Page 46 of Saint
“I remember the day he fell in love with the ocean,” she mused.
“Tell me more about that,” I urged, crossing my legs. Saint told me about how much he loved the ocean and why, but hearing it from his mother would be a treat. With my elbow planted on my thigh, I propped my head up with my hand.
“We went on vacation one summer to Hawaii. Saint hated planes. He’d flap and spaz out the minute he had to be subjected to the noises. The poor thing couldn’t get settled. He rubbed up against me and curled his toes until he passed out.
“Anyway, when we landed and made it to our beach rental, it was like a whole new world had opened for him. Saint’s eyes lit up like Christmas on that beach. We never taught him how to swim, but the boy had an affinity for water. He just ran out to the ocean and jumped right in.”
Sipping my wine, I imagined a young Saint rushing toward the water. Much hadn’t changed about him. My time spent living with him on the beach revealed as much. The beach recollection was likely as significant to Mrs. Miller as it was to him. Her eyes grew in size, recalling the memory.
“My God, you should have seen him. Ramsay and Supreme were on his tail, shouting at him to come back. Saint wasn’t hearing any of that foolishness. He disappeared under the water for a few minutes and resurfaced like it was nothing. It was the first time I’d ever seen him appear like a typical child. I think that day brought me as much joy as it brought him.”
A smile stole my features as I listened to Mrs. Miller share Saint’s love for the beach. It was refreshing getting to learn about him from someone who’d known him for much longer than I had.
“I could have taken him to a specialist to put a name on what he experienced, but I didn’t want to add labels to my child. And then there was this inherent fear that Ramsay and I had failed him. I couldn’t bear to labor with yet another cross. And maybe I was selfish. I have my own worries about what I could have done better, but Saint seems to have turned out fine. There isn’t anything wrong with my son. He’s just… different.”
The insight she’d awarded me was like the removal of a blindfold. There was so much I’d been trying to piece together on my own about Saint despite his diagnosis. Deeper, I plunged down the Saint rabbit hole.
“You didn’t fail him, but maybe you deprived him of getting the help he needed,” I offered, not holding back my rebuke.
Saint confided in me that he’d been seeing a therapist. It was through his sessions that he was diagnosed with autism and sensory processing disorder. From what I understood, the knowledge of it for him had been liberating. All these years, he was forced to navigate the world alone, void of understanding others. Our predicament hadn’t been ideal, but knowing I’d been blessed to be at his side –sketchy circumstances aside– made me proud to be his wife.
“You don’t take mess from a single soul, do you?” Mrs. Miller asked with a smile.
“No, ma’am. I don’t. I can’t. The blood pumping through my veins doesn’t allow it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have you any other way. I didn’t mean to hold you. I just wanted to let you know that I’m glad you married my son. He’s got the right one with you.”
Sheepishly, I sighed, thinking of the expiration date of me and Saint’s agreement. This thing between us was getting messier and messier, but I couldn’t tell her that.
Mrs. Miller and I spent the duration of an hour discussing Saint and her other children before my handsome man came to collect me.
“Beauty…”
The two syllables rang through the waning day. He called out to me with his hands shoved into his pockets, his tie slackened around his neck, and his feet planted in a wide stance a few paces from where we sat. Sickeningly fine and all mine, he was. Both Mrs. Miller and I turned in his direction at the term of endearment.
“It’s time for us to get going.”
Mrs. Miller locked eyes with me again. This time, they were brimming with love. She rose to the occasion, holding her arms out. “Well, give me a hug,” she demanded, motioning for me.
I stood, stepping into her outstretched arms. “I’m so glad to have met you. You continue to take care of my boy, hear?”
“Yes, Mama,” I smiled, witnessing a tear track down Mrs. Miller’s face.
Saint kissed his mother goodbye, and then we made our way to the car. As we headed around the side of the house toward the front where the vehicles were, the earthy, citrusy combination of something that was not nicotine wafted through the air. Drawing closer to the vehicles parked out front, it became clear who the culprits of the skunky aroma were. Near a candy apple, Maserati stood the remaining three siblings as they passed around a thickly rolled joint amongst themselves. The sound of their laughter was convivial and inviting.
“Big Tori, not the little one!” Supreme sounded off upon our approach. “Come here, sis!”
Draping an arm around me, Supreme plastered a big grin on his face. The weed was partially to blame. I was sure of it. Though I didn’t partake, the scent wasn’t offensive to my nostrils. “My sis standing ten toes for my brother!” In a lowered tone, he added, “Nah, for real. You earned major points for that shit at dinner. I know you have my brother’s back. Considering he doesn’t operate like the rest of us, I appreciate that.”
The smell of whisky was heavy on Supreme’s breath, but a drunk tongue always spoke a sobered mind. It was clear that he loved his brother.
“Aight, enough of that. Get off my wife,” Saint teased, shoving Supreme’s hand from my shoulder. He enveloped me in a hug from behind. “This my baby,” he confessed, asserting his dominion.
“Oh, we’re well aware, Saint,” Serenity teased after inhaling a chest full of smoke.
“I enjoyed dinner with y’all’s punk asses. Thanks for not embarrassing me.” Saint went through the three, dapping his brothers and hugging his sister. “Aight, we out,” he announced, holding my hand as he stepped away from the group.
“Nice to meet you, big sis,” Sincere tossed over a host of chuckles. “We love you, Saint. We love you both.”