by Laura Brown
She kneeled on the bed. “I’m, like, two shades darker.”
I took in the warm olive tones of her face, arms, and legs, then turned to my arm, the pale shit that didn’t tan.
“Fine, you can be the light one. It matches your hair.”
She narrowed her eyes, staring at me with tiny little slits threatening to shoot dangers. Then she laughed, and I didn’t bother quieting her. Truth be told, I lived to make her laugh, loved the way it tugged at my heart when her whole face lit up. “You’ve had the lighter life.”
I didn’t argue. Both my parents were alive and financially stable. Add in the fact that with them being Deaf, I never lived in a place where I couldn’t communicate or wasn’t understood.
Jas climbed into bed with me. Even though I had a queen, she curled right up like she had when I still had the twin. Her head on my chest, legs tangled. My arm went around her, an automatic response to the light floral scent attacking my nose.
She raised one hand. “Light off,” she signed in my view, before settling back in.
Stubborn. I had to shift us both to reach the damn light, but soon we were curled up in the dark, only a few streaks of light peeking through the wood blinds.
Jas’s breathing slowed as she drifted off to slumberland. Meanwhile I stared at the slats of light on my ceiling, doing my best not to think of how close her knee was to my crotch, or how her breast pressed into my chest, or even how far up her leg rubbed against my thigh.
Sleep would be a long time coming. Always was when she shared my bed. I might need to reconsider the couch for my own sanity. Until then, I held her closer and tried my damnedest not to think of what could be if things were different.
Chapter Seven
Jasmine
I WOKE UP to a hand on my ass. In those rare moments between asleep and awake, I had no clue about my surroundings, only that the warmth penetrating through me sent tingles up my spine. Thanks to my thong, the hand was flesh against flesh in the best possible way. I wanted the hand to tighten. To claim and make good use of the desire spreading through my veins.
Then it all came crashing back. My eyelids flew open. Dev slept next to me—well, under me, as I was sprawled out across him. Not that unusual. Except for the hand.
Dev remained fast asleep. Instead of moving and breaking our awkward connection, I shifted, my breasts rubbing against his chest, hips digging into his, body tightening at the sheer pleasure of it all. My shirt was somewhere around my waist, and the heat of him seeped through my clothes.
His hand squeezed my ass, shifting my thong, and my breath backed up in my throat. Holy shit. He wasn’t doing anything, and yet my core clenched, and it took everything in me not to push into his hand.
Get out, Jasmine. Get out now. Stop getting off on your sleeping BFF.
I slipped out of bed, moving slow enough not to jar him awake. He rolled over, and I pulled down my shirt to once again cover myself. My pulse raced, and I tried to take deep breaths and slow it down, but all I saw was Dev. The bed hair, the stubble accentuating his pink lips. His hand that had been keeping my ass warm now above the covers.
I turned before a cold shower was in order.
I pulled on jeans and made my way into the living area, where Blake sat at the kitchen table, coffee in one hand, book in another. The studious Walker brother, complete with neatly combed short dark hair.
I stomped on the floor, and Blake looked up, sending me a smile. The man needed a pair of reading glasses to take off and complete the image.
“Good morning. I finally see my newest roommate.”
“Haha.” I joined him at the table.
“You doing OK?”
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
He leaned both elbows on the table, shifting it toward him. “I smell shit.”
“That’s your coffee; you didn’t add any sugar.”
He leaned back. “Do you need your own room? I could possibly give you mine.”
My jaw dropped. “Moving in with someone?”
He dipped his head, but his cheeks pinked. Busted. I prepared to tease, until I caught the telltale Walker uncomfortable sign: a neck scratch. “What’s the problem? I thought you and Shawn were in love.” I prolonged the sign for love in a light tease. I liked Shawn. He didn’t need to learn ASL to date hearing Blake, but he had done so, knowing Blake’s entire family was Deaf.
He scratched his neck again. “Living with someone is a big step, don’t you think?”
I raised my eyebrows and signed nothing. I had just come from his brother’s room, after all. “I have no idea what you mean.”
A smile cracked his face. “I mean what other people think.”
“I stopped caring about that years ago. You should try . . . ” My hands stilled as I figured out the real problem. “I thought your father supported you?”
Hand. Neck. Scratch.
“Wimp. If the building ever caught on fire, you and Devon would be afraid to tell your father.”
Blake shook his head, but a relaxed smile crossed his face. “I suspect he’s waiting for this phase to end.”
“A phase? I don’t remember you ever being straight.”
He picked up his coffee mug, only to put it back down without drinking. “Shawn isn’t some random boyfriend.”
I squirmed. “Now the truth comes out. It’s not just living together, it’s ‘meet my future husband.’ ”
Scratch, scratch. Cheeks pink. And the final piece slipped into place.
“They haven’t met Shawn, have they?”
Blake shook his head.
“What are you waiting for?”
Something switched in Blake’s face. “What are you waiting for?”
“What do you mean?” I had a sneaking suspicion we were no longer talking about his parents.
