by Jay McLean
Lexy closes the folder and leans back in her chair. “Dr. Schmidt is the most advanced doctor in his field. But I don’t want you to be discouraged, Becca. There can be so many developments. So many things can change and you’re young. That’s a good thing.”
Becca nods and plants the fakest of all fake smiles on her face. Her hands rise, her fingers moving. “It’s not so bad,” she signs. “At least now I can quit my crappy job.”
31
—Becca—
“I’m good,” Cordy says for me.
It’s the third time I’ve tapped the speak button since we got back in the car ten minutes ago. I haven’t needed to change the response once, and I don’t know why Dad keeps asking. I said everything I needed to say in that office.
It was never a sure thing.
I’m not disappointed.
I just am.
Josh blindly reaches for my hand and squeezes it once, but he won’t look at me. Apparently what’s on the other side of his window is more fascinating.
“I’m good,” Cordy says again, the two words echoing through the small, unbreathable space.
I almost push Josh out of the car when we finally pull into the driveway, needing the fresh air in my lungs more than I need Dad’s questions, more than I need Josh’s support. Without a word, Dad goes into the house while Josh and I stand in the driveway.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his eyes holding a tinge of gold against the morning sun.
“There’s nothing to talk about. It is what it is,” I sign.
Josh sighs. “I’m sorry,” he almost hesitates to say. “Your hands were going too fast… I couldn’t…”
“Don’t worry,” I sign.
“No.” He steps forward and tugs on my top. “Just try again. Just go slower this time.”
Shaking my head, I reach in my pocket for my phone, and have Cordy do my talking, “I said, let’s talk about it later. I’ve got a long day ahead and I need to go to the store to get things for lunch. We can meet at Say Something at eleven. Okay?”
“I can go to the store with you,” he says quickly. “We can pick up Mom and Tommy on the way to the center.”
I press my lips tight and wrap my arms around his neck, rising to my toes so I can kiss him. “I’m good,” I mouth.
He grasps my hips and gently creates space between us. “I just feel like we need to talk about this.”
Seriously. What’s there to talk about? He might be disappointed that he’s in love with a girl who can never speak again, but I’d already made terms with my fate long before this stupid operation even came up.
It is what it is.
I am who I am.
And, “I’m good,” I mouth again, peeling his hands off me. I sign, “I’ll see you at eleven. You know where it is?”
He nods.
I kiss him again. “Olive juice,” I mouth.
He sighs. “So damn much, Becs.”
* * *
Josh: Are you here? We just parked.
I leave dad inside, manning the popcorn machine, and meet Josh and his mother in the parking lot. No sign of Tommy. Ella greets me with a hug. “You look adorable,” she says, and I force a smile because I can’t see Tommy. Can’t hear him. And if he’s not here, I don’t know that I could handle it emotionally. My heart’s thumping in my chest, my eyes searching their car—a different car than the one Josh left my house in. I look over at Josh, whose goofy grin makes me smile for real. He points to the back door. “He wanted you to get him out of the car.”
I practically rip it open and the moment I do, my heart fills with a joy only Tommy’s giggle can create. “Did you think I wasn’t here?” he shouts.
I nod, hold a hand to my chest and roll my eyes at him.
He laughs harder. “I tricked you.”
After unbuckling him from his car seat, I help him down from the giant SUV. He stands in front of me, trucker cap on backward, Globe shirt, skinny jeans, Globe shoes, and… pierced ear? I gasp, silent, and reach out and fiddle with it.
Tommy giggles. “Gnarly, right? Nico and I got it done together in Dallas. Daddy wouldn’t let me get a tattoo, though.”
I look over at Josh, my eyes wide.
He just shakes his head. “Don’t get me started.”
“Hey Becs!” Tommy says, and I give all the attention in all the world back to him. He lifts his hands, his little fingers moving in front him. He signs, “M Y B E C C A”
My jaw drops, along with my stomach and I cover my mouth and I cry. Then I laugh. And I cry and laugh some more. And yeah, I look crazy, but it feels like everything is hitting me at once.
Josh consoles me.
So does his mother.
