That spring, the lilacs hung heavy and fragrant. That was the spring that they finally had a name for what was wrong with Sandy. 

It was a relief, like all the people around her had been holding their breath all her life. Now they could finally let it out. They had a label for her. At last, at last, at last. 

Autism. Asperger’s.  

The only one who wasn’t relieved was Sandy. All grown up, all on her own Sandy. Shy Sandy, who hated going to parties. Silent Sandy, who never spoke up or raised her hand in class. Weird Sandy, who never caught the undercurrents of conversations or jokes. Odd Sandy, who got through school with high marks and no friends. Strange Sandy, who watched everyone and copied what they did but still didn’t blend in. 

Sandy sat on the balcony of her tiny apartment, watching the lilacs sway in the breeze. She thought about what it meant to be safely stowed away in a box with a label. 

I’m smart. I’m creative. I just . . . like being alone.  

It was so much easier than trying to get through the social maze that others seemed to navigate effortlessly. Even when she copied how others smiled and nodded, Sandy felt as though she was speaking a foreign language. She knew others could tell it wasn’t natural for her. She was . . . different.

Sandy closed her eyes and thought of last Christmas. It was like touching a bruise; something about the pain was secretly satisfying. 

It had been a family Christmas. Mom, Dad, Sandy, her older brother Rob, and Rob’s wife, Cathy. Everything had been normal until late on Christmas Eve when Sandy overheard the whispered conversation between Rob and their mother. 

“So is Sandy ever gonna get married?” Rob’s low voice was full of smug superiority. 

“I don’t know. She’s not like you, dear,” Mom murmured.  

But even Sandy could detect the note of longing in her mother’s words. Of course she wanted her only daughter to settle down with a spouse and a family of her own. 

Sandy wasn’t against meeting someone special. She just didn’t know how.  

If I can’t even make friends, how am I supposed to have a romantic relationship? How can someone fall in love with me? Sandy thought. 

Sandy slunk away before she could hear anything else. She already felt like she wasn’t living up to her family’s expectations. She didn’t need to hear any more. 

The next morning, on Christmas Day, they exchanged gifts. 

“Here,” Cathy said with a grin as she handed a package to her sister-in-law. “Merry Christmas, Sandy!”  

Curious, Sandy picked apart the seams of Scotch tape and peeled back the festive wrapping paper. It was a large, old-fashioned wicker picnic basket. It was bright white and was decorated with vines and silky pink roses. 

“Open it,” Cathy said, her eyes glowing with anticipation. 

Inside were paper plates, cutlery, napkins, and a pair of elegant wine glasses. Sandy ran her fingers over the curious contents. What am I supposed to do with this? she thought, but she returned Cathy’s smile.  

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Sandy knew that was the correct response, no matter whether or not the gift made sense. 

“Now all you have to do is find someone to take on a nice romantic picnic,” Cathy announced, looking as though she’d found the solution to a difficult problem. 

Sandy wasn’t good at hiding her real emotions. She could copy other people’s reactions, but it was almost impossible to make these imitations seem natural. 

Sensing the blankness behind Sandy’s smile, Cathy explained, “It’s so you’ll go out and find someone to marry. You do want to get married someday, don’t you?” 

Sandy nodded and kept her eyes fixed on the pretty, rose-covered basket. 

It felt like a dagger in Sandy’s heart. Just go out and find someone? This basket is supposed to make it easier to do that? The dagger twisted a little. That’s like asking me if I want to travel and then putting me in the cockpit of a jet and telling me 'this is all you need to get there. Just do it.'

It had hurt that no one, not even her family, understood her. If it was that simple, I’d have friends. I’d be going out all the time and would meet people. I’d walk out on the street every morning and feel like I’m part of it all. 

It was after that awful, painful Christmas that Sandy had finally gone to her doctor. She let her confusion and hurt spill all over the place like a burst water pipe. It had been hard. She’d felt ashamed and worse than ever.  

But the doctor knew what questions to ask and what patterns to recognize. And now Sandy had a label. Asperger’s. Something that fell on the autism scale. Wasn’t it a shame that they didn’t recognize things like that while Sandy was growing up? Her life might have been quite different. 

Sandy was unsure about how to move forward now that she had this label, this medically defined box in which to live her never-quite-normal life.  

Sandy sat on the balcony of her apartment and watched the lilacs nod and bend in the breeze. She breathed in their heady scent. Then Sandy remembered . . .  

Granny Tess.