Chapter 4: What Tyler Thought Was Funny
Leo didn't touch the phone.
"He's going to keep texting," he said.
"I know."
"What do I say to him?"
I sat back down across from my son.
"What do you want to say to him?"
He stared at the phone like it was something he didn't recognize.
"I don't know.
I never — I never thought about Tyler being like that.
I mean, I knew he said stuff sometimes.
But I thought it was just—"
"Just joking around?"
He heard his own words from the car ride home come back at him.
His mouth closed.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Leo, the people who laugh the loudest always think it's just joking around.
That's what makes it easy to keep doing."
He picked up the phone.
Read the new message.
His expression didn't change but something behind his eyes did.
He turned the screen toward me.
Tyler had sent a meme.
It was the kind that uses a medical term as a punchline.
Below it: *your waiter tonight lmaooo.*
I looked at it for one second.
Then I looked at my son.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Yes you do."
He looked at the screen again.
His thumbs hovered.
Then he put the phone face-down on the table.
"I can't just text him back like everything's normal," he said.
"No," I agreed.
"You can't."
"But if I say something he's going to think I'm being weird."
"Probably."
"And he'll tell the other guys."
"He might."
Leo rubbed the back of his neck.
"This is hard."
"Yes," I said.
"Doing the right thing is usually harder than not doing it.
That's why a lot of people don't bother."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he picked the phone back up.
I watched him type.
He was slow about it.
He deleted and started over twice.
The third time he didn't delete it.
He put the phone down and slid it across to me.
*That wasn't funny.
The guy was just doing his job.
I shouldn't have texted you about it.*
I read it twice.
It wasn't a speech.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was true, and he'd written it himself.
"Send it," I said.
He took the phone back.
Pressed send.
Set it face-down again immediately, like he didn't want to watch what came back.
"He's going to think I'm an idiot," Leo said.
"Maybe.
Or maybe he'll think about it."
"Tyler doesn't really think about stuff like that."
"People surprise you sometimes."
Leo looked at the wooden box still open on the table.
He reached in and picked up the graduation photo again — Daniel in his cap and gown, that wide, unguarded grin.
"Did he have friends?" Leo asked.
"Like real ones?"
"Yes," I said.
"He had good friends.
People who saw him, not his diagnosis."
"Was it hard for him?
Growing up?"
I thought about how to answer that honestly.
"Sometimes.
People could be unkind.
But Daniel had a way of — he didn't carry it.
He'd come home upset and by the next morning he'd be fine.
I used to ask him how he did it." I paused.
"He said, 'I don't want to waste a good day being angry at someone who already forgot about me.'"
Leo set the photo down gently.
His phone lit up.
He turned it over slowly.
Tyler had replied.
Leo read it.
His face went through three different things in about four seconds.
He turned the screen toward me without saying a word.
*lol ok whatever man.
you're so sensitive lately.
is this about your mom making you do volunteer stuff or something*
I watched Leo read it again.
"He thinks someone made you do it," I said.
"I know."
"Are you going to explain?"
Leo looked at the message for a long moment.
Then he set the phone down again, face-up this time.
"Not tonight," he said.
"I need to think first."
That was the most grown-up thing he'd said all evening.
I didn't tell him that.
I just nodded.
Then he asked me something I hadn't expected.
"Mom — do you think Sam knew?
May you like
At the restaurant.
Do you think he could tell what I was doing?"
