by Laura Brown
“Hot, hot, hot, hot,” D exclaimed.
I jumped, squeaked, and held the door tight against me. I hadn’t even heard her come home, never mind witness the awkward hug.
“Are you sure he’s only an eight on the scale?”
I closed the door and let my mind wander. “No longer an eight. Nine.” And a half.
D jumped in place. “Is this the first nine you’ve set your hot little sights on?”
I nodded. No one had been more than an eight before. I was in trouble.
Chapter Eight
Reed
IN THE SMALL Deaf Studies department, I found my advisor’s office door open. Gina sat at her desk, short blond hair fanning over her face as she poked at her keyboard. I reached into the office and flipped the lights off and on several times. She pushed her hair back as she looked up and smiled.
“Hi, what’s up?”
I stepped in and closed the door behind me.
“Do you have availability in your ASL I class?”
She blinked. Not because I shocked her. Her furrowed eyebrows warned me a comeback brewed in the dark recesses or her warped brain. “Why did I waive your ASL requirement for the Deaf Education program if you feel you need to take ASL I?”
I took the cushiony brown chair on the opposite side of her desk. “I have a new friend. Hard of hearing. Doesn’t know ASL but is interested in learning.” At least, her willingness to learn the other day indicated as such. A class would be an ideal environment for her.
Gina crossed her arms, soaking me in before signing, “Girl?”
“Is it important to know?”
“Yes.”
I sighed. The problem with being part of a small community: everyone knew your business. Whether you wanted them to or not. On this one, I blamed Willow. “Yes. A girl.”
Gina flashed me some teeth with her grin. “Welcome back. I’ve missed this version of you.”
I shifted in my seat. “You have availability?”
She turned to her computer and clicked a few times. With her eyes on the screen, one hand on her keyboard, she signed with the other. “Yes. Tuesday and Wednesday, 4:30–6:00 p.m.”
I pulled out my phone and noted the information down.
“Tell me about my new student.”
I didn’t know a whole lot about Carli, but I shared what I did. Gina’s smile grew the more I talked.
“She sounds special.”
“Maybe.”
“How are your students?”
I grinned—couldn’t be helped. “Good. I’ve got a smart group.” I had six students in my third-grade class at a Deaf school. Full of energy and a lot of fun.
“I’m sure they’re thrilled to have a Deaf teacher.”
They were. I wasn’t just their teacher; I was a role model. Not a small deal when most of the world was hearing. “They are.”
“Feeling good as the teacher instead of the student?”
For the next twenty minutes, we chatted about my course work and how to keep the students on track. When I finally left, I had a few new ideas for my students. And a class to convince Carli to join.
I sent my first text as I left the Deaf Studies department and jogged down the stairs from the third floor.
Me: Do you have classes T and W 4:30–6?
Carli: Whhyyyyy?
Me: ;-) My advisor teaches an ASL class those nights. She has room if you want to join.
Carli: I don’t have classes then. Not sure I can handle another one.
Me: Then audit the class.
I all but held my breath as I waited for her response, my heart trying in vain to pump without oxygen.
Carli: You could teach me instead.
The air flew out of my lungs. Thoughts of teaching her scrambled my brain, as it led me right back to her bed and wrestling over the laptop. She had felt good underneath me. If it wasn’t for the flash of Beth warning me to back off, we might be having a different conversation today.
Me: Scared of a class with a Deaf teacher?
I wasn’t the right one to teach her, not with the way I wanted more from her.
Carli: Now I am. How am I supposed to learn with a deaf teacher?
Me: How did you learn anything with me? Check it out tomorrow. If you like the class, stay. If you don’t, leave.
My screen turned black as I waited for a response. I had no idea what ran through Carli’s mind. I could only cross my fingers. I walked down one more flight and made it to the first floor before she responded.
Carli: I’m in. Tell me where.
And now I stood in the stairwell wearing an inane grin on my face.
Me: I’ll meet you, introduce you to Gina.
MY PLAN THREATENED to explode in my face like a fucking bomb. Work and traffic delayed my mad dash to campus. I ran up Comm Ave in an effort to be somewhat on time. Gina wouldn’t mind if I was late; she knew I was coming from work. But Carli might not get that. I contemplated stopping and sending her a text, but figured I’d be there faster if I didn’t. Besides, don’t text and run. Right, Dad?
As the building came into view, I spotted a girl standing by the bottom of the steps. Carli glanced at her phone, then out into the traffic. The wind blew her hair into her face, and she brushed it back. The strands slid from her fingertips, falling back across her face. I wanted to feel her hair through my own fingers, as I tugged her head so I could reach her lips.
I almost slowed so I could watch her.
But then she turned and caught me. And completely checked me out, those brown eyes trailing down my body to my shoes and right back up again, a slight smile tugging at her lips. I didn’t know whether to slow down and let her look, or speed up and take her. One thing was clear: I hoped she liked what she saw.
I reduced to a walk when I got close. “Sorry,” I signed as I worked on catching my breath. I grabbed my phone, and it took me extra time to get my message across in a way autocorrect could comprehend.
Me: Sorry I’m late. Student issue.
