by Laura Brown
“Brat.” Dev finished off the last piece and brought his plate to the sink. “I have to get going anyways. Enjoy your yeast.” He bent and gave me a kiss. I’m sure he meant it to be quick, but I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on. Nothing like the taste of Dev first thing in the morning, mixed in with some sweet jam and a hint of coffee.
MOM GAVE ME her room number at the hospital, so I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and followed the colored dots down the long, sterile hallway. I had no clue what the dots referenced, and a part of me wanted to play hopscotch with them, but at least some color lightened up the gloom.
The room numbers led me past the nurses’ desk to get to her room. Before I reached the open doorway, movement caught my attention. I turned to a not-so-pleasant-looking woman, mouth flapping my way.
I pointed to my ear and shook my head. Not-so-pleasant morphed into confusion. I gestured for writing, since clearly she meant to interrogate me.
She pulled a piece of paper from behind a tall shelf and placed it on top. I approached as she wrote.
Who are you here to see?
Didn’t realize we needed to sign in. I took the pen.
Constance Helmsman. My mother.
The nurse introduced herself as the one on Mom’s case and mentioned they were worried about her. I debated my next line but in the end knew I had to do it.
She’s been battling depression since my dad died ten years ago. She’s not in a good place.
The nurse nodded, and I prayed I hadn’t made a mistake. Mom didn’t need things to get worse, but I wanted something to become better for a change.
I entered her room. She lay as she had in the ER, eyes almost glazed over, staring at a television. I waved, and she looked my way. A small spark came to her eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time she appeared happy to see me.
“You look so much like your father.”
Maybe not so happy. Looking like Dad wasn’t a good thing. “How are you feeling?”
She looked at the ceiling. “Awful. Pain. Can’t move.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stood there in awkward silence. No clue what to sign.
“Can you fix the volume?” She pointed to the television. “I can’t get it to work.”
I looked at her. “You want your deaf daughter to adjust the sound?”
The barest hint of a smile crossed her lips. “I’ll guide you.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her to follow orders. She hadn’t done shit for me in years, and yet the little girl inside me wanted to run over and wrap her arms around Mom.
I reached up, toggled the button up, then raised my thumb, “Up or down?” Only Mom didn’t respond. Her eyes landed on my left wrist.
“What did you do?” A pained expression crossed her face, and I didn’t think it had to do with her hip.
I looked at my wrist. “What do you mean?”
“When did you get a tattoo?”
Proof of how bad our relationship was: I could have told her I’d gotten it years ago, and she’d believe me. “Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted one.”
Mom blinked, her eyes suspiciously watery.
“Does it really upset you that I have a tattoo?”
“I never thought I’d see you with one. It’s against our religion.”
“What?”
“Why do you think they branded us in the Holocaust?”
I absorbed her words as a slow anger grew in my gut. “How was I supposed to know this?” I signed large and forceful. “You’ve taught me nothing of my religion. Nothing. And you expect me to know this?”
“I never thought . . . ” Her hands fell back to her side.
“You never taught. You stopped everything when Dad died.” Tears threatened to form in my eyes. I backed up. I had more to sign, but words wouldn’t come. Only hurt. Only anger.
She didn’t move her hands. I didn’t move mine. The fragile bridge connecting us dismantled. I turned and left, following the blue dots back to the corridor. Once there, I leaned against a wall, trying to swallow my anger and tears.
I looked at my tattoo, resisted the urge to brush my thumb against it. Last night, I loved everything about it. Today, it was an unforeseen complication in my life.
So much for spontaneity.
AFTER I LEFT Mom, I sat in my car with the engine off, since I didn’t dare waste any gas. With the sun setting, there wasn’t much warmth. At least I wasn’t in my bar clothes yet.
I needed a moment to digest what Mom had told me and decide what I wanted to do about it. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; the tattoo was permanent. I couldn’t change it easily if I wanted to. The question was, would I have changed it if I’d known?
I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the dark ink. Less than a day with the tattoo, and already it was a part of me. Just like Dev. Maybe I would have done things differently with more knowledge. But I couldn’t deny this was who I was now. And I kinda liked her.
My phone vibrated. I fixed my sleeve before accessing the screen.
Dev: Want dinner before work?
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d skipped lunch.
Me: What did you have in mind?
Dev: Where are you?
Me: Hospital, visited Mom.
Dev: You OK?
Proof of how well he knew me and my mother. She was the one hurt, and yet Dev knew the mental damage a few minutes with her could cause.
Me: I will be.
Dev: Meet me at the bar, then we’ll grab something to eat.
Me: OK.
I turned the key, and my beat-up car stuttered to life. After giving it a few minutes to warm up, I headed to the bar. Dev was already there when I arrived, and I hurried through the cold breeze to get into his warm car.
Instead of shifting gears and driving off, he took my face in his hands, studying me, making my heart ache for his concern. One hand trailed down my cheek. “How are you doing?”
I shifted and buckled my seat belt. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t budge; only his eyes narrowed.
With a sigh, I settled against the seat. “Can we, for once in our lives, not talk about it?”
