Page 30 of When In Doubt
“You’re okay.”
“S-sorry,” she says again.
“You don’t need to apologize.” I wheel myself back over to the set of drawers and find an oximeter and a blood pressure cuff. Her system’s been through a shock and I need to make sure she’s getting back to a baseline level. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Umm… sometimes.” She picks at a loose thread on her coat. I pull her hand away and clip the oximeter to her finger. Maybe I’m being too pushy, but I know from experience that being productive is the only way to release the tight, clawing feeling in my chest. “I’m, um… just sometimes. With loud stuff, I get a bit…” She goes to pull off the ear defenders but I stop her. She’s still pale and I don’t want her getting overstimulated again.
Keeping her wrist in my hand I take her pulse, satisfied when it comes back level, same with her blood oxygen. I know the probe is giving me a reading, but something about feeling the flutter of it under my fingertips makes me sure.
She doesn’t say anything else until I start to slide the cuff up her arm. “Oscar,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I really am fine, you don’t need to do all this.”
“I didn’t realize you were an EMT too?” I tease, thrilled when she rolls her eyes at me.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Your health isn’t ridiculous, Freya.” I look her in the eyes. She holds it for a second before her gaze drops back to her lap. “You just had a panic attack. I’m checking you over, and then I’ll take you home.”
“That’s really not necessary.” She frowns. “And it wasn’t exactly a panic attack, not really.”
I dip my head, searching her face for clues. “Then, what was it?”
She lets out a long sigh.
“I just have a hard time with that kind of stuff. Loud things or lights or whatever. It gets hard to focus.”
That was more than “hard to focus.” I’m trained to read between the lines, but I don’t know if I should say more. Maybe she doesn’t want people knowing… But wouldn’t it be worse to know and not tell her?
“Can I ask you something personal?” I decide to just come out with it. If she tells me to fuck off, then I’ll never bring it up again.
She tenses, and I curse myself for making her nervous again just as she was starting to relax. Her voice comes out questioning. “Okay?”
“Are you Autistic?”
There’s a pause where I don’t think she’s going to answer, but she nods, fast and without looking up. “I guess the meltdown was kind of a giveaway.” She huffs out a dry chuckle.
“I remember hearing something about it when we were kids. It only just clicked.”
“I wasn’t diagnosed when we were kids.” Her head lifts and I catch her frown.
“I dunno, I just remember your mom saying something to my mom.” They were asking about it in the school pick-up line, but they stopped as soon as I came close.
“Checks out. That was when she first started suspecting.”
“Probably.” I switch on the blood pressure reader, listening as it whirs to life and starts inflating around her arm. “Do you mind me knowing?”
She mulls it over for a second. “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not a secret. Just don’t be weird about it.” She pins me with a glare, but her mouth gives a telltale twitch.
I grin. “I will do my best not to be weird about it.”
Once the machine spits out a reading, I nod and pack everything away, finally satisfied that she is really, actually okay.
“Alright then, Miss Malcolm.” I stand up, tucking the stool under the desk “You’ve got a clean bill of health. Let’s get you home.”
“I’m just going to walk back to the store. I’m fine, truly.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I need to reopen.” She stands up.
