A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,45

average genetics!”

“Olivia.” I can picture my mother placing a soothing, pressure heavy touch on Liv’s shoulder. She has done it to me many times when I am on the verge of being out of control. “Don’t upset yourself. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s not good for the baby!” Liv yelps. “Do you know what’s not great for a baby, Vicky? Every sensation, every sound, every word causing actual, physical pain. You know what else sucks? When everyone around you communicates just fine, but you’re left in the fucking dark! You think that feels good? You think babies enjoy that sort of thing?”

“You have no idea what he was like as a baby,” Aunt Vicky rushes. “He did nothing but cry! He was a miserable, violent child! You’re a sweet girl, Olivia, but maybe a little naïve. Are you really prepared to handle a child who behaves like that?”

“Handle? Handle?” I have not often heard Liv this angry. Her eyes are likely wide, her pupils dilated, her nostrils slightly flared. She must have pink-tinged skin, a high respiration and heart rate. “Do you have any idea what Oliver handles on a daily basis? Do you have any clue what amount of self-control, discipline, and intelligence is required to master the art of living the way he does? He’s my goddamn hero, and if anyone can teach another autistic child how to function in the sort of fucked up society people like you live in, it’s Ollie!”

Her words feel like a punch to my solar plexus. All the air expels from my lungs in an audible rush. My muscles and bones cave in on themselves. I drop the bags to the tile floor.

Then, I run.

15

Olivia

“He’s still not answering.” Mrs. Cucinelli’s worried voice cuts into my concentration on swerving around cars at high speed like I’m playing a video game instead of actually driving.

“You tried texting him, right? He might have the ringer shut off on his phone.”

I don’t dare take my eyes off the road, but I feel her glaring at me.

“Of course, I thought of that! I’m his mother! Do you think I don’t know him at all?”

Sometimes, I really wonder. If her sister was my relative, I’d have cut her off long ago. She definitely wouldn’t be welcome in my home to just show up randomly and insult my son within his earshot.

“How much do you think he overheard?” She wrings her hands in the passenger seat of her own car, too panicked to drive.

Not that I’m doing much better.

“I have no idea,” I mumble.

The loud thump from the mudroom was the only indication that Ollie had overheard the conversation about him at all. After tripping over all the grocery bags he’d dumped, the last I saw of him was his angry face as he backed out of his mom’s driveway in his car.

He’s been ignoring my texts and calls, too.

“You don’t think he got into an accident, do you?” Mrs. Cucinelli scans the road ahead of us, her expression guarded like she’s absolutely expecting us to come upon a gruesome scene on our way to Ollie’s condo. “He was so upset.”

“He had every right to be upset,” I mutter. “Vicky is a bitch.”

“Yes, well…” Mrs. Cucinelli continues wringing her hands so harshly, I honestly wonder if Oliver’s autism might have a genetic component in this case. “She’s my only sibling. We’ve never seen eye to eye on everything, but family rarely does.”

“She isn’t welcome in our household,” I say, leaving no room for argument. “You’re obviously free to make your own choices in life, but I don’t want that woman anywhere near my child.”

Great. Now I’m talking about a baby that doesn’t exist like it’s a sure bet. I’ve managed to duck around overtly lying to Oliver’s mom. Until now.

“She’s Oliver’s aunt! She’ll be your child’s great aunt! Surely, you don’t mean that!”

“Oh, I mean it,” I insist. “Families might not always agree on every little thing, but they’re always supposed to love unconditionally. Her love comes with so many strings, it’s no wonder she’s such a tangled mess.”

“She means well.” Mrs. Cucinelli’s voice doesn’t sound remotely confident. “She only wants what’s best for Oliver. She always has.”

Suddenly, my baby lie seems a little less offensive. “How do you figure that implying he shouldn’t be allowed to father a child is what’s best for Oliver? Hmm? Explain that to me because I’m genuinely having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

Mrs. Cucinelli straightens