And Tommy looks on as if he’s done something wrong, which he hasn’t. So I take him in my arms and lift him in the air and I hold him. I hold him and I hold him and I hold him and I’m never, ever letting him go.
I’d spent the morning in a daze, not wanting to come to terms with a loss. Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, especially to myself, Lexy’s news felt just like that—a loss. But all it takes to redefine that word and all the feelings that come with it is a single boy’s laughter, and a sign.
His signing meant everything.
Changes everything.
I carry Tommy, who’s already half my size, on my hip and wrap my free arm around Josh’s waist. Then I lead them all toward Say Something—a safe place.
Only it’s not my safe place.
My safe place isn’t a place.
It’s bright brown eyes and shaggy dark hair atop identical smiles. It’s the sound of laughter, of the spinning of four wheels on concrete. It’s touches of ease, of comfort.
My safe place is the knowledge that when I fall, they will help me fly. Help me soar. Help me coast.
* * *
For the day, Say Something has been converted to a party, of sorts. A hair shaving party to raise money for a little girl named Vanessa. She’d been one of our kids for a while, moving from one foster home to another. Recently, she’d been diagnosed with leukemia, and because of the costs and time involved in her care, her last foster parents were unable to accommodate her. Without a second thought, Sandra took her in and now she kind of belongs to everyone at Say Something. At only eight, Vanessa, or Nessa as she liked to be called, is wise beyond her years and stupidly adorable. Before she lost most of her hair, people said we could be sisters… only she had big, bright brown eyes and I had green. Or emerald, as Josh would say.
The moment we step inside, Tommy’s instantly squirming out of my arms and wanting to play. I set him on his feet and before I can do anything else, he’s running toward the bounce house. “I got him,” Ella says, her pace much slower as she goes after him.
Josh puts his arm around my shoulders. “So this is it, huh?” he says, looking around. He’s never admitted to the large donation that I’m sure came from him, and I’ve never asked, but the new paint on the walls, the new computers, and the new carpet he’s taking in all exist because of him. Because of his heart.
“I want you to meet someone,” I sign.
“I’m on my best behavior,” he jokes. “Lead the way.”
It only takes a minute to find Joey—it’s hard to miss a guy dressed as a clown, giant red shoes and wild, orange wig. His back is turned when I reach him. I push down the excitement at seeing Joey’s reaction to his hero—the Josh Warden—being here, and tap his shoulder. He glances at me quickly, says, “Hey Becca,” then continues to make a mess of a balloon animal.
“This is that Joey kid? The Santa?” Josh murmurs in my ear.
I nod.
Now Josh taps his shoulder.
Joey turns, his eyes widening when he sees Josh. He falls back a step, and then another, and another, until he’s on his back on the floor with a dozen kids (and me) all laughing at him. “Joey fallded,” one kid yells through a fit of laughter.
Josh releases me to offer Joey his hand. “He
y, man. It’s good to meet you in person.”
Joey takes Josh’s hand, and when he’s on his feet again, he glares at me. “I hate you,” he says.
“Hate’s a bad word!” Zac, one of the boys, yells. His eyes narrow at Joey, right before he goes for the junk punk.
I laugh harder.
Josh, being a guy and knowing what a junk punch must feel like, glares at me just like Joey had. He places a hand on Joey’s shoulder and bends at the knees so he’s eye to eye with a hunched over Joey. “You good?”
“Oomph.”
“Who are you?” Zac asks Josh.
“I’m Josh.” He points to me. “I’m Becca’s boyfriend.”
“No!” Zac yells. “I’m Becca’s boyfriend!”
“Umm…” Josh looks to me, his eyes pleading.
“Fight for me,” I sign. Joking, of course.
He looks down at Zac, his throat bobbing with his swallow. He covers his junk, just in case. “I’ve known her longer,” is all he can comes up with.
“I know you are. You said you are. But what am I?” Zac sings, his hips swinging from side to side.
“You—you’re…” I wish I was recording this so I could upload it to YouTube and have the world witness Josh, a man, trying to find verbal retaliations against a nine-year-old. Josh smiles wide, an insult coming to him. “You’re a butt sniffer!”
Okay.