His lips curved. “You never want to talk about it.”
“Fine. But please? I was having a good day. I want to go back to that.”
Dev faced forward. “That I think I can do.” He shifted into Drive, and for the next twenty minutes I relaxed, taking in the scenery. He gave me this time to be, without questions or pestering. I suspected it would stop soon but took in the peace while I could.
I didn’t expect him to pull up to a park and shut off the car.
“What the fuck? Where are we going to eat?” A few houses were nearby, maybe a restaurant, but there was no obvious reason to park here.
Dev reached into the back and pulled out a large paper bag and a blanket.
“It’s barely forty degrees outside.”
He reached back again and grabbed a portable space heater.
“Are you thinking clearly?”
He leaned forward and claimed my lips, making me forget about his crazy plan. “Maybe,” he signed, more of a gesture with both hands full. Then he got out of the car.
I followed, stomping and waving until he looked my way. “It’s not picnic weather!”
“Live a little.”
“Not having heat means I’m having a bad day.”
Dev dropped the bag and blanket in a patch of grass that clearly stated spring wasn’t quite upon us. “I’ll keep you warm.” He opened the bag. “I have Chinese.”
I kicked at a patch of dirt but joined him on the blanket, fixing my trench to try to cut the chill. Dev set up the heater, and a minute later hot air fought back the cold breeze. He handed me the box of lo mein.
“OK, maybe this isn’t so bad.” I dug my fork in and twirled.
Dev stabbed at some chicken. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”
&nb
sp; I pushed his shoulder, and he laughed. And even though I didn’t have a home and Mom was upset with me, I felt good. “So this is how Devon Walker dates?”
He shifted until our legs touched. “As my best friend, I think you know the answer to that.”
I shook my head and shoved some food in my mouth before signing. “No. Only secondhand information. What you or your dates have been willing to share.”
He put the chicken down. “None of those girls have been you.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
He shook his head. “I mean, they didn’t mean what this does.” His face held such a serious expression that I had trouble swallowing.
“And what’s that?” Not my best move leading with that. I wiped my hands over an imaginary slate. “Never mind. Forget about that. I really don’t want to know.” I reached for the chicken, but he stopped me.
“Are you really afraid of me answering that?”
I looked at my wrist and the imaginary watch. “We’ve been on one date. And I know sex doesn’t bring out the commitment freak inside you.”
“So the answer is yes.”
I glanced up at the darkening sky and let out a laugh. “Do us both a favor, and don’t do anything differently because we know each other so well. I need a little fun in my life. Be that person.” I didn’t give him a chance to rebuff me. I straddled his lap, running my fingers into his hair before bringing my mouth down to his.
Dev was going to stop me, the tension running through his body all the proof I needed. My lips stopped him. He crushed me to him, taking the kiss deeper, and I no longer cared about the cold wind outside of the heater’s range.
He leaned back far enough to sign. “Is this going to be your new answer for everything you don’t want to discuss?”
I glanced over his shoulder, pretending to give it some thought. “If it works? Yes.”
His arms went around me again, but instead of feeling his lips against mine, I ended up flat on my back, the heater warming my side as Dev hovered over me. “You don’t play fair.”
I brushed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “Never have.”
He lowered his head to mine, and I arched up to meet his lips. The food was probably getting cold, but I didn’t care, not when I had him against me. I wanted more days like this. As much as I didn’t want Dev talking about deep personal shit, I knew he’d do his best to give them to me.
His hands were in my hair, every inch of him pressed against me, holding me down and keeping me warm. I shifted my hips, rubbing against the bulge behind his fly. A rumble occurred in Dev’s chest, and he licked into my mouth, taking our kiss darker.
Then his hands slid down to my hips. When he angled me into him, I had to break our kiss and gasp for air, not that I really cared about such a simple thing as breathing. He kissed a path down my neck, taking a nibble of my collarbone. I spread my legs to get better friction, friction I desperately needed, but my knee bumped into something.
The lo mein.
I nudged Dev off me and picked up what remained of my dinner. Not much had fallen, but still—lo mein.
“I see where your priorities lie,” Dev teased from a sitting position.
I brushed the fork on a napkin and stuck it back in the container. “I never play games with food. I never know when I’m getting more.”
Humor fell from his face. “You don’t have to—”
I cut him off. “I know. But I also don’t have a ton of time before I need to get to work.” I shoved more in my mouth. Definitely cold. Still delicious.
Dev leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to my temple before gathering up his dinner.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“I figured you’d yell at me if I kissed your lips while you were eating.”
I choked on a laugh and a noodle. “Smart man.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Devon
“WHERE ARE WE going? Don’t you have class?” Jas asked as I turned off the car.
“I do have class. Later.”
Jas rubbed her eyes. “You woke me up early. You better have a good reason.”
I leaned across the console and kissed her. She may have been tired and cranky, but none of that registered on her lips. Of course, one kiss from her and my own plans faded from consideration. I had to force myself to pull away. “Come on.”
