“Sure it’s okay. My family is Catholic, both sides, but they never go to Mass. I don’t even know if my parents believe in God. But we still put up a Christmas tree, and it still gives us a sense of peace. Traditions can be nice.”
“Do you believe in God?” he asks.
For some reason, his directness doesn’t surprise me. The real Notre-Dame is ahead of us, gigantic and humbling, and its reflection shimmers in the dark river below. I stare at it for a while before answering. “I don’t know what I believe. I guess that makes me a Christmas Tree Agnostic.”
He smiles. “I like it.”
“And you’re a Yom Kippur Atheist.”
“I am.”
I’ve never had a conversation like this before, where something so sensitive was discussed with such ease. We cross a bridge towards the cathedral. It’s on the Île de la Cité, the larger of the two islands that comprise the centre of Paris.
“I have a question,” Josh says. “But I’m not sure how to ask it.”
I wish that I could give him a playful nudge. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
There’s an excruciating pause as he searches for the right phrasing. “Kurt has…autism?”
Internally, I cringe. But I spare him as he spared my own ignorance. “Yeah. What the DSM used to call Asperger’s, and what they now call high-functioning autism. It’s the same thing. But it’s not a problem, it’s not like it’s something that needs to be cured. His brain works a little differently from ours. That’s all.”
Josh gestures towards a bench in the cathedral’s small park, and I reply by moving towards it. We sit down about two feet apart.
“So how does his brain work?”
“Well.” I take a deep breath. “He’s super-rational and literal. So sarcasm, metaphor? Not his strengths.”
Josh nods. “What else?”
“It’s difficult for him to read faces. He’s worked on it a lot, so he’s way better than he used to be. But he still has to remember to make eye contact and smile. I mean, obviously he smiles, but he only does it when he means it. Unlike the rest of us.” I’m rambling, because I’m struck again by the fact that I’m sitting on a bench – a bench not even on school property – beside Joshua Wasserstein.
“So he’s honest.”
“Even when you don’t want him to be.” I laugh, but it immediately turns into worry. I don’t want Josh to get the wrong idea. “He doesn’t mean to be rude, though. Whenever he finds out that he’s accidentally hurt someone’s feelings, he’s devastated.”
“It’s kind of French, you know? Not the hurting-people’s-feelings thing. Only smiling when it’s sincere. Americans will smile at anyone, for any reason.”
“You don’t.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Josh is taken aback. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, I’ve been told that I have a hard time…concealing my displeasure.”
“I know.” I hesitate. “I like that about you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You do?”
I stare at the bench’s wooden slats. Somehow, the two feet between our bodies has halved into one. “It means that when you do smile? I know it’s not false. You’re not just smiling to make me” – I shake my head, and my hair bounces – “whomever, feel better. If they’re saying stupid things. And can’t seem to stop talking.”
His mouth spreads into a slow smile.
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Like that.”
“What else?”
I tilt my head. “What else what?”
“What else do I need to know about Kurt?”
His phrasing implies that we’ll be spending more time together. The happy tightness returns to my chest. “Not much else to know. It’s not like he’s a card-counting savant or a mathematical genius or anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant. But those stereotypes are the worst. Though he does love routine.”