Page 51 of Wish You Were Her

Eight months later

The reporter from Architectural Digest walked around Allegra Brooks’s apartment with the photographer and openly marveled at the decor.

“This is not the apartment of a regular nineteen-year-old,” Madison Swayne told Allegra Brooks, who was dressed in loose Levi jeans and a vintage crop top. Her boyfriend had his arm around her waist and wore a discerning expression. His protectiveness radiating from him like a warning to strangers.

Any disrespect would earn them a sharp word and an order to leave.

“All thanks to Jasper Montgomery,” Allegra said, handing the designer’s business card over. “She’s available to answer any questions, probably with better detail than me.”

Madison took in the reception room of the classic apartment.

The wallpaper was a fine teal with flecks of foiled gold.

The chandelier was vintage and not too grand.

The room was not designed around a television, as though it were a nucleus dictating the rest of the furnishings.

There were shelves of books everywhere and the sofas and chairs were all turned to face the coffee table in the middle of the room

“And you met your designer on holiday last summer?”

“Sort of. She’s a good friend now.”

Madison cast another quick glance at the boyfriend. “And you’re an editor, yes?”

“A junior one. I’m still learning.”

Madison knew a lot about him from her own internet sleuthing.

He was young but his first poetry anthology had been reprinted multiple times, helped along by Allegra posting a picture of it to her millions of followers on publication day.

A small subsection of her fans were dedicated to learning more about him.

Madison had looked over their messages on a forum.

They liked how publicly grumpy he seemed, only ever smiling if Allegra was speaking to him.

He avoided the limelight and it only made him more enticing to his new online fans.

“What’s it like going out with one of the most in-demand actresses of our time?”

Ever since Allegra’s speech at the Made in Waiting premiere had gone viral, she had been in extreme demand.

Her schedule was full for the next few years and she had written some essays on neurodivergence in film that had started numerous industry conversations.

A hashtag about disability representation in media had caught fire as a result, and she was now in a position to be very picky about her projects.

Jonah Thorne merely smiled at the question, before nodding to the coffee table. “We got that for five pounds at a flea market.”

Both the subtext and the remonstration were clear. She was not in their home to hear about their private life.

“Do you,” Madison had no idea of how to phrase her question so it fell out rather bluntly, “want to talk at all about being autistic?”

Something unnameable passed through Allegra’s eyes and then she smiled and gave a small hiccup of a laugh. “No, not really.”

Madison was both taken aback and a little embarrassed. She had hoped that maybe Allegra would share some secret about interior design and autism. Not that Madison knew anything about the latter, hence why she had asked.

A boundary made clear.

Allegra showed them the kitchen and a few of the smaller rooms but the bedroom remained unseen, another boundary the young actress was very clear about.

Madison couldn’t help but notice the pair as the photographer took shots of the apartment.

They were always touching, in small almost unnoticeable ways.

He was always checking on her and she was always throwing him reassuring smiles.

It was as if they were communicating telepathically.

Madison took notes with only the slightest feeling of envy and bitterness.

“Do you two have any plans for this evening?” she asked, as they were packing up their equipment to leave. When the pair looked reticent to answer, she added, “Off the record.”

“Nothing’s ever off the record,” Allegra said, but she was smiling. “Our friend Grace has a dance showcase with her conservatory peers tonight. We’re going to see that.”

When Madison was gone, the pair breathed a sigh of relief and started to laugh.

“Why do neurotypicals stare so much?” Jonah asked gruffly, as they kicked off their shoes and collapsed onto their sofa.

“Because we’re weird aliens to them, even if they don’t exactly know it,” Allegra told him, putting her feet in his lap. He immediately began to stroke them soothingly.

“Hey, that Zoom I had booked in for tomorrow got moved to next week,” Allegra told her boyfriend. “Want to do something normal tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

“Book shopping then the park?”

“Plus vanilla ice cream.”

“Perfect.”

And so they sat, just the two of them, in a private slice of the universe that no one else was allowed to access.

For autism means, in one’s own world .

And that’s what they were: each other’s whole world.

The End.