,” Bea says gently. “Where’d you go?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m here.”
Bea turns her hand so our palms meet and gives me a firm squeeze. “I didn’t bring up Thanksgiving to make you feel bad. I brought it up because I wanted to check in with you. Are you okay?”
I pull my hand away. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because what Christopher said really seemed to get to you. And I want you to know he doesn’t speak for us. None of us think of your being gone in terms of what you’ve missed.”
Of course they don’t. This is the crux of my family. My older sisters are twinny close. My parents are deeply in love. Then there’s me, the fifth wheel. They adore me. I know this. But I don’t have that connection with them like they have with each other.
I used to feel sad about it when I was younger, when finding people who could vibe with my busy body and brain and never-ending curiosity and always-changing interests was hard and I felt lonely a lot. But now I’ve found my own way, a life full of new experiences and adventures, fast friends whom I’m content to part ways with and lose touch with even faster. I’m frequently alone, but I’m not lonely anymore.
At least, not often.
And yet what Christopher said struck a nerve, reminding me how deeply I’ve felt left out. The things I’ve missed. Now Bea’s just confirmed how little that’s mattered to them.
“KitKat?”
I blink, forcing a smile my sister’s way. “I’m fine. Promise.”
Bea’s eyes narrow. “No, you’re not. And if Jules were here, she’d get it out of you.”
“If Jules were here, she’d side with Christopher.”
“She would not!”
I arch an eyebrow. “She works with him. She voluntarily socializes with him. She’s always sticking up for him.”
“Often, but not always. She doesn’t agree with everything he does. They have their disagreements, especially since he hired her to PR consult for his firm.”
“That firm,” I mutter darkly, shoving the rest of the maple glaze and facon bits doughnut into my mouth. “It’s probably a front.”
“A front?”
“An ‘ethical investment firm’？” I snort. “Talk about an oxymoron.”
Bea literally bites her lip, keeping quiet.
“What?” I ask her. “You haven’t considered that it’s like the perfect cover for something sinister? Money laundering! Embezzlement! Offshore banking!”
“Of course,” Bea says dryly as she takes another bite of her sprinkle doughnut. “Why didn’t I think of that? Christopher’s got mafioso written all over him.”
“He is Italian.”
She rolls her eyes. “So that’s all it takes: Italian heritage, proximity to wealth—boom, he’s Don Corleone.”
“You witness as much twisted shit as I have on the job, BeeBee, and see if you blame me for being suspicious.”
“But it’s Christopher.”
“Precisely!” I tell her.
She sighs. “I know he wasn’t on his best behavior the other night, and I’ll admit that when you two are together, generally, he’s no saint, but is it so impossible to believe he’s capable of things like generosity and goodness?”
“Yes!”
She sighs wearily. “I don’t think this is just your work talking. I think you’ve turned into a cynic.”