Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  Coincidentally, two years later, times are scarily the same. This time though, I’m not seeking any dong pendulums, but I still sought out my Pe and his tequila. Thankfully no customers were horrified due to it being a Monday night. Mondays are slow, so Felipe closes the bar. Thank heavens. Who knows how this night would have turned out had it been open?

  “You’re right,” I mumble into Felipe’s shirt. It’s a good shirt too. He’ll have a nightmare of a time getting my mascara stains out of it. “I don’t want to marry you. You snore, and you’re stingy with the umbrella.”

  One hundred percent true.

  I made that mistake once when Felipe said we could “share” his umbrella during a torrential downpour. Basically that translated into him staying dry and me getting soaked when he ran faster than I could. Felipe is not a sharer, essentially.

  Except for his apartment.

  Well, no. Scratch that. He locks me out on the regular with lies about me going downstairs to get us wine when we have company, only for me to return and be met with a locked door and a twenty-dollar bill sliding through the crack as his way of an apology.

  Felipe’s chest rumbles under mine. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’ll marry your ass if I have to, Mami.”

  Why are we friends, again? Did I say anything in that story about us meeting that made you think Pe was a keeper? Yeah, I didn’t think so. All I can add is that he really does care about me and he’s always been here for me, even if I want to shove him in front of a bus from time to time.

  I wipe my nose on Felipe’s shirt. We all agree he deserves it, right?

  “That was the worst friend-posal I’ve ever heard.”

  It’s sweet though.

  But I’m not a cockblocker. If that means getting my ass on a plane back to Costa Rica at the end of the year, I will. I wouldn’t stand in the way of Felipe and Marcus’s happiness—even if they do break up every Friday.

  Felipe tucks me into his side.

  “Come on, Mami. I’ll give you a little dong dance before bed tonight. That always makes you feel better, yeah?”

  I snort and punch him softly.

  He’s not wrong.

  “Thanks, Pe.” I hop off the table and tug at the tequila bottle in his hand. “But I think José and I are going to round out our evening in the tub.”

  Where there are no witnesses.

  Felipe eyes me up and down, probably making sure I’m not suicidal, before he nods.

  “I’ll be up later,” he says, hopping down and joining me on the floor. “Don’t drown, okay?”

  I nod, swallowing back another round of tears just itching to be set free in the bathroom.

  “Buenas noches.”

  Penelope: Thank you, Brian. My life has been quite the whirlwind recently.

  Radio host: I can only imagine. How are you and your son holding up since the recent split with your husband? You were married for how long?

  Penelope: Twenty-two years. Timaeus and I are managing, though. The divorce was unexpected for the both of us.

  My therapist has the patience of a saint.

  “I’m fine.”

  Dr. Parker, a young doctor in his late thirties, taps his pen against his desk. “You’re fine?”

  I stare blankly watching the transformation of Dr. Parker’s expression as he digests the look on my face. Basically it says, “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

  “So you go completely deaf, and you’re fan-fucking-tastic?” he snaps, unable to hold back any longer.

  I grin. Antagonizing Dr. Parker is so simple, yet so satisfying. It’s a shame I get such a thrill out of watching him lose his shit and piss away his professionalism with one well-placed comment.

  I shrug, smothering the laugh that threatens. “Maybe not fan-fucking-tastic but more along the lines of out-fucking-standing.”

  I imagine the groan and the swear words he lets out behind his hand. It really does brighten my day. I was so pissed off when I woke up to my sunrise alarm clock—which works great by the way—and saw a sticky note on my door with an appointment time to see Dr. Parker, who I haven’t seen in six months. It didn’t seem necessary to go. He asks me how I feel about losing my hearing, and I grunt out nonanswers. We basically waste each other’s time and money.

  I figured I’d just spare us both.

  Until I was met with Theo, hula-hooping his car keys around his finger and shrugging. “Anniston promised me head.” And we all know he’d do anything for a blow job, even drag me to a doctor’s appointment under protest.

