“I was diagnosed with dyscalculia, which is a learning disability for math. I don’t understand the logic in algebra or geometry. I can’t even subtract numbers in my head, and forget about multiplying and dividing,” she confessed. “That’s why I use a calculator every time we talk numbers.”
Jason frowned as he studied her blank expression. “I’m sure you can do it. You’re just being hard on yourself. You’ve always been a perfectionist.”
She wanted to sigh. Perfectionism had nothing to do with it. She couldn’t do simple math operations in her head. She never could and hadn’t realized others had that ability until she had been tested.
“And don’t you think it’s strange that I take notes for everything?” Claire asked. “I know you’ve noticed. You tease me about it all the time.”
He winced and clenched his jaw. “I—”
“That’s not a complaint. I don’t mind your teasing,” she said with a small smile. Jason was never unkind when he poked fun at her. He was playful and flirty. She liked that.
Jason spread his arms out in exasperation. “I only brought it up because I didn’t want you to take an extra step. You’ve always been too hard on yourself.”
“I take notes because I have problems remembering details.” That had been one of the many recommendations the neuropsychologists had made. “I would record our meetings on my phone but some of my clients have a problem with that.”
“That doesn’t mean you have low intelligence,” he argued. “Why would you believe these test results?”
Claire bit her lip as she considered her next words. How could she explain that she’d gradually learned to accept the results? There had been times when she’d wished she didn’t know what was wrong with her. She would have liked to go through life blissfully unaware of her disorders.
But then she remembered how unhappy she had been before she’d been tested. All the times she’d wondered why everything had to be such a challenge. She had felt so lost and confused, out of her depth. She hated how she couldn’t get anything right. So despite how much she despised the labels, Claire was thankful for her diagnosis. She shouldn’t regret knowing the truth about herself.
Claire did, however, already regret telling Jason. She shouldn’t have said anything. She had followed an impulse, a need to get closer to him, and it had backfired.
It was clear that he didn’t want to believe her. He couldn’t accept this part of her.
But she’d wanted him to. She’d hoped he would understand why she was often anxious and quiet. She had spent so much time hiding her true self and being apologetic when she couldn’t meet expectations. When she didn’t improve. She wanted to be with someone who didn’t lecture her or get embarrassed when she made mistakes or couldn’t keep up.
This was her fault. She had expected too much from Jason. Claire didn’t know why she thought he’d be different. She had been desperate to see understanding light his eyes. That he would realize they had something in common and that he would also share his stories of struggle.
Or was it something more? Did she want him to realize that she was more than the quiet, hardworking woman who sat on the sidelines? She ached for him to recognize that she was something more. She had the spirit to keep at it even when the fight was stacked against her.
“I don’t discuss this with a lot of people.” Her shoulders felt tight and heavy and she rolled them back. “In fact, you and Kim are the only ones I’ve told. I would appreciate it if you kept this quiet.”
He drew his head back and gave her a curious stare. “Why would I tell anyone?”
Claire shrugged and looked away. Clearly there was no need for her to add that disclaimer. Really, why would he want anyone to know that the woman he was sleeping with was not smart? He was infamous for dating women who were silly and superficial, but that was different. Some of those women only pretended to be dumb blondes to get attention.
“I should go,” she said as she hooked her messenger bag firmly over her shoulder.
He seemed surprised by her abrupt attitude. “You can’t leave now,” he argued. He stepped away from the desk and blocked her way to the door. “We’re not done here.”
“Sorry, I have to get some work finished. There are a few deadlines I need to meet before tonight.”
“Didn’t you want to show me the work you’re doing for the party?” he asked in a rush. “Was it the e-newsletter?”