Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  “So….” He trails off, eyeing my desk, moving closer. “You cleaned your desk off, I see.”

  My head drops back and I sigh a long, drawn-out sound before sucking it up and facing him. I see how he’s going to be. “I know you read my lips.” I eye him hard. “Which is really astounding that you managed to do it from the door but let me clear it up for you.” I try to ignore him crossing those huge arms in front of his chest casually as if we’re talking about the lunch menu. “I don’t want to have sex with you….” I cringe and look at the desk he takes a seat on. He’s right, I did clean it off, but it wasn’t because I planned on doing him on it. “On the desk.”

  The man who smiles so little folds over and barks out this deep, throaty laugh that legit sends tingles to the end of my fingers. It takes him a minute to get it together, but when he does, he faces me, a faint blush across his cheeks. “Does that mean you want to have sex with me somewhere else? Is that what you mean?”

  The annoying man doesn’t give me time to respond as he pushes off the desk and gets right in my face. Our breaths meet in between us and, for some reason, words freaking escape me. “What about the piano? Would that be more your style?”

  And… we’ve crossed a line.

  A big, fat, Costa Rican line.

  But do I stop it?

  Hell to the no, I don’t.

  Instead, I feel his chest rise against mine, his warm breath fanning along my throat, holy—“Milah? Everything okay?”

  Fucking Cal.

  Tim takes a step back, but his eyes never leave mine.

  “Good morning, Cal. Tim was just securing my necklace.”

  Cal probably knows it’s bullshit, but maybe not. He only has a view of my back. Tim could have been working on clasping my necklace. It’s plausible.

  “Oh, okay,” he says, still eyeing Tim who doesn’t even bother to look his way. “Are you guys eating in the cafeteria today? You haven’t been in a while.”

  That’s because I’ve been bribing Gretchen to take my cafeteria duty. I wanted to sit with Oliver and Tim, and I didn’t think they would do well in the cafeteria.

  “Umm… we’ll see. I’ve had a lot of papers to grade since you know—” I stop, forgetting that Tim doesn’t know I’m leaving at the end of the year. It’s true, I do have an atrocious amount of papers to grade, and with me job hunting after school, I have to squeeze it in elsewhere. Which is not at lunch. Or after school.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says softly, like he too, forgot my job here is ending in less than a few months. “I’ll see you later then.”

  I doubt it, but I agree and wish him a good day.

  “Do you need me to help you grade papers?” Comes the sexy-ass voice.

  I shrug. “It’s okay. I can do it.” He narrows his eyes, and it gets on my nerves. “Don’t give me that look, Mr. Lambros. I don’t need your help.”

  But I could use it.

  “I know you think I’m here because—well, I don’t know why you think I’m here—but I am here to work. I can do more than organize your cabinet and watch you teach. I can grade papers.”

  His words are sincere, and I think he actually means it. Which I will certainly take him up on, but first, “Why are you here?”

  He sighs. “Do you want my help or not?”

  Today is not the day. I get that. I’ll bank that little question for another day. “Okay, yes, I would like your help grading papers.”

  His jaw ticks and he nods, the playful Tim gone with Cal’s nosy interruption. “Show me what to do.”

  And that was that. For the next two periods, Tim keeps his head down and his wrist busy grading papers. He doesn’t look up once. Not to watch me. Not to go to the bathroom. Nothing. Just grading papers. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. But, hey, at least he’s catching up work that I seriously needed to get done.

  By the time Oliver comes in, Tim is done with the stack I gave him.

  “Wow, I thought that would take you the whole day,” I muse, signing my words so Oliver can see.

  “I’m going to Ms. Peak’s room. Do you and Oliver want to join me?” is all he returns. I look for any signs of distress and come up empty. His eyes aren’t wide and crazy looking. He’s not frowning. He’s just… Tim.

  “Umm… I really need to work on sign language with Oliver.” Not that I haven’t been, but I feel like I’m splitting my time between the two and it’s not fair to Oliver.

  “I’ll help you.”