He stood, taking his mug with him. “You’re not that clueless.” He glanced behind me, toward Dev’s room, and my blood ran cold.
He turned, letting me off the hook. I needed to get back at him, make light of the situation and throw him off the scent, the problem being that I really wasn’t that clueless. He was right. Truth was, I was too damn scared to find out what could happen.
NIKKI BEGGED ME to join her at the mall after her classes finished for the day. I wasn’t much into shopping—browsing and not buying grew old very quickly—but I enjoyed friend time. I followed her around the store as she picked up shirt after shirt, holding them up, putting some back. I only ever bought what I needed. Started doing so a year after my dad died, when the reality of the debt he left hit. I told myself we’d bounce back and I’d buy fun stuff again.
We didn’t bounce back. Things grew worse. Since I was on my own now, I saved as much as I could. I refused to be without food again. And until I had my own bar like Dad used to have, I’d continue saving.
So even though she held up the cutest little dress, I didn’t grab one in my size. I had enough, no need for more.
Until she showed me the tag, with the ridiculously cheap clearance price. Then I was powerless to resist. My find for the day in hand, I couldn’t get my head out of my present predicament.
“Am I crazy to think about living with Devon?”
Nikki paused mid rack search and put her armload of clothes down. “What?”
I had the sudden urge to rub my neck. “Me. Devon. Living together. Crazy, right?”
Nikki shook her head, black curls brushing against mahogany cheeks. “Crazy would be not living with him.”
“I should find my own apartment.”
Nikki’s hand shot out. “No. You keep searching for these cheap places and end up with no heat. It’s not safe.”
“No different from when I lived with Mom.”
Nikki wiped an imaginary board. “No. Not going there. Stay with Devon. Save money. Buy your bar. Maybe add a few other good things to your life.”
I didn’t care that we were in the middle of a store, I sat down on the floor. “I’m tired.” Always thinking, havin
g to stay two steps ahead of finances and evictions, never having stability—it all wore thin. If it wasn’t for my friends, I had no idea where I’d be.
Nikki sat across from me. “So let someone else take care of you for a change.”
I smiled, thinking about my dad making me soup when I was sick. And then twelve-year-old Dev bringing me home with him after school to do the same. “I let others take care of me.”
“Once in a while. And it’s all pretend; you still control everything.”
“Can you blame me?”
Nikki’s face softened. “No.” She rose and re-draped her items over one arm. “But I still think you can trust Devon,” she signed one-handed.
The answer bubbled up, but I kept my hands still. What I couldn’t trust was my attraction to him. I’d done my best to ignore it, strangle it, diminish it. It lived when it shouldn’t.
Which didn’t explain why his little half smile, the barely there curve that lit up his entire face, always got to me. It started off as this warm place, this special acceptance I got from him, and grew into me wondering how it would feel to have that smile against my lips.
After Nikki and I split up, I drove around, a bit aimless since I had the night off. I ended up parked outside my father’s old bar.
It’d been empty for a few years. Dad hadn’t been gone six months before Mom was forced to sell the place. Not that owning a bar was something she dreamed of doing, but if Dad hadn’t died with the place mortgaged up to his eyeballs and behind on almost all the bills, maybe we could have kept it afloat.
Maybe.
It changed hands two more times before collecting cobwebs. The lease sign hung in the window, loud and proud. And a stab to my heart. If I was older, if I had more money, I’d snatch it up in a heartbeat. But even if I had enough for the rent, I didn’t have enough for any supplies, never mind the cosmetic work the place surely needed.
I pulled out my notebook and set it on my crossed legs. I thumbed through the pages, thinking of all the things I remembered from my father, from being at this very location, in hopes I could add an idea or two. Once upon a time, his tall frame stood behind the bar, hands on the top, ruling his world with a smile on his face.
One day. I had my notebook. I had my dream. Another delay sucked, but I’d do this. I had to.
I got out of my car and walked over to the window, cupping my hands to see in through the glare. The tables were laid out like Dad had them, chairs turned upside down on top. Everything was achingly familiar, down to the silly singing fish hanging above the bar. For whatever reason, the subsequent owners had done little to change the appearance.
Which made it easy to travel down memory lane, to the days when I got off the school bus and came straight here. I washed counters, dried cups, and chatted with my dad.
He always signed when I was around, something that confused new customers. The regulars soon learned some basic ASL so they could communicate with me. I never felt out of place or unwanted here. This bar was home.
Or maybe my father made it that way. I rubbed at the ache in my chest and returned to my car. One day, I’d have my own place, and it would be home.
If I continued to save. One point in favor of staying with Dev.
Chapter Eight
Devon
BLUE LIGHT LEAKED through the side of the copy machine. When the machine finished, I took the paper out and placed another in. Over and over again, the same job I’d done since high school.
Once I graduated, I wouldn’t be doing this. One small relief in the grand scheme of things. But the question remained: Where would I be? Where I wanted, or here?