Zac’s eyes narrow as they move to Josh’s protected junk. “Well, I’m rubber and you’re glue, what you say bounces off me and sticks to you. You butt sniffer!”
Josh stands to full height. “You can have her,” he says, sticking out his tongue at Zac. “She has smelly farts!”
The kids cackle with laughter while I turn beet red.
Josh points to me. “Becca the stink bottom!”
* * *
We spend the next hour going from person to person while I introduce them to Josh. They all know about him from what I’ve told them in the past, and they’re all as happy to meet Josh as Josh seems to be to meet them. He plays with the kids and speaks with the adults, charming the crap out of everyone. And I love him for it. I love that he is who he is, but he still has the time and the genuine interest to listen to Sandra tell him all about the strange noise coming from her basement.
We catch up with Tommy at the Play-Doh table, sitting next to Vanessa, telling her all about a teleporter he plans on building. “It’s going to deliver ice cream machines to all the houses.”
Nessa smiles at him.
“Do you like ice cream?” he says, thumping his fist down on a slab of Play-Doh.
“I guess,” Nessa says, shrugging.
“Is it your birthday?”
Nessa’s lips purse before she says, “No. Why?”
“This party’s for you, right?”
Nessa shrugs again. “It’s not really a party. It’s so people can give me money so I don’t have to be sick anymore.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Tommy asks, fist frozen in the air as he turns to her.
“That’s not nice, Tommy,” Josh cuts in. “You shouldn’t ask people those things. Apologize to Nessa.”
“It’s okay,” she says, taking Tommy’s pile of Play-Doh and adding it to hers. “I have leukemia.” It comes out as “wookemia.”
“But you’re so pretty,” Tommy tells her.
I smile into Josh’s arm while Nessa’s cheeks darken. “Fanks.”
“Your hair’s pretty.”
A frown pulls on Nessa’s lips. “It’s not my real hair. It’s a wig.”
Tommy finally lowers his arm. “Oh.”
Nessa turns to him, her voice soft. “I like your earring.”
“Thanks!” Tommy smiles brightly at her. “Can I see you without the wig?”
“Tommy!” Josh whisper yells.
Tommy’s eyes snap to his. “What?”
Nessa removes the wig and hands it to Tommy. There’s very little hair left on her head from the chemo she’s endured.
Tommy tilts his head, taking in Nessa in all her shy but beautiful glory. “My Aunt Chloe got sick and lost her hair,” Tommy tells her. “She had cancer.”
Nessa nods, her eyes cast downward. “That’s what I have.”
Tommy places the wig on his head, causing Nessa to giggle into her sleeve. “Do I look good?” he asks her, tugging on the ends.
Nessa giggles. “You look like a girl.”
“Your smile is pretty, too,” Tommy says. “And I don’t think you need the wig. You’re pretty without it.” Wow. Kid’s throwing some game.
I don’t realize Nessa’s made a heart from the Play-Doh until she hands it to Tommy. “You’re nice to me,” she tells him.
Tommy takes it from her, as careful as he can, and stares at it a long time. Then he looks up. “Hey. You want to be my girl?”
“Oh God,” Josh mumbles.
“Okay!” Nessa yells.
And just like that, they walk away, hand-in-hand.
“What the hell just happened?” Josh mumbles. “He tells her she’s pretty and now they’re what? Dating? Is he dating? He’s six! He can’t be—oh no.” He turns to me, his eyes wide. “I have approximately ten years before… shit, Becca. I’m not ready for this.”
“Relax,” I sign, rolling my eyes at him. “He’s just crushing on a girl.”
“Yep. I’m going to be a grandpa.”
* * *
Tommy ends up taking a photo with Nessa and with the help of Ella, he uploads it to his Instagram with a link to both Nessa’s and Say Something’s GoFundMe pages. It takes no more than five minutes for Nessa’s page to raise ten thousand dollars, the amount Tommy had asked for in order for him to shave his hair. Comments flood both his Instagram and the GoFundMe page from people stating they would double their donations if his dad would do it, too. Which, of course, Josh does.