  I choke. Legit choke on air right in front of Tim, who just gives me an annoyed look and pats me on the back.

  “Don’t make this a big deal.”

  Don’t make this a big deal. This is a huge freaking deal. Mr. I Hate Sign Language is agreeing to help Oliver learn it.

  I clear my throat and look at the little boy already at Tim’s side, his small hand clasped in his. Ah hell. They hit me right in the ovaries.

  “Please, Ms. Iglesias. Please can we go to the music room?”

  I’m getting fired anyway. I might as well enjoy the last of my time here.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “You brought me lunch?”

  I turn around just in time to see Tim passing over a brown bag to Ms. Peak.

  “Technically, Breck made you lunch.”

  I see another bag in his hand. How did I miss that?

  “I’m sorry for intruding on your lunch hour.”

  The older woman pulls out an array of food that, Breck, who must be someone at the foundation, cooked. “Let’s eat, and then we’ll play.”

  Tim tips his chin and heads back to the desk where Oliver and I have our lunches spread out between us. That tall body folds into the chair next to me, setting his crayon-decorated bag in front of him.

  “That was sweet of you,” I sign.

  It was, even if it makes me a little bit jealous, which is stupid because he asked me to come today. I didn’t chase him down or eat alone in my room. The headache actually asked me to come. That’s progress, right?

  Without responding, Tim finishes pulling everything out of his bag and then sets a cherry tart in front of me and then one in front of Oliver.

  I just stare at the beautifully wrapped tart in front of me, and then he plops a bag of mint M&M’s between us. My eyes go wide as I put my hand on the bag like some kind of druggie. His hand startles me when he yanks it from me. “This dessert is mine. You liked the tart, remember?”

  I eye the bag in his hand. Is it really his dessert? I don’t know that I’ve ever told him that I love mint M&M’s, so maybe he really does like them? But then when he opens his quinoa and avocado salad, I remember his “refined sugars and crap” speech.

  “You’re lying,” I accuse, and really, what for? Am I that desperate to have an M&M? Why, yes, I think I am.

  “Tell me why you have eight bags in your desk, and I’ll let you have it.”

  See? I knew it was for me.

  I sigh, taking a look around to be sure Oliver and Ms. Peak are happily eating. “Because I can’t get mint M&M’s in Costa Rica, and since I’m here on a work visa, I never know when I may have to go without them.” I shrug. “So I make sure I eat a few,” or a bag, “every day.” God help me, I shrug one more time and then add like a total idiot, “Mint M&M’s make me happy.”

  They make me freaking happy. Have you ever? No wonder I can’t keep a man. It’s not my crazy that runs them off; it’s the ridiculous shit that comes out of my mouth.

  Tim slides the package across the desk. “I might have bought this to replace the bag I ate yesterday.”

  Gasping, I clutch at my chest. “You ate my M&M’s?” Why do I sound like I’m about to murder his ass? Oh, because I am. No one touches my M&M’s.

  A stupid smirk plants itself on his stubbly face, looking all kinds of sexy when he says, “You ate my tart. Now, we’re even.”

  We are so far from even, but that’s okay. At least he will survive another day.

  Felipe is watching a bad eighties exercis
e tape when I finally fall into one of the leather chairs. His eyes flash over the bag at my feet. “How goes the job hunt? I see you made it to the mall.”

  A whining noise that I meant to be silent, bubbles out. “Don’t judge me, Pe. It was a long day, and after the last, ‘Sorry, sweetie, we’re not hiring,’ I gave up and drowned my sorrows in the clearance rack.”

  His eyebrow arches. “How clearance?”

  Groaning, my head falls back. “Fine,” I whine. “I lied. It was full price. But, Pe!”

  Felipe’s rumbling laughter draws closer until his spandex-covered ass squeezes into the chair with me. “Stop worrying, Mami. You have time.”

  “I don’t. I don’t have time, Pe. Do you realize how long it took me to find a job here in the first place? Almost a year!”

  Pe’s face twitches under the fluorescent lights. “Work for me then. You can man the bar until you can find something else.”