  “Tim, let’s be serious for a moment.”

  Dear God, is this what hell feels like?

  I sigh, slouching back in the chair, letting my knees fall open.

  Does he really want to hear that I’m crying myself to sleep at night? Because I’m not. I’m angry. I’m so damn angry that I can’t even think straight. I want to rage. I want to destroy more shit. But what good would that do me? At the end of the night, I’m still deaf. And without the surgery, that I refuse to have, I will remain that way.

  The end.

  Story over.

  “I really am fine, Dr. Parker. This wasn’t a surprise, you know. I’ve been preparing for years, slowly losing my hearing one damn day at a time.”

  It’s sort of true.

  Dr. Parker looks to the ceiling—probably praying—before placing his pen down exactly in line with his notebook.

  “Okay, Tim. I’ve tried to be patient.”

  He has. He deserves a medal.

  “I’ve tried to let you grieve. You’ve lost a huge part of your life.”

  No shit.

  “I have grieved,” I lie.

  “No, you haven’t. You’re stuck. It’s been a month since you lost your hearing. A month.”

  He doesn’t have to remind me. I know how long it’s been. Four fucking weeks down and a lifetime to go. Just me and this sexy voice in my head.

  “I know how long it’s been, Dr. Parker.”

  “Anniston said that you’re like a zombie around the foundation.”

  “Anniston exaggerates,” I add. “She’s just worried and reading into my behavior too much.” Hence the reason she sent me here.

  “You have to move on, Tim.”

  His hands sign the words, and I turn away. I’ve never hated sign language as much as I do right now.

  “I am moving on,” I correct him, purposely not signing.

  His eyebrows arch in a way that annoys the fuck out of me. “Are you?”

  Have mercy on my fucking soul. “Yes. I am moving on.” I nod to the door that leads to the waiting room. “Ask Theo, he’s out there.” Actually, I doubt he is. He told me he was parking the car, but fifty bucks says he went home and I’ll have to call Breck to come pick me up.

  “I don’t want to ask Theo. I want to ask you.”

  Of course he does. Join the fucking club.

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m moving on.”

  “Are you driving?”

  Oh, here we go.

  “No. I don’t have an income. Therefore, I don’t own a car to drive.”

  “Why aren’t you working? You have a degree in both foreign language and music, am I correct?”

  It takes everything I have not to shout that both of those degrees require the ability to fucking hear.

  “You know I can’t do anything with those now,” I tell him in a low voice, with barely controlled anger.

  “Why can’t you?”

  Oh my God.

  “Fine!” I snap. “You want me to work? I’ll get a job.”

  Dr. Parker contains a smile, and it pisses me off. “Will that make you happy?” I snap, hoping my voice is as loud as I think it is. “Will that show you that I can move on and don’t give two shits that I’ve lost my hearing? Will that make you happy, Dr. Parker?”

  I’m winded by the time I finish acting like a toddler.

  “It would make me happy to see you get out and enjoy the world,
Tim.” I go to cut him off, and he raises those annoying brows again. “It would make me happy to see you realize that you can live a perfectly normal life using the four senses you have left.”

  This is hell. I’ve decided.

  “You don’t have to be able to hear to be happy, Tim. You don’t have to punish yourself for her.”

  My leg bounces as we enter a territory that I absolutely cannot tolerate. “Time’s up.”

  Dr. Parker rises from behind his desk, and I do too. “Next time I see you”—eyebrows again—“I want to know all about your new job.”

  I nod. “Fine.” As long as it puts an end to this nightmare.

  “And—” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “—I want you to start writing in your journal again.”

  I’d promise my first born if it got me out of this office.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.”

  And now we’re being petty.

  “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Tim.”

  Don’t count on it.

  In the parking lot, with the much-needed space between me and Dr. Parker, I recognize Anniston’s SUV with familiar faces inside.

  “I brought some bitches to cheer you up,” Theo says, not bothering to sign his words as he leans out of the driver’s side window.

