All day long I’m nervous about it. And when I get nervous my tics come out.
I mean, my tics are always there, but they’re not like they used to be when I was little:
nothing but a few hard blinks now, the occasional head pull.
But when I’m stressed they get worse—and I’m definitely stressing about meeting her folks.
They’re waiting inside when I get to the restaurant. The dad gets up and shakes my hand, and the mom gives me a hug.
I give Auggie a hello fist-punch and kiss Olivia on the cheek before I sit down.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Justin! We’ve heard so much about you!” Her parents couldn’t be nicer.
Put me at ease right away. The waiter brings over the menus and I notice his expression the moment he lays eyes on August.
But I pretend not to notice. I guess we’re all pretending not to notice things tonight.
The waiter. My tics. The way August crushes the tortilla chips on the table and spoons the crumbs into his mouth.
I look at Olivia and she smiles at me. She knows. She sees the waiter’s face. She sees my tics.
Olivia is a girl who sees everything. We spend the entire dinner talking and laughing.
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