Only a few of the packages under the tree were from her, and she knew in his quiet way Kitt would appreciate the efforts of those who sent presents for him. Kitt was her son, now a young adult. Living at home wasn’t what he wanted—and given the development of his independent streak a mile wide over the past couple of years, wouldn’t be something she’d have forever—but him living at home was what they had, for now.
She knew she would eventually be able to find a good living arrangement for him, one that hit all the tick marks on her list, but not this year. She still had life lessons to teach, and Kitt responsibilities to accept, duties to carry out. So this year she still had him at home, and felt blessed that he was at this moment upstairs, sleeping in bed—even if his journey to that bed had been conducted under protest tonight—and waiting for Santa’s appearance. Baby steps.
Vanna sighed, looking back at the words on the page and used the edge of her thumb to flip forward in her book. The unconscious movement of her hand allowed her imagination free rein to advance through the story, and she was quickly caught back up in the foibles of a dense-as-mud heroine. One shoulder of her oversized t-shirt slipped off her shoulder as she lifted the glass of blush liquid to her lips, and she adjusted the shirt with practiced ease. She sipped the wine, shivering slightly at the still-chilled temperature.
Vanna and Kitt lived alone; the few visitors they had these days were expected and scheduled. Known and quantified. No surprises, not ever. With Kitt’s disorder it was important his environment be tightly managed and controlled. While the reality was he was autistic, she liked to say that on the spectrum he was blessedly high-functioning. Which meant he was both verbal and cognitively advanced, which further meant he could communicate important things. And that meant he could also argue the paint off a fencepost when he was in the mood to want something. Like tonight, with his pleas for just one more story, one more cartoon, one more snack. It was only the threat of Santa bypassing the houses of boys who weren’t good that scooted his feet up the stairs and into bed.
She sighed, the past few days had seen a retreat in his behaviors. She knew it was likely just stress from the holiday’s change in routine putting him off balance in a way that came out as combative. With these kids, nothing was ‘just,’ though. He had lost much of his language, retaining only a few of his most-used words, and she had watched him withdrawing more every day, even from contact with her.
Vanna desperately wanted him to have memories to draw on for future Christmases. She struggled to balance the need to give him sameness with her desire to create a wealth of experiences he could use to better offset stress as he moved through life. Each moment offered learning opportunities, and she spent a great deal of time working with him to develop scripts and coping mechanisms. Beginning in early December, they went over the game plan every day, talking through the process of buying and wrapping presents. Decorating the tree required a conversation all its own, as did gift opening protocol. She knew all this work wasn’t about making Christmas merry for him this year, but an attempt to make it less difficult for him in ten years, or twenty.
My whole life is an evolving script, she thought, putting down the book, giving up on the romance novel when it failed to retain her attention. She let her mind swirl and pick at the past few days, trying to find her own balance. She wasn’t wrong about the scripting, because much of her time spent with Kitt was angled with an eye towards what he would need in the future. She wouldn’t be around forever. There you go again, that’s another maudlin thought. She sighed at herself, taking another sip of wine. True, though. And if something happened to me…when something happens, there are only a few people Kitt would trust enough.
As she often did, she began making a list in her head, only half listening as the record transitioned to the last track on the holiday album. When the music began to play she paused, smiling as Perry Como brought the holidays home with a reminder that the season meant family and friends. As he sang, the smile faded from her lips and she felt the stinging at the back of her eyes that was all-too familiar this time of year. I wish for a Merry Christmas, too. A Christmas with friends, family…a lover. She sighed. At least I have Kitt, she reminded herself, trying to shake off the tears, swallowing hard against the lump choking her throat, ignoring how very empty the house felt.