  Hayes, in the passenger seat, flips him off, his shoulders bouncing in laughter before he speaks, signing his words in tandem with his voice. “Come on, sugar, let’s get you fucked-up.”

  I’m not a drinker. None of us are. Most of the time, it’s simply a beer next to the pool or on the deck while we wait on the grill. Getting drunk has been a thing of the past, but with Dr. Parker’s words still whirling around in my head, I’m thinking getting fucked-up sounds like the perfect solution.

  I’m not stuck.

  I do enjoy the world.

  And I’m especially going to enjoy tonight with my friends and the slobbery dog in the back that is giving me a “What the fuck are you waiting on?” expression.

  I smirk, aiming it at Hayes for his term of endearment that drives Bianca crazy. “Oorah.”

  Three.

  That’s how many shots of tequila I’ve had.

  Four is the number of times Anniston has texted to be sure we haven’t drowned ourselves in the pool.

  Once we got home from making a stop at the liquor store, we immediately retreated to the newly installed in-ground pool. That’s where we went wrong. The sun. The booze. The most ruthless game of volleyball ever in the shallow end of the pool… it all contributed to this drunken moment on the lounge chair, applying another layer of sunscreen that smells like sex and sand—something I miss terribly.

  “So, are the girls coming home tonight?” I question, rubbing the chalk-white lotion into my skin and watching it disappear underneath the natural tan coloring. I could use some time watching Peppa Pig with my girl, Aspen.

  Theo narrows one eye, a skill he has perfected over the years. “Why? Do you need both Mommy and Daddy to tuck you in tonight?”

  He doesn’t sign his words, but I don’t misinterpret a one. The dude is a smart-ass and it has me chuckling before flipping him off. He knows I never miss a night with my girl and her crackers. Cade shoves at his shoulder, causing Theo’s drunk ass to stumble before righting himself and adding, “No, sweet boy. Mommy and the other two mommies are all staying in the spare barracks tonight so the men can have some peace.” He smirks at Cade. “Except Jameson. He’ll sneak down there so B can sing him to sleep later.”

  I laugh, watching the other guys all hide their grins at Cade’s expense. Breck doesn’t sing him to sleep, but instead, writes on her blog late at night. Her typing lulls him into a deep slumber or into her pants, in which the orgasm lulls him to sleep. Either way, he sleeps, and Cade sleeping through the night is something we never thought would happen.

  Up until a couple of years ago, Cade would wake the house with his nightly screams. I’d never seen PTSD as bad as his. But that’s not saying much since I’d never been on the front lines, nor was my stint in the military a long one. I’m just saying that, although the guys are giving Cade shit about going back to the spare barracks, they do it with an appreciation of him finally being able to rest.

  And besides, Cade and Theo are always giving each other shit. It’s what they do. They met under weird circumstances, and somewhere in between fighting with each other, they developed a brotherhood. One that entertains us all. Theo may seem like an inconsiderate prick sometimes, but I have the utmost respect for him. He’s never treated me any different. He gives me just as much shit as he does Hayes and the others. Something I’ve learned to appreciate over the years—normality.

  “You’re such an asshole,” Cade signs, a grin tugging at his lips.

  Theo looks aghast. “Why am I an asshole? Because I know you will go begging for Breck to tug on Jameson Junior until you go night-night? Or the fact that Tim has a standing date with my daughter every night?” He glares my way before it morphs into a teasing look. Aspen Von Bremen may be the family princess, but she’s the queen in my kingdom. “Besides, it was my idea to get Tim plastered in the first place. None of you fuckers had the brilliant idea.”

  Theo looks around the pool, his eyes landing on Mason who is floating on a pink raft. Killer, his retired military K9, is lying over his legs that are heavily scarred from years of service. “Mason didn’t come up with the idea. His head has been so far up the pity asshole that he can barely breathe through the shit.”

