“Gabe. Enough. This is a small car, buddy,” Nate said. “Don’t you think he should be talking by now?”
“He talks, Nate. You just don’t pay attention to him.” Alecia wriggled in her seat, adjusting her sweater. Nate could be so dense, so rigid in his expectations. It irritated the living shit out of her.
The Tempests’ house was lit up from the inside out, bright twinkling lights everywhere, their trees outlined in glittering white. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” spilled into the driveway and the cars were parked all the way down the street, onto the next block. Alecia, Nate, and Gabe trudged across the front lawn, Gabe’s small mittened hand tucked into Alecia’s.
Inside, people stood in groups, holding wine and martini glasses, laughing and talking over each other. Nate had told her that kids were invited but Alecia didn’t see any other kids.
“The Winterses are here! So glad you could come!” Bea rushed up to them, her long blond hair flying behind her, glittering in a sequined top. Alecia was underdressed. A man in unassuming black pants and black shirt appeared and took their coats as Bea kissed both Alecia’s cheeks and squealed at Gabe. “Oh I just love this age, look how stinking cute he is.”
He was cute: dark haired and fair skinned, he looked like a porcelain doll. He howled when Bea hugged him and she laughed. “Oh, kids.” She waved her hand in a circle. “ All the other kids are in the basement, or upstairs in the gym. He can go wherever,” displaying little understanding of a two-year-old’s capabilities. Alecia knelt down, rolling her eyes where Bea couldn’t see her, fixed Gabe’s hair where she’d ruffled it, and gave him a smile. His gaze fixated on the kitchen.
Bea floated away, on to greet the next guest. “Does she really think he can just wander around unattended?” she asked Nate, annoyed. “He’s two.”
Nate stared at her, a hard penetrating gaze, without smiling. “Alecia, do you think for one night, you could lighten the hell up? It’s a party.” He gave her a smile then, a small, forced smile, and Alecia blinked. He’d never talked to her that way before and she felt her insides shrink up. She bit her cheek, wanting to cry and wanting to leave. Gabe flapped his hands, up and down, his new habit that he seemed to adopt whenever he was stressed, which was mostly in public. Alecia, red faced and sweating, pushed down on his hands and between her teeth gritted, “Gabey, calm.” Miraculously, he calmed.
A woman in a deep red dress, looking like she’d just come off the runway, approached them and leaned in to kiss Nate’s cheek. Alecia eyed her, her deep neckline with not a wobble in sight, a slit up her thigh revealing long, tan legs and a silver, sparkling stiletto. A stiletto! Alecia’s toes curled inside her two-inch pumps.
“Alecia, this is Jennifer Lawson. Jenny, this is my wife, Alecia.” Nate cleared his throat. Jennifer gave Alecia a smile and smooth handshake, her dark hair glossy as a raven’s back. Jenny?
“Oh, Nate you’ll never guess who actually came. Here, let me show you.” She giggled, her fingertips curling around his arm, and pointed.
Nate leaned backward, toward the kitchen, and laughed at their shared inside joke. Alecia almost asked to be let in, asking who was in the kitchen?
She was interrupted by Peter Tempest. He greeted Nate with a firm handshake and a booming voice and said a quick hello with a swift peck in Alecia’s direction, never acknowledging Gabe. He was tall, towering even, and positioned himself between Nate and Jennifer.
“Mind if I steal your husband for a moment?” Peter asked, already guiding Nate’s elbow away to the media room, where the men stood around the television watching football or something else that Alecia couldn’t care less about. Jennifer paused a moment and then wandered away without a word, leaving Alecia alone in the foyer with Gabe.
Gabe gazed up at the looming crystal chandelier, sparkling and throwing rainbows through hanging prisms, fixated. “Come on, Gabe,” she whispered to no avail because he was in the zone, as she liked to call it. When he took off toward the formal sitting room, the only empty room where the lights were dimmed low, Alecia chased behind him, breathless.
In under two minutes, she had snatched a glass candy dish, a crystal vase, a set of candlesticks, and an expensive-looking ceramic sculpture that vaguely resembled a vagina from Gabe’s thick fists. In five minutes, she’d pulled him off the couch, leaving one slightly damp footprint on the blue suede. In ten minutes, she’d settled him in front of the enormous wooden coffee table, spreading out his wooden number set that she’d stuck in her purse before she left. He arranged them in order, correctly, every time, which was kind of amazing, and Alecia kissed his forehead, damp with perspiration.
“Have you ever had him evaluated?” The woman leaned against the doorway, a stemmed wineglass in one hand, watching them. She gave Alecia a kind smile.
“For what?” Alecia breathed deep, filling her lungs, closing her eyes.
“Autism spectrum disorder?” She raised her eyebrows and Alecia felt the back of her tongue go sour. She’d never considered it.
“No. He’s fine. He’s just . . . he likes what he likes.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. Like she wasn’t exhausted by Gabe and his likes and dislikes and his vehemence and enthusiasm for both.
“I’m a psychologist at the middle school. I’d be happy to give you some names. I know some wonderful social workers—”
“He’s fine, thank you.” Alecia’s voice was curt, even though she didn’t mean it to be. She watched Gabe pull the wooden numbers and put them in order, one chubby finger after the other, over and over again.
“It’s incredible that he knows his numbers like that. He’s . . . two?” The woman knelt down in her pencil skirt, delicate and perfect, and removed the number four with a single French-manicured nail. Gabe pounded the table and howled. He moved the four back to its rightful place and held it here, defiant. She then removed the eight and placed it before the one. Gabe sat silent for a pause, and Alecia held her breath, her heart hammering in her throat. He picked up the eight and threw it against the wall, the hard edge of the wood leaving a tiny, almost unnoticeable divot in the drywall.
The woman stood and put a hand to Alecia’s arm and Alecia stared at it like it was an alien thing.
Alecia stood abruptly, scooping up Gabe and gathering his numbers into her purse. She gave the woman a thin smile, and tried to say thank you, thank you, but she couldn’t get the words out and her nose began to run as she bent down and picked up all the debris of being Gabe, so she put an elbow to her face and rushed out the room, feeling her cheeks flame red and hot.
Alecia found Nate in the living room, a tumbler of scotch in his red fist, his Irish complexion glowing ruddy with alcohol. He was laughing with a group, and Alecia tugged on his sleeve like a child.