Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

“One day I want to be able to go,” she says quietly. “I can tell he’s sad I
never come. That I make it pretty much impossible for Mom and Dad to go.”
I don’t say anything right away. I don’t know all of what happened, except
that Ren said Ziggy was in a dangerous place at some point. Seems best to
simply give her space to talk and process, especially when I don’t know the
particulars.
I don’t touch Ziggy, either, or even sit terribly close. I can tell she doesn’t
like it. Since the moment I walked in, she’s kept at least six feet between us. Her
parents didn’t hug her goodbye, either. Just kissed her forehead and left.
So, instead, I’m curled two spots away in a corner of a sofa that’s so
capacious, it makes Ren’s look like a pin cushion. Nestled under blankets, I stare
at the TV for the most part, crunching on popcorn and cursing these cramps.
“What do you feel keeps you from going?” I finally ask her.
She laughs emptily. “All of it. The crowds. The noise. The lights. Even the
drive there. Traffic makes me claustrophobic. I hate just sitting there. I jumped
out of the car and walked the final quarter mile the last time we were stuck in
gridlock on the 405. Mom freaked.”
That makes me snort a laugh. “Eh. I don’t blame you.”
Ziggy glances my way, her sharp green eyes that I now recognize are twins
of Ryder’s, spearing me. “How do you do it?” she asks.
I raise my eyebrows. I told Mrs. Bergman I’m on the spectrum. But I haven’t
told Ziggy. Because she hasn’t told me. And I don’t want to pressure her.
“Do what?”
“You’re autistic,” she says matter-of-factly. “Like me.”
“Did Ren tell you?”
She nods. “Just like he told you about me.”
Touché.
Staring at her hands, she mutters, “He said you’re someone I could talk to if I
wanted.”
“Well,” I say on a groan, as I shift on the couch and try to buy myself some
comfort. “He’s right. I am. So, do you?”
Ziggy glances up, staring at the TV again. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think
so. Other times, I don’t think I want to know.”
“Don’t want to know what?”
She shrugs. “The hard parts. The stuff that doesn’t get better. The past few
years have sucked. I can’t imagine anticipating anything more challenging than
this.”
Setting the bowl of popcorn between us, I peer at her. She’s rail thin. Curled
up into herself. If she’s anything like I was at that age, she doesn’t eat regularly,