Warren and I texted each other throughout the night. He told me about his aunt and said she's a lovely lady. He's used that word about twenty times within the course of one day. He suggested that we should meet up when the two of us are free since he lives barely fifteen minutes away from where my house stands. I told dad about him and he said he's glad that I'm making friends again when the truth is, I'm not. I'm not making friends again. Warren is simply an exception because he doesn't make me feel different. He doesn't treat me like I'm different. He also taught me that boys can be pink and girls can be blue. Boys can love boys and girls can love girls. 

Don't get me wrong. I'd heard about people being attracted to the same sex before. It's just that I'd always been taught that though it did exist, I was not to indulge in such 'shameful behaviour' as it would taint our family honour. I was asked who would continue the family's bloodline if I settled for a man instead of a woman. Truthfully, I had no interest in raising children of my own. I hope whoever I end up with, man or woman, feels the same. That is, if I end up with anyone at all. 

Though I preferred being alone most of the time according to personal choice, I was afraid of being alone forever. I was afraid of feeling lonely. This is another thing other people fail to recognize. People with autism have fears too. For example, I'm afraid of roaches. I'm afraid of grasshoppers. I'm afraid of Francis. I'm afraid of ableism. I'm afraid of racism. I'm afraid of good things ending and bad things lasting. Good things like my father, Elsa and Tyrone. And maybe Warren. Bad things like Aunt Delancey and Francis.

I love my father. He indulges in harmful behaviour that I don't like, like smoking and drinking. He makes a lot of mistakes and is a mess most of the time. He's easily irritable. But he is the first person who made an effort to understand me. 

I wanted to ask him what he would do if I wanted to take care of a boy with strings attached. I figured it wasn't the right time to ask though, partly because of the Aunt Delancey situation and partly because I wasn't too sure about whether I actually wanted to or not. While it is true that I have not once felt a romantic attraction for a woman, I had been grown accustomed to the idea that a relationship should only consist of a man and a woman. I had difficulty visualizing myself with a man but if I said I've never wanted to take care of a man with strings attached, I'd be lying.

Warren and I decided to meet on Friday which was two days away. I was excited because this meant I could ask him more questions about people and about colours - and maybe he could tell me about his brother or his parents or even his tattoo. 

I thought about how he has my name saved as Kirby on his phone. I had his name saved as Warren Doyle. He hadn't told me about any of his interests. He'd just spoken about his grandmother and referred to her as a lovely woman. I can't save his name as 'grandmother' nor can I save it as 'lovely woman'. He is neither of these things. 

"Delancey called me this morning while you were asleep," dad said, switching back and forth between channels on the television. "She wants to give birth to the baby but she doesn't want to raise it. She's going to put it up for adoption."

I nodded in response. 

"I'm fine with her decision. I'm in my fifties anyway and I can't raise another child. I'm happy with just one."

"How old is Aunt Delancey?"

"She's in her forties. She doesn't want to take care of the child because it'll remind her too much of me," he snorted. 

Talking about this made me uncomfortable because it was a painful reminder that my father had slept with my deceased mother's sister. But I found myself being unable to criticize my father for it. Not because I felt what he had done was right. I knew it was wrong. But when it's someone I love, I find myself making excuses for them. 

I glanced over at the purple urn sitting atop the table in the corner of the living room. I wonder what my mother would say if she was still here. 

"Dad, I'll be meeting a friend this Friday."

"A friend?" dad questioned eagerly. "I assume this person is the reason behind why you were smiling while doing the dishes last night."

I ignored him, "His name is Warren. Warren Doyle."

"Sounds like-"

"An English poet," the two of us said in unison before sharing a laugh together.