I put my phone back in my pocket and gestured for Carli to follow me. Still on a high from the run, I jogged up the steps to the second floor. When I found room 204, I pointed to the number before opening the door and heading inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” I signed as Gina turned my way. Eleven students also turned my way, eyeing both Carli and me.
Gina looked at her wrist, which held no watch, and back at me. “You’re not late enough for me to teach Deaf Time.”
“Next time I’ll be later.”
She grinned, and I gestured to Carli before going over what I knew about her again, including that she knew almost no signs. Gina ripped off a piece of paper and wrote a note before handing it to Carli.
Once Carli read it, Gina turned to the board and wrote in a green marker. She introduced me and Carli, then told me to see her in the hall. I waved to Carli, boosting up my smile with the look of terror in her eyes, and followed Gina.
“Why late?”
“Traffic.”
She crossed her arms.
I blew out a breath. “One of my student’s parents didn’t show up.” I had to leave the student with another teacher in order to make it here. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first offense.
“That’s awful,” Gina said, her eyebrows creased in worry. “How’s the student?”
This was the part that got me most. “Used to this.”
Gina squeezed my shoulder. “This is the hard part of teaching. And it doesn’t get better.” She turned to her door. “Now I’m going to go torture your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“You’re the worst liar.” She slipped back into her classroom before I could respond.
I shuffled out of the building, taking time to recharge from the hectic afternoon. The hustle and bustle on the streets soothed me. I slowed down as everyone else sped up, my day finishing as theirs struggled on. A moment to gain perspective in a world determined to toss me around.
; I headed toward the library. Instead of doing some research for my psychology class, I ended up in the kids’ section. Why couldn’t someone have written a book titled Why Mommy and Daddy Don’t Like Me? Rejection came in all shapes and sizes, from giving up your child for adoption to forgetting to pick up your damn kid from school.
Or killing yourself in a way that looked accidental.
I looked up at the off-white ceiling. That’s right, Dad; I’m talking about you.
As if on cue, in that weird I-know-you-like-you’re-my-actual-blood thing, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. A video call from my mother.
I grabbed a chair at a small table and answered the call. I held the phone out in my left hand and signed with my right. “Hi, what’s up?” I asked.
“Val says you have a new girl?”
Did Carli and I miss the memo we were dating? “I met someone who is hard of hearing and needed help.”
My mother brushed back her dark curls. “Hot?”
Only my mother could tease me like this while I sat in the middle of the library. “Yes, she’s hot. OK? I admit that she’s hot.”
“Wow, you really like her.”
“You finished being nosy?”
She shook her head. The overhead lighting of the nurse’s room danced across her dark cheeks. “Never. I am your mother; it’s my right to be nosy.” Her cocky smile faded. “It’s nice to see you come back to yourself.”
“Because I said a girl is hot?”
“It’s the smile on your face, in your eyes. It’s helping someone out again. You forgot who you were, inside. That teaching spirit you got from your father.”
“Last I checked I work as a teacher.”
“I would have been surprised if you changed course. But outside of your work, when was the last time you did this?”
We both knew the answer: Beth. Val and Willow had already beat me over the head with it. “You finished?”
“Fine. Yes, I’m finished. Is it wrong to want to see my only child happy?”
I focused on the creases around her eyes and the bags under them. “You OK?”
She gave me a sad smile. “It’s still hard. I keep expecting him to walk through the front door. I miss him.”
I didn’t respond, not right away. I found it impossible to miss someone unforgiven. “It’s been two years. He’s not coming back.”
“I know.” The front of her scrubs rose and fell with what must have been a deep my-son- needs-help breath. “Just promise me one thing.”
I scratched the back of my neck before answering. “Fine. What?”
“Let this girl in. Don’t push her away because of Dad or Beth.”
I had no intentions to tell her about either. “Don’t you have work to get back to?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We ended the call, and I sat there for a while longer. Why couldn’t everyone just let me be?
I LEFT THE library early, determined to be on time for a change. Carli wasn’t expecting me, but I wanted to check on her. I certainly didn’t rush to campus to see her for two minutes and then desert her.
Me: How’s it going?
I leaned against the railing, squinting out at the setting sun.
Carli: Not bad.
Class must be over. I angled myself away from the blinding sun to the main entrance of the building. The doors opened, and Carli stopped when she saw me. The door swung back, her reflexes the only thing saving her from a nasty headache. She managed to get on the other side without further attempts at hurting herself. She blinked, either due to the sun or me, and pulled out her phone.
Carli: What are you doing here?
I shrugged. The unease from my conversation with Mom? Gone.
Me: I dropped you off into a strange land, had to make sure you survived.
She held out her hands and angled her head to look at herself. I let my gaze join hers and roam over her curves, on display in her jeans and V-neck tee shirt. Tight V-neck tee shirt. My heart kicked up a few notches. I forced a laugh, to keep myself in check, and put my phone back in my pocket.
Carli’s thumbs flew over her screen, and my phone vibrated. I shook my head. She blew out a breath, and the hair by her face flew in multiple directions. She pointed to my side, in the direction of where I’d shoved my phone. I shook my head again, this laugh coming easily.