Later, in the parking lot, a newly cropped Josh asks Tommy where he learned his smooth moves with the ladies, to which Tommy responds, shrugging, “Nico taught me.” He ticks off each item with his finger. “Tell a girl she’s pretty. Say something about her hair, her smile, her ass, and she’s all yours.”
A total of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars is raised that day, all thanks to a little boy wanting to take care of his girl.
32
—Joshua—
Lunch with Becca and her dad goes smoothly. Martin and my mother make up most of the conversation with music that was popular “in their day,” while Tommy shows Becca what all he’s learned with ASL.
Mom managed to get an online tutor for him who video chats with us once a week. He’s a specialist, working mainly with sudden hearing-impaired children, so it works really well for Tommy. Once Tommy starts to get really comfortable with reading and spelling, he’ll probably end up knowing more than I do.
Watching Tommy have to say goodbye to Becca sucks, to say the least. Becca and I are meeting her friends tonight and I have to leave early in the morning, so that doesn’t leave much time for them. “But why can’t I stay here with you?” Tommy asks. Over and over. Becca hugs him, seeming as disappointed as Tommy is. I can see her questioning her choices, wondering if it’s possible to change her plans, but her determination wins out and she promises Tommy that she’ll be all his in just two days. She even promises to have a sleepover with him in the fort, something I have a feeling won’t go down too well once she realizes just how open it is. She hates anything small that flies. With a passion. To the point where she’ll give you radio-silent treatment for an entire week if you place an innocent dead moth on her pillow.
I learned that the hard way.
Tommy and my mother leave with just enough time for Becca to make herself prettier, if that’s possible. She showers, gets dressed, and dabs on what little make up she wears while I sit on the edge of her bed and watch, because I can’t not. “Is this a fancy thing? Because I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I don’t really do well with fancy. It’s either casual or full tux with me.”
She quirks an eyebrow and covers her wrist with a gajillion bracelets. Then signs, the metal of her bangles clanking against each other, “You’ve worn a full…” she pauses… her hands frozen. Then she spells out, “T U X?”
“I have,” I answer defensively. “Once. At my uncle Rob’s wedding.”
She rolls her eyes. “How are they?” she signs.
“My aunt and uncle?”
She nods, moving toward me, her hips swaying, before sitting sideways on my lap. She signs, “I like them.”
“Well, my uncle’s gone a little crazy and my aunt’s the size of a house.” Becca’s eyes widen, causing me to chuckle. “Three rounds of IVF later, she’s finally pregnant. They’re going to name him Josh.”
“Shut up,” she mouths.
“I’m kidding. About the Josh thing. But she really is pregnant. She’s due in a couple weeks.”
Grinning, she signs, “That’s great.”
“You should come down for a weekend once they have him. They’d really like that. They ask about you all the time.” I kiss her shoulder, exposed from the extremely tight tank top she’s wearing. “I’ll organize it when I’m home and get C-Lo and Hunter to come down, too. They’ve been wanting to catch up with you ever since we got back together.”
There’s something peaceful about Becca’s smile. Like, without truly knowing her past, you can tell that it’s something to be cherished. Something that can only be created by moments worthy of them, and going by the way she’s looking at me, perfect teeth displayed behind a more than perfect smile, she makes me feel worthy of it. Of her. And so I kiss her, and kiss her some more, tasting her strawberry lip-gloss against my tongue and I know I’m probably ruining her efforts to look prettier but she doesn’t seem to mind. At least until my hand moves to her stomach, and beneath her top, and up, up, up to her breasts and that’s when she puts an end to my wandering mind.
She grasps my forearm and pulls away from my still half-open lips, her eyes opening slowly as if it’s taken all her will to do so. “Let’s go,” she mouths.
I grunt, causing her to laugh silently.
I call for a car and five minutes later, it shows up. Chris set us all up an account with a nationwide car service so we don’t catch cabs. It’s for security, he says, but I think it has more to do with the fact that pictures (which I’m sure a cab driver had taken) of Nico receiving um… pleasure… in the back of a cab once surfaced. Nico thought it was amazing. So did the other guys. I thought it was funny. Nico’s grandmother—a crazy old Puerto Rican lady who always seems to be holding something she can use as a weapon—did not find the amazement or humor in it.