  I wave him off. “You can’t afford another employee and besides, you have Marcus for the bar. He does a great job.”

  Pe nods but his face is forlorn. He knows I’m right. I would jeopardize his business by adding an extra strain to his already tight payroll. I know he’s trying to be a good friend, and I really appreciate his offer, but I can’t do that to him. It’s an unfortunate situation that will now affect my ability to help out my mami and abuelita.

  After the last flood, my childhood home was demolished. They have been renting a place, but it’s more than they can afford on their own. I was so proud that I’ve been able to send them money to help out, but now? Now, they will have to find something cheaper and probably with another room. Or at least a nice couch. All of the sacrifices they made to get me to America will have been for nothing.

  Sure, the first two years I did great with landing the teaching job, but does that even matter in the grand scheme of things? No, it doesn’t. The plan was that I make a life here, not visit for a couple years and come back with nothing but tales of the best M&M’s ever. No! My mami expected greatness. She expected me to make our dreams a reality.

  “Stop thinking,” Pe says, shaking me a little before grabbing the shopping bag from the floor and snooping inside. “Ooh, girl. These are fuck-me-heels. Who are you trying to bruise?”

  I feel my eyes go squinty. “No one. I just thought they were cute.”

  Pe shoves the sexiest pair of shoes that I’ve ever laid eyes on, back in the bag. “Well, I sure hope so because your beaver hasn’t seen a razor in a while. It won’t matter how cute those shoes are. You’ll scare the poor thing off when those panties come off.” He makes this shocked face that makes me laugh, momentarily brightening my failures of this afternoon.

  “You are so stupid.” I shove him away from me and then pull his firm body back and hug him as tight as I can.

  “I know, Mami. I know,” he soothes, patting my back as a few wayward tears escape between us.

  Radio host: But Timaeus loves playing piano? And music?

  Penelope: Timaeus does love music. And if he doesn’t want to share that love with the world, then I’m okay with it. As long as he continues to play, I’ll be happy.

  Radio host: Do you ever think Timaeus will stop playing? Like when he gets more into girls?

  Penelope: Ha! My son is smart. He’s already figured out that music is the love language to any soul. He would never give it up. Not for anything.

  One morning, a few weeks later, my coffee sits on the desk getting cold.

  “This is literally a shitshow,” I mumble, looking at Milah standing there wide-eyed and a little pissed off. A student reported that a toilet was overflowing on our hall. Given that we were the only ones around, we got stuck with the cleanup.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she signs, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Principal Moorehouse warned us to keep an eye out for the little sh—angels who were going around clogging the toilets, but it’s been weeks since an incident happened. I thought they had moved on to something else.”

  I nod, not understanding any of what she’s talking about. “So this has happened before?” Clearly, someone needs to be suspended or spend a good part of the day in the corner. After they’ve cleaned up this mess.

  Assessing the scene in front of us, I note all five toilets and two sinks overflowing onto the tile floor, an inch above the sole of my shoe. If we don’t get this stopped soon, the bottom of my pants will be soaked.

  “Do you know if there is a plunger around here?” A quick glance around and I come up empty.

  “There might be one in the janitor’s closet! I’ll be right back.” I watch as Milah’s face scrunches up into something like pain as she tries to tiptoe through the water. What is she doing? Her hands are balled at her sides, and she pauses a minute before sprinting out of the bathroom as fast as she can, which just sloshes water over my shoes.

  Shoes.

  It hits me then what she was trying to do. She was trying to keep her feet and her expensive-looking shoes from getting a toilet-water bath. My chest rumbles as I replay her tense body barely moving through the water before just giving up and running. Did she really think she was making it out of the bathroom dry? Those shoes are ruined. She might as well trash them after this.

  I turn off the water running in the sink then take a look around at the damage and sigh. What a fucking day this has turned out to be. It started with Dr. Parker’s shit on Skype this morning.

  “You missed your appointment yesterday,” he accuses me with his hands.