  Mason doesn’t bother looking up and acknowledging Theo’s observation. Probably because he knows it’s true. Hayes told me that he’s been morose and seems to be taking my hearing loss harder than I am. I can’t disagree since he’s kept his distance from me. My guess is there is more going on, and I feel like shit since I haven’t asked him about it. I, too, have been “up the pity asshole.”

  “Hayes,” Theo continues, “can’t stop fucking Bianca long enough to notice that Kane has been playing pool with her on text message.”

  Hayes springs up from his lounge chair and glares at Kane. “Why doesn’t she play with me?”

  Theo winks at Cade who just shakes his head. Bianca, Hayes’s everything, has not been playing pool with Kane. Sure, they’re friends, but Bianca’s loyalty is 100 percent allocated to the one and only Connor Hayes—even if she might want to smother him every now and again.

  “Are you serious?” Hayes says, signing to Theo, his eyes wide and glazed over from the alcohol.

  Theo mouths “Gullible,” and it gets a laugh out of me.

  Most of the time Hayes is far beyond gullible, but for some reason the fucker is insecure when it comes to Bianca. It’s like he expects her to leave him at any moment. Honestly, she’s not going anywhere. Not only because she’s on probation but because she loves the shit out of this man. So much so that she went to jail to be worthy of him.

  Theo ignores Hayes’s glare and keeps going, doing what he does best: adding comedic relief to our tribe of brokenness. It’s been a long month. Anniston wasn’t wrong about that. I have been a zombie around here, and in turn, it has affected my entire family. All of them have been walking on eggshells and keeping quiet like if they all suffer with me it will make things better somehow. Not that it has. Really, I just want things to stay the same. I don’t want my family to feel like they need to sign more and speak less, like they have been. I don’t want them thinking they can’t laugh or enjoy the cute moments Aspen brings us.

  I’ve been the downer in this tribe, and I hate myself for it. Maybe that’s why I agreed with Dr. Parker earlier. He’s right. I haven’t moved on, and because of that, my family hasn’t either. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that my family means everything to me. They have been here for me when no one else has. I owe it to them to try—to make peace with my new reality and move us all forward. I want our family to be whole again, and right now, we’re all stuck. So for once, I’m going to stick with Dr. Parker’s advice.
I’m going to find a job and take the lead with moving on.

  Somewhere in my self-realization, I must have missed some of Theo’s rant, because when I look up, he’s already onto another complaint. “Why can’t Vic manage to cook something even remotely decent for us to eat? I thought you knew how to cook, but it seems to me Breck’s lessons are sucking just as much as Jameson does in the bedroom.”

  Vic holds up a finger, intent to argue his cooking skills, but Theo continues, his hand signing passionately with his words. “Don’t even say that I’m lying. Breck lies to you, Vic. That veal you cooked last night….” Theo makes a heaving gesture, and Cade turns around, his shoulders shaking. “I had to run four extra miles just so I could throw it up without Anniston catching an attitude.”

  I snort. The veal was pretty terrible. Vic used to cook a lot for his son, but when he died at the tender age of six, Vic stopped. Breck reintroduced him to cooking not too long ago. He has good days and the meals are something straight out of a five-star restaurant, and then he has bad days where it looks like something Killer would eat. “And Kane!” Theo continues animatedly. “Why the fuck are you even out here? Don’t you have kittens to strangle or kids to scare?” Theo’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath, calming his crazy ass down. “So, out of all of you losers, tell me again why I am the asshole? At least I thought about your asses.”

  It’s almost funny how he plops down with a huge frown like he didn’t mean to give us a window into his cold, dark soul that actually does give a fuck about us.

  “Von Bremen,” Cade signs, coming closer so he can put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. He immediately flips Cade off and chugs his beer, all the while never looking at Cade. He knows Cade is about to capitalize on his weak moment. “That’s the sweetest thing we have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

  “Shut up, Jameson. Tim’s lucky he doesn’t have to hear that stupid cooing thing you just did.” He meets my gaze, his eyes going wide before mouthing, “Pussy.”