I let his words settle over me. The idea that I couldn’t have changed a thing. There is math to point to, a model on his computer, apparently. I don’t know yet how I feel about any of this, whether this changes things. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe there is no such thing as relief for me, only time.
I’m sure David has quantum theories to point to—the unraveling of our future selves, the existence of alternate universes, how healing can occur on a molecular level. I don’t, though. I think it’s all so much simpler than that. My dad was right: Unimaginably bad shit happens. We are left to choose whether to grow or to wither. To forgive or to fester. I’m going to choose to grow and forgive, for both myself and my mom. She deserves the same grace.
I look over at David and he looks over at me and he smiles and then so do I. We turn around again and face outward. I think, for some reason, of those three portraits now hanging in my closet. My chest tattooed with freckled possibility. Pi. Infinity. One open, one closed. Both forever. The thought makes me feel lighter, closer to whole. Bigger somehow.
“139-Z8S?” I ask. “Really?”
“Or if you prefer, I can call you: Z8S-139. Or Z8 for short.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say. Looking at him now, I realize he’s right. He’s not a David. Not even a little bit. “What should I call you, then?”
He shrugs, that unnatural shrug he does, and today I find it adorable.
“I’ll think of something,” I say.
“Will you think more about the kissing?” he asks, and I laugh again and mimic his shrug. If he only knew how much I’ve thought about the kissing.
“Will you reconsider hand-holding?” he asks.
Instead of answering, I move my arm so it’s next to his, so we are lined up, seam to seam. He reaches out his pinky finger and links it around mine and a warm, delicious chill makes its way up my arm.
We stay that way for a minute, in a pinky swear, which feels like the smallest of promises.
And then I grab his whole hand and link all his fingers in mine.
A slightly bigger promise. Or maybe a demand: Please be part of my tribe.
It’s pretty simple, really. For once, things are not complicated. Right now, right here, it’s just us, together, like this. Palm to palm.
The most honest of gestures.
One of the ways through.
Maybe the best one.
I realize I’m breaking one of the novelist’s cardinal rules by admitting that What to Say Next is my favorite of the four books I’ve written (five, if you count the one that will forever stay in a drawer). It’s pretty much like a mom picking her favorite kid. But before this book, meeting my main characters has always felt a lot like looking at myself in a fun-house mirror—they’re all alterna-mes.
With What to Say Next, though, instead of having to stare down my demons in a mirror, the experience felt much more like the best parts of giving birth. I love these characters (and writing about them) in that wholehearted, inexplicable way that I love my own children, which is to say, so much more than I love myself.
One of the many things I love about Kit is that she comes from a family that looks not so different from mine. Her mother is first-generation Indian American (her grandparents hail from Delhi) and her dad is American. My husband’s grandparents are from that same region of India, but he’s British and I’m American. When my real-life children are old enough to read this book and meet their fictional siblings, they’ll get to see someone who looks like them represented in a novel.
And of course, this book also belongs to David, whose voice I will miss in my head most of all. There is a famous expression that when you meet one person with autism, you meet one person with autism. Labels can be liberating, but they can also be limiting. In What to Say Next we meet David. Just David. And what a joy he is.
I wanted to write a story about unexpected connections and finding your tribe. About the wonder of finding an honest and true friend when you feel at your most alone. About the miracle of discovering that special someone who can see you clearly when you feel at your most misunderstood.
I hope you care about Kit and David as much as I do.
Although my name gets to be on the cover of this book, the truth is that writing a novel takes a village. So if you didn’t like this one, here are all the other people you can blame. Just kidding. All mistakes are mine. All credit is theirs.
First off, thank you to Beverly Horowitz, my editor, who pushed me to keep working and editing and tinkering and to ultimately just do better; I’ve met my perfectionist match and I’m so grateful. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my agent, Jenn Joel, one of the smartest and sharpest people I know; I feel so lucky to have you on my team. A forever thank-you to Elaine Koster, who is deeply missed.
A big thank you and huge hug to all the amazing people at Random House Children’s Books: Jillian Vandall (the best publicist a girl could ask for), Kim Lauber, Hannah Black, Dominique Cimina, Casey Ward, Alissa Nigro, John Adamo, Nicole Morano, Rebecca Gudelis, Colleen Fellingham, and the awesomesauce Laura Antonacci. Deeply appreciative to the international rights team at ICM, to Sharon Green, and to my Internet water cooler, the Fiction Writers Co-op. A monster hug to Julia Johnson. And a shout out to Kathleen Caldwell and A Great Good Place for Books, which is indisputably the best indie bookstore in the world.
I did an enormous amount of research for this book. If you’re interested in learning more about the autism spectrum or how to be an ally, please email me through my website and I’d be happy to share my reading list as a starting place. I’m still learning. I hope you’ll join me.
To the readers out there who make this writing books thing possible, you are my favorite tribe. I can’t thank you enough for letting me do every day what I only used to daydream about. Thank you for your emails, for your letters, for your tweets, for your blog posts, for your photos, for coming out to say hi on tour, for all your support. You guys rock. I owe you my eternal gratitude.
And lastly, thank you to my kick-ass friends and family. To my dad and Lena for making everyone you’ve met since birth come to my events. To my brother for cheering me on. To Mammaji for all the child care and for making sure I nailed the details of Kit’s family. To the rest of the Flore clan for letting me join the family. To my mother and grandmother, who, if the quantum physicists are right, I like to think live somehow in the souls of these pages. And lastly, to Indy, Elili, and Luca, who breathe meaning and love into my every day. I am the luckiest girl in the multiverse.
JULIE BUXBAUM is the author of Tell Me Three Things, her debut YA novel. She also wrote the critically acclaimed The Opposite of Love and After You. Her work has been translated into twenty-five languages. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two young children.
Visit Julie online at juliebuxbaum.com and follow @juliebux on Twitter.