She was stubborn; I’d give her that much. She tapped her phone and held it in front of my face.
Well, I was stubborn too. In ways she couldn’t yet imagine. I pushed the phone away and slowly signed, “Walk.”
She stared, not an ounce of amusement on her face.
I raised my knees, walking in place.
One of her hands moved in a shaky manner. “W-A-L-K?”
I tapped my nose, then turned and began walking. She fell in step beside me. Victory. It tasted good. So good I bumped my shoulder into hers. “You’re cute but stubborn,” I signed.
Carli stopped walking. It took me two steps to register her shoulder no longer brushing against mine. When I turned, her thumbs were flying over her phone again. Her hair had created a snarl around her face, and her shoulders were stiff. This time I pulled out my phone when it vibrated.
Carli: I spent the day in three different classes, trying to listen and process a lot of important information, then the last 1.5 hours trying to understand a language I don’t know. Brain fried.
And now I felt like a prick, especially when she rubbed her temple out of exasperation. Before I responded, I pulled her into my side, then let go when she fit perfectly. Not too much, not too little. Like Goldilocks and the damn baby bear’s bed.
Me: Sorry. Are you going to stop going to class?
Carli: Not yet. Will depend if I burn out in a few weeks.
Me: Perhaps I owe you some coffee this time around.
Carli: I may need coffee to stay awake during Dr. Ashen’s class.
Me: If you start to nod off, I’ll get you caffeine.
She looked up at me, and time seemed to stop. No cars moved, no people walked, no breeze blew. Just her and me and the sidewalk. Her eyes glowed amber in the light. Then she shook her head. Cars moved, people walked, wind blew. The spell broken.
I contemplated different ways of reclaiming that magic as we walked the rest of the way to her dorm without communication. I came up empty. I didn’t know what had caused it the first time. For all I knew, it was a fluke.
At her dorm she bounded up the steps, but I stayed behind. Was there really something between us, or had it been too long for me? I hoped it was real. I needed her to be real.
She turned and I continued to take her in. Please be real. She took a step back to me as if in answer to my question. And I . . . well . . .
I chickened out. A big fat ugly chicken.
Me: See you tomorrow. Have a good night.
Something flashed in her eyes. And I knew in that moment she felt what I felt. Whatever simmered between us was real. I imagined climbing the steps and taking her in my arms. Those curves that fit so well against my side would feel better front to front. I wanted to feel her, all of her, in ways I hadn’t wanted in far too long.
“Good night,” I signed, then followed the words up on my phone. She copied me, and when her hand touched her mouth, I almost leaned in and touched her myself, with my lips.
My feet held firm, and I waited until she entered her building before starting the walk back to my car. Stupid. Well, I had two choices. I could either continue to be lonely and stuck with my hand for any sort of pleasure. Or I could man up and ask her out the next chance I got.
I pulled out my phone and set up a text message, but I was smoother than that. Next chance. Not now.
Chapter Nine
Carli
I BLINKED MY dark room into focus, my breath ragged as if I’d woken from a bad dream. I remembered no such dream.
I was about to curl back under my blankets wh
en my phone buzzed, rattling the plastic drawers next to my bed. My clock bounced from the motion. 1:51 a.m. I picked up my cell and found the reason for the commotion: five messages from my sister.
Matti: There are nice people in the world, right?
Matti: I mean, there has to be, but why is our world so full of fucking a-holes?
Matti: Not you. You’re not an a-hole.
Matti: But we all have the potential, don’t we?
Matti: You’re probably asleep, being the good little girl you were beat into being.
I sighed. Drunken Matti. Older than me by 349 days. She always got melodramatic long before she reached the bottom of the bottle and had been that way since the bottle contained formula.
Me: You OK, babe?
Matti: No. I’m not OK. Do I look OK?
Me: Can’t see you, sis.
Matti: R any of us really OK?
Me: Where are you? If the bar’s in the city, I’m on my way.
Matti: Home. Nightmare.
Nightmares. Matti was always riddled with them. She’d wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, and never, never tell me why.
I eyed my hearing aids, already off for the night. With a sigh, I toggled my cell’s volume up as loud as it would go and tapped my sister’s name.
She answered on the second ring. “You didn’t . . . call,” her voice slurred as I strained against the high-pitched ringing of my tinnitus to understand.
“Yes, I did. What was the dream about?”
“I’m shaking my head no . . . familiar . . . sight.”
Yup. Matti’s typical response. At least it helped me fill in the gaps in my hearing. I strained further as she began speaking again.
“You live in . . . rest of us can’t. Hold . . . baby sister. Hold tight.”
My heart kicked into a frenzy. I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about, but that could have been the alcohol as much as my hearing. Still, the concept was familiar, the whole conversation familiar. My three sisters were connected—bonded, even—over something I didn’t understand. Some piece of information I somehow missed, as the youngest who couldn’t hear. I always felt left out, the ugly duckling, the poor little hearing-impaired youngster. They acted like they were doing me a favor by keeping secrets and pushing me away. It hurt more than they could ever know.