  “I was busy working. As you suggested I do.” I haven’t had enough coffee, and, frankly, I’m not in the mood to speak with Dr. Parker, the man who started this shitshow to begin with.

  “Right. I did suggest you branch out.” His untouched coffee sits on the table beside him, and I choose to focus on it rather than the knowing look in his eyes. After a minute though, I know he’s signing and there is no point in ignoring him and his prying questions. The sooner I get this call over with, the sooner I can be done with him for the week. “Have you met any new people?”

  His question gets on my damn nerves. “What am I, twelve? Yes, at recess I played tag, and I got to be the line leader for good behavior.”

  “I see your sarcasm is intact.” He remains unflustered by my attitude, which just will not do. I live for making Dr. Parker lose his cool.

  “Can’t you just ask my family?” I sigh. I’m sure he has already been in contact with Anniston, Cade, and possibly Theo.

  “I wanted to ask you. Have you met anyone? Spoken to anyone but your family?”

  “Fine. Fuck.” I rake a hand through my hair. “My co-teacher, she’s fluent in sign language. We’re friends.”

  Dr. Parker nods, fighting back a smile. “Anyone else?”

  This is painful. Almost as bad as when I told my parents that I wasn’t joining the orchestra after high school. “And a little boy. Oliver. He’s losing his hearing, like me—like I did.”

  “Oh. And how does that make you feel being around someone so young going through what you have?”

  Good old Dr. Parker, never misses a wound he can stick his finger in. “It’s not the best time I’ve ever had.”

  “Do you offer him guidance?”

  I feel my lips purse. “I offer him my dessert at lunch. Do I look like someone who needs to be offering up advice? I’m a fucking wreck. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?”

  His expression never changes. He’s a patient man. Seriously, he deserves a medal. “But you have lived through it, Tim. You still might have issues to work through, but you aren’t broken. You have a wealth of knowledge to offer someone like Oliver.”

  I scratch my cheek, all the confusion and new emotions making their way to the surface. “I hate signing,” I blurt out. “I loathe it. I’d rather miss words than to sign them.”

  Dr. Parker doesn’t seem as shocked with this confession as I think he should be. “And why do you loathe it?”

  Goddammit. I
am never getting out of the house. “Because it reminds me of everything I used to be.”

  “And what did you used to be?”

  Anniston would kill me if I punched the wall. She would. So instead of hitting something, I groan and tuck my head between my hands. “Somebody. I used to be someone.”

  “And you aren’t now?”

  “No.”

  “Do you still have two degrees?”

  This conversation is going nowhere.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Dr. Parker takes a drink of his coffee, slowly, just so it gets on my nerves. “Can you not speak four languages? Did your voice and knowledge fade too?”

  Fuck this. I am not doing this with him today. “You know what? Never mind. I have to go or I’ll be late.”

  Dr. Parker nods, looking all happy with himself. “Okay, I’ll schedule you another appointment for next week. I’ll send it to Anniston so you don’t forget.”

  And that’s how my morning started off. Frustrating as fuck. The only good thing about it was walking in and seeing Milah in those heels that screamed “bend me over this desk and fuck me until I can’t walk.” Her shoes are a wet fucking dream. I couldn’t even focus. All I kept imagining were the points of her stilettos digging into my back.

  I know I said I had nothing to offer a woman, and I still stand by that statement, but I can do sex. I shouldn’t because interoffice romances can get nasty really quick. And Milah looks like a wholesome woman. She needs husband material, not just a fuck buddy. So whether or not she and I could use a nice romp on the desktop, I’ll have to take the gentleman’s way out and leave her alone.

  Movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Milah tiptoeing into the bathroom, a plunger held high in her hand. “I found one!” She tells me with a wide smile, only letting it fall a second later when she splashes in water.

  “I just bought these shoes, and they were full price!” One hand is attempting to sign to me while the other holds the plunger steady. “I know men don’t understand, but shoes are like—ahh!” Her foot slips and she slides, falling ungracefully to the tiled floor, and right in—“Oh my God, I am laying in shit water!”