Blake came out from his office in his dress shirt and tie, a full-on professional appearance. I had on a dress shirt, the collar unbuttoned, and with the exception of special occasions, this was about as professional as I wanted to get. He bypassed me and headed over to the receptionist. Arms resting on the high divider, he leaned forward, hands out of view as he spoke to her, no signing. Their voices crisscrossed, nothing more than a light murmur to me. She’d been with us for a while and knew enough ASL to communicate with Deaf clients—the standard hi, how are you, please wait—and yet I couldn’t have this type of casual conversation with her.
I could at Support Services though. Everyone there knew a decent amount of ASL—they wouldn’t work in a Deaf environment if they didn’t. They had interpreters on staff to help with any outside meetings with hearing people or phone calls.
Here Dad had an interpreter on staff to help with his hearing clients. And he already planned to hire another one when I joined.
I collected my papers and headed to the back room to file them. I was proud of my father; he hadn’t let his hearing loss get in the way of his dream. Because of him, I had grown up knowing that my ears didn’t have to stop me.
No, my only obstacle was what my parents wanted.
I grew up in a Deaf home, in the Deaf World, and that’s where I wanted to work. More like Mom, who worked in a Deaf school, than Dad. I wanted to help others like me who had hearing loss—maybe even ones who didn’t have the opportunities I had. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to do their taxes.
The never-ending trap between what I wanted and what was expected of me became clear when I was still a kid. Dad only paid attention when it suited him. Anything Blake or I desired otherwise didn’t matter. If we weren’t signing what he was looking for, it was as though the words didn’t exist. I could tell Dad what video game to get me for my birthday until my hands were numb, and he’d get me something else. The worst part was always the ending, where he never even acknowledged I had told him anything differently. Eventually Blake and I stopped telling Dad anything except what he wanted to see. It was the only way to be heard.
Dad entered the back room, shifting through the papers until he found the one he was looking for. “We’ll have to hire another assistant next year. Know anyone in your classes who might be interested?”
I was the only Deaf person in my classes; he’d need an interpreter to communicate with them. “I’ll see if I can find someone.”
Dad nodded. “Good.”
My window of opportunity would close the moment he turned and walked away. “I want to help people.” Good lord, what was I? Five?
Dad put his papers down. “I have a client who can’t leave the house. Why don’t you visit and find out what he needs?”
Not what I meant. “I meant using my social work training.”
“That’s why I’m sending you and not Blake.”
Oh good, I’d get a few small opportunities to do what I wanted while being suffocated. I raised my hands to sign more, but the interpreter showed up at the door. Dad quickly rattled off the client’s name in a blur of finger movements and left me alone.
I collapsed into a chair. It wasn’t that he was being an asshole or inconsiderate. He had dreamed for twenty years of his two sons joining the business. A kind of power duo. We could take care of anything and anyone.
It worked for Blake, but Dad never once asked if my minor should have been my major. And odds were, he never would.
A HALF HOUR later, I pulled up to a quaint little house in the suburbs. Grass freshly mowed, flowers and shrubs carefully attended to. Either this guy had a major green thumb or money to spare.
When I rang his doorbell, no lights flashed, and for the first time since Dad sent me here, I wondered what this dude’s communication style was. Dad wouldn’t send me to a hearing person’s house. Would he?
The door opened, and an older guy with a nearly bald head stared back at me. He said nothing. Signed nothing. So I tossed both forms of communication at him. “Hi, I’m Devon Walker, here from Walker and Associates. I’m looking for Charlie.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Mick’s son?” he signed, mouth closed, face stoic.
I nodded.
“Which one?”
Since I already told him my name, I figured out which direction he headed. “Deaf.”
I followed him through a house as put together as the outside to a kitchen table covered in papers. Once we settled in, I pulled out my papers. “My dad said you needed help?” Because, shit, he’d given me nothing else to go on.
Charlie nodded and shuffled through the massive collection of papers on his table before pulling one up. “The IRS sent me this.”
I took it from him—a clean open slit at the top, clearly from a knife or envelope opener and not a thumb in the flap—and opened it up. The papers had been folded back up, not a wrinkle on them. I unfolded and read, some shit about incorrect taxes being paid. I had part of his information with me, but it would take time to research where the problem originated from, and I might not have the piece I needed.
“I’ll bring this back to the office with me, if that’s OK with you, and we’ll figure it out. No worries.”
Charlie smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. “Thank you. So you’re leaving now?”
“You want me to leave?”
Charlie didn’t respond. He launched into a discussion about the Red Sox, which I gladly participated in. Chitchat wasn’t for accounting, but no one was here to rush me along. It was a strong part of Deaf Culture. As a social worker, I’d be able to have these types of conversations, especially if my clients were Deaf. So I accepted a coffee and hung out for an hour.
I asked questions. It was my nature, ask and problem solve. Which was how I ended up adjusting the captions on his television and fixing a leak in the kitchen sink.
As I drove away from the house, all I could think of was that he was a nice guy and this was the type of work I wanted to do. I hadn’t felt this good after a day of work since . . . ever.
I needed to sit Dad down and have this discussion already. But when I got back, he was busy with appointments, and I had an IRS issue to investigate.
Next chance I got, I had to do it. No excuses.
