It’s at this point that I realize I’m rambling like an absolute git, so I slam my mouth shut. I can tell by the deep furrow in Amina’s and Mona’s brows and the way their eyes are bouncing back and forth like they’re chasing after my words. Cubby, my twin sister, helped me learn this cue and advised me that, when I see it, I’ve probably lost everyone.
“Well?” Tilly says, her voice quieter than I’ve heard it before. I glance at her. Her jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes wide and focused on me. “Should they?”
“W-what?” I ask, caught off guard.
“Should they implement a more micro perspective?”
I blink rapidly then open my mouth, excited words bubbling up my throat as I’m about to tell her my theories on the effect, but I stop myself. Part of having autism means, for some of us, that we can’t read what people actually mean versus what they say.
There have been so many humiliating times where I mistook sarcasm for genuine interest, excitedly infodumping about something only to realize the listeners are having a laugh at my expense. It was particularly awful in primary school, being branded as some weird freak for talking nonstop about my latest obsession, but I’ve learned to mask it in most situations, usually only letting go for my mums, Cubby, or my best friend, Marcus. I don’t know why I just slipped up so dreadfully in front of these three women who are virtually strangers.
“Never mind,” I say, running a hand across the back of my heated neck. I risk another quick glance at Tilly, and her face falls into a frown. Like I’ve disappointed her.
I can’t understand why.
“Anyway,” Mona says after a moment, clapping her hands together and moving so we’re all in a small circle. “Today marks the official start on our sales tour, and I truly am glad to have both of you here.” I catch Tilly shooting a skeptical glance at Mona.
“We leave for Paris tomorrow for our meeting with Toussaint’s,” Mona says, thumbing through her phone.
Toussaint’s is a boutique chain with locations scattered across Paris and a few locations in London. A cursory Google search told me it’s popular with both locals and tourists, and Mona CC’ed me on a briefing that detailed how important getting an account with them would be. I don’t really have a stake in Ruhe—I’m using this as a minimum-wage résumé builder—but there are few things I hate more than losing, so I’m invested in their success.
“I’d like for us to dedicate today to stocking up on social media posts,” Mona continues, looking at me. I nod. I’ve already thought of some decadently colorful spots across the city we can use as a backdrop for photos. “Oliver, you and Amina can discuss ideas while I paint Tilly’s nails.”
“Go team,” Tilly says with lackluster enthusiasm, following Mona across the room.
“Want an espresso?” Amina asks me, already preparing one.
“Please.” I’ll need an IV drip of caffeine to keep up with Tilly. She slides the cup across the kitchen bar, and I sip it.
“Alright, Oliver, let’s hear what you’ve got.”
A buzz of excitement hums across my system, and I can’t stop my smile. This is the kind of thing I live for.
I fill Amina in on my ideas, mapping out the best route for the day and pulling up a few sample photos of sites to give her a better idea of what I’m thinking. Amina scrolls through them, taking her time to analyze each carefully.
“Brilliant,” she eventually says, shooting me a wide grin. “I love the Gloucester Road station idea in particular. Ornate but a touch gritty, all with the polish highlighted … it’ll be perfect.”
I smile, fingers tapping at my side. “Exactly. You get it. Glad the idea translated.”
Massively relieved is more like it. It’s so hard to morph the swirls of my concepts into actual words, and when I try to articulate them, I often get too excited and dart around from idea to idea. Then I realize how circuitous it all gets, which makes me hyperaware of my talking and it all ends up making my tongue feel thick and awkward and like my throat’s choking on the rambling sentences.
Such fun.
“Are you excited for fall term?” Amina asks.
I clock this as a segue into getting-to-know-you talk and shift my brain for the new topic. This is a conversation with a colleague, so I remind myself that I need to keep it interesting, but surface level enough that no one feels uncomfortable.
“Thrilled,” I answer honestly. “A bit overwhelmed, too, I guess. There’s so much to learn, and I’ll finally get to focus on what I’m actually interested in instead of wasting time in things like maths.”
Amina gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’d be careful, intern, you’re saying such blasphemy to an engineer, mind you.”
Oh no. I fucked up. I blink rapidly, trying to figure out how badly I just offended my boss, but she smiles again, patting my shoulder.
“Oh Christ, I’m only joking. Don’t look so worried.”
My tense muscles sag in relief.
“I remember the summer before I left for university,” Amina says wistfully, moving around the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I was so nervous. But you meet loads of people right away. You’ll make some of the best friends of your life.” She flicks a quick glance at Mona across the room.
I shrug, finishing off my espresso. Making friends is the least of my concerns when it comes to school. I can’t really be arsed to put in all the work, if I’m being honest. I already have my best friend, Marcus, who I’m sharing a flat with, and my twin sister, Cubby, who texts me enough to be worth five friendships. My world is small, but I like it that way. Making new friends requires so much brainpower—figuring out how much to tell people without infodumping, constantly missing social cues, second-guessing every interaction—and I’d rather channel all of that into exploring the endless influences of color.
“This is the blandest nail polish I’ve ever seen,” Tilly says from across the room, interrupting us as she holds up her hand, looking at the sandy-beige color from various angles.
I’m tempted to open my mouth and tell her how wrong she is; that it’s a beautiful beige that likely will elicit sensations of calm and luxurious relaxation in wearers, but I decide it’s not worth whatever biting disagreement she’d subject me to.
“Thanks,” Mona says sarcastically. “It’s called Bae-ge,” she adds, emphasizing the bae.
“At least the name is clever,” Tilly says. “But do you really want a bunch of pictures with this polish as the focus?”
“I have my MBA,” Mona says, straightening her shoulders. “So I won’t be taking advice from you.” There’s a pause as Mona studies her own nails. “And Oliver said he can Photoshop different colors over it.”
Tilly gasps like Mona just told her the pope is toying with Protestantism. “But that’s a lie!”
“No. It’s an efficient way to get photos without dissolving your skin with an enormous amount of nail polish remover between locations.”
“You are ever the loving and considerate sister,” Tilly says, uncurling her long legs and standing up from the floor.
Amina tries to hide a giggle behind a cough, then claps her hands. “Alright, let’s get a move on, darlings,” she says. “Time is money, blah blah blah.”