I opened my door and stepped out into the morning air. Jas did the same, squinting at the store names. “Either you’re way too early for pizza, which you still can’t eat, or we’re . . . painting?” Her eyebrows rose high.
“Pottery.” I moved to enter the store, but she dug in her heels.
“Seriously?”
I turned to face her. “Yes. Seriously. You need fun and to have more belongings that can’t be shoved in a bag in five seconds.”
I waited, taking in her face for any hint as to what she was feeling. Jas was good at the blank face, at keeping even me out when she wanted to. One corner of her mouth curved, and she placed a hand on my cheek. “But I can just leave it with you.” Then she left me to enter the pottery place.
I caught up with her inside, the smells of plaster and paint filling the air. “Only if you stay as well.” I held her gaze, letting her know I was serious. I couldn’t imagine life without her, not now that I had her.
She inhaled sharply. I waited for some confirmation. She took a step back. “So how does this work?”
Through gesturing, some writing, and some listening on my part, we worked with the staff and learned how to prep our pottery and the proper way to paint. Once we had the rules down, we browsed the many white ceramic options, ranging from dragons and princesses to dishware and vases, and many options in between.
I caught up with Jas taking a wine goblet down from a high shelf.
“The woman who doesn’t drink wants to paint a wineglass?”
She placed it on a near shelf to sign. “I work in a bar.”
“But what will you drink out of it?”
She eyed the pottery, a devilish grin curving her lips. “Soda. Maybe an ice cream float.”
I swallowed my laughter, not wanting her to think I was laughing at her. I was constantly amused by who she was. I reached up and grabbed a second goblet. “Maybe I’ll put beer in mine.”
She collected hers in one hand. “Depends on what I decide to serve you.” With a swish of blond curls, she sashayed over to a table. I stood there like an idiot, eyes on her hips as they swayed. I had the urge to come up behind her, bend her over, and . . .
I shook my head. Wrong place. Not somewhere that had tooth fairy boxes for little kids.
With one last glance around for another project that could grab me, I settled on the goblet. Something to match Jas’s.
“What are you going to put on yours?” she asked when I joined her at the table.
I inspected the inspiration ideas on the walls, hoping for something to click. “Don’t know.”
We got up to examine the different stencil and stamp options. I rummaged through one bin, looking for anything since my artistic skills were not the best, and pulled out a yin-yang symbol. I held it up in Jas’s view.
She tossed her head back and laughed. “What? The tattoo wasn’t enough?”
I shrugged. “It could be our theme. We’ll blame Nikki.”
She studied the stencil, our goblets, and then the stencil again. “OK, I like it.” Then she snatched the yin yang from my hands and headed back to the table. I collected black and white paints, but some color was needed. So I picked up two different greens, dark for me, teal for Jas.
When I placed the paints on the table, Jas nodded and grabbed the teal. “Good thinking.”
We settled in, not signing as we began working. There were only two other people in the place, a mother and a young child. Otherwise it was empty.
Jas finished her first coat, then got up and returned with two more colors: purple and blue. I snatched the blue. “What’s this for?”
<
br /> She settled back down. “The inside. A little more color. Why come to a place like this and make something boring?”
I lost myself in her face, the one that held none of the stress it usually did. “To have fun?”
She glanced at the ceiling. “Fun? Fun . . . what a strange word. What does that mean?”
“I’ve failed you as a friend.” I placed my elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I can make it up to you.”
“While I agree that sex can be fun, I don’t think that’s appropriate here.” She glanced at the little kid. “Don’t want to corrupt the younger generation.”
“Then it’s a good thing our language is different.”
“I don’t know . . . some signs can be pretty graphic.” Her eyebrows rose in a tease, and I knew I was in trouble.
“Then you’ll have to be creative.”
She snorted and turned back to her brush, meanwhile I had to shift and adjust myself. I was aroused while painting pottery. Never would’ve guessed that one.
When the base was finished, Jas snatched the stencil.
“What am I supposed to do?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know. We can’t share, not this way.”
I got up and went searching for another, not missing the laughter that came from her. I suspected it was evil too. In the second bin I searched, I found another stencil, identical to the one she had claimed.
I waved it in front of her as I sat back down.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let’s do this like our tattoos were done. Separately.”
“But they might not match.”
She picked up her goblet. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Then she settled down at the next table, her back to me.
“Brat,” I signed to her back. Then I pulled out my phone.
Me: I’m not responsible if this doesn’t match up to whatever vision you have.
Jas: Think of it as a test. We’re using the same stencil. How different will it look?
I stared at the back of her head, sensing there was a deeper meaning here, like the matzo challenge. I shook it off. Even if there was, she wasn’t baiting me to be a mind reader. That wasn’t who Jas was.
It took a little studying of the template, but eventually I knew what I wanted to do. I didn’t want the symbol complete, because it wasn’t on our wrists. But I also didn’t want it to appear broken. Because we weren’t. I made each part separated from its match, but still lined up and easy to visually put together. The white didn’t go on as smoothly as the black did, hindsight and all that crap, but it looked like it might work.
