Spectrum ?

Before Warren and I parted ways, he asked me for my number. He said he wanted to keep in contact because he had a fun time chatting with me. Usually I would've said no because I'm happy having just three people, my father included, to chat with. But Warren was nice. He didn't call me the r-word and he didn't ask me too many questions about my autism. He was polite and seemed to know more about my autism than I did.

I'm more comfortable referring to it as autism instead of Asperger's now. 

On our way out of the train, an elderly couple called me a disrespectful word. Warren told them to mind their business and told them they'd disintegrate if a gust of wind hit them. I also learned that his full name was Warren Doyle. I told him he sounded like an English poet and he laughed and said that's the funniest thing anyone's ever said to him.

I found myself wanting to know more about Warren. I wanted to know about his brother. I wanted to know about his parents. I wanted to know about his tattoo.

He told me he had saved my name as Kirby on his phone and this made me feel pleasant and satisfied. The dictionary tells me that this is happiness. 

When I got home, dad was surprised that I'd come over unannounced. He was frantic and refused to open the door completely. He left it open only a crack and was pressing his body up against it so I couldn't open it. I didn't know why he was doing this. 

I heard the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor from behind him and someone pulled the door open. I stood there, transfixed. 

Red.

"Aunt Delancey?"

She looked me up and down, "Who is this?"

"Dad, you're still seeing her?" I questioned, looking back at him. I was feeling all sorts of emotions but I couldn't distinguish any of them.

"I'm not seeing her," he said firmly. "Delancey, get out."

"Juno," she remembered, nodding at me. "You've grown."

Her eyes were red and her voice was trembling.

Had she been crying?

"Delancey, out."

She scoffed at my dad, "Think about what I said, Andre." 

With that, she grabbed her purse and walked out the front door, not turning back even once. I waited until she disappeared down the street in her freakishly expensive car before turning back to face my father who stood there, looking down at the floor, the door now completely open. 

I said nothing. I pushed past him and set my suitcase aside. He shut the door behind him before catching up to me, "Son, it's not what it looks like."

"What was she doing here?"

"She wanted me to give her some money," he confessed. "The money Isla left behind for us."

Isla was my mother's name. 

"I said no," he said before I could question him. 

"Why does she want you to give her money?"

"Francis broke up with her, she's pregnant and has no money," he said, moving to the television and pulling out a box of cigarettes from behind it. He pulled out a cigarette and took his lighter from his pocket. I watched him light up the cigarette and take a puff. 

I didn't know what to tell him. 

"Why did she specifically ask for mom's money?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "Feels like some sort of sick payback for sleeping with her."

"Francis got her pregnant and just left?" I questioned, filling up a glass of water from the kitchen before making my way back to the living room.

He went stiff. He took another puff from his cigarette before looking away. 

He was hesitating.

"Dad?"

The last time I saw him like this was when I caught him sleeping with Aunt Delancey.

"Son, I have to tell you something important."

He looked grim. He took a seat on the sofa nearest to him, cigarette still in hand. He wasn't making eye contact with me. I felt strange in this environment.

I felt like television static. 

I sat down after placing the glass of water I'd been holding on the table in front of me, not once peeling my eyes away from him.

"That baby isn't Francis'."

My breath hitched in my throat.

What was this feeling?

Nervousness?

Anticipation?

Anger?

Fear?

"It's mine."

I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know how to react.

So I just stared at him.

He looked defeated, "I really loved your mom. I promise, I did. I just let myself get carried away and now she's pregnant. I don't know what to do."

"Does Francis know?"

"She told him earlier today," he sighed. "He's pissed, Juno. I'm terrified."

"Are you going to keep the baby?"

"That's not my decision, it's hers. But she wants to."

"You'll have to pay child support."

"I know Juno, God damn it!"

He was getting angry. He was raising his voice and furrowing his brows. He was now standing and pacing back and forth across the room, head in his hands and his burnt out cigarette in the ashtray.

I did nothing but stare.

"How many months along is she?"

"Four months."

"You've been sleeping with her all this time?"

"I let myself get carried away," he said quietly. "I messed up."

"Yeah dad, you did," I answered.

My head was killing me. 

The entire room was spinning. 

My heart was racing.

And that was when we heard a knock at the door.