I cough into my fist, trying to move the lump in my throat. “Weren’t you?”
“No.” He stares into my eyes.
“Then why…” But I shake my head and start to walk away.
He gently grabs my elbow and turns me to face him. “I slowed it down because it was going too fast.”
“We just met,” I rush to say.
He shakes his head and lays his finger over my lips. I want to tilt my head, bite it, and then see what happens, but I resist the urge.
“I wanted to savor it.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”
“What?”
“I wanted to make it last. I didn’t want it to be over. But then you jumped up like your ass was on fire.”
My ass was on fire. “I did not!”
“Yes, you did.” He’s grinning and it’s pissing me off.
He grabs the front of my shirt in a gentle but strong grip and pulls me against him. His arm wraps around me, holding me snug. He looks down into my face. And then he kisses me. His lips touch mine gently, but only for a moment. After the first two seconds, he sucks my lower lip between his and nibbles it gently, abrading just enough to turn me on, and then he licks across it to soothe the sting. His tongue enters my mouth and I have to grab hold of his shoulders so I can stay up on my wobbly legs.
I have never been kissed like this before. I might be a virgin, but I have shared more than a few kisses. And done a bunch of other stuff. Anything short of popping the proverbial cherry and I’ve done it, but this is different. It’s hot and soothing and disturbing and amazing and…I have to pull back.
I rest my forehead against his chest and take deep breaths.
“You okay?” he asks, using his voice. It’s more breath than sound, but I can understand him. I nod without lifting my face and he palms the back of my head. “I really, really like you,” he says.
I look up at him. “But I’m not your type, remember?”
“I think you just proved that I’ve been completely wrong about my type until I met you.” He brushes my hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. Then he steps back and starts to sign. “With that said, I just got out of a relationship and I don’t know…” He stops to scratch his nose.
I stop him with a quick motion. “It’s okay.”
He goes to the sink and cleans up his plate, and puts it in the dishwasher after rinsing it off. And he puts mine in there too.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” He looks around my apartment. “Thank you for letting me come over.”
I nod, suddenly uncomfortable. He kissed me and now he’s leaving. What did I expect? For him to bang my brains out on our first date?
That kiss… That kiss was like no kiss I ever had before. It was…everything.
When I was a little girl, my mother would play dolls with me, and I would try to figure out if Barbie should go on a date with Ken or with GI Joe, and she told me Barbie would know which one she should date by the way he makes her feel. But Barbie never had a problem making her choice. Do I get a choice? Or do I wait?
I don’t know what to do.
Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a penny. He tosses it on the counter and it bounces toward me. “For your thoughts,” he says.
I slide it back to him. “I don’t know what I think.”
He nods slowly, like he understands and agrees. But he slides the penny back toward me. “Save it. You’ll owe me a thought when you have one.”
I walk to the door with him and open it, and he walks through. But he stops in the threshold and turns back to me. “When can I see you again?”
“We have an appointment in six days.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re going to make me wait that long?” He pretends to stab himself in the chest with a knife.
I laugh. “Maybe.”
“Good night,” he says with a half-hearted wave.
He steps out of the threshold and I close the door, but I don’t walk away. I rise onto my tiptoes and look through the peephole. He stands there for a minute and then he pumps his fist in the air and grins.
It makes me laugh. I lean against the door for a moment and then I go sit on the couch, feeling like I’m walking on a cloud.
Then I remember that I forgot to give him his cap. But I don’t text him, because I don’t want him to come straight back and get it. If he did, I wouldn’t have an excuse to text him tomorrow.
Ryan
Working out with the Reeds is like working out with Thor, Loki, Captain America, Iron Man, and all their cohorts. They have a gym in their building and they invited me to use it, only I didn’t plan to use it when they were all there.
Paul, the oldest of the Reed brothers, is spotting Pete, the baby of the family, as he lifts an obscene amount of weight. Logan, the one who got a cochlear implant last year, is running on the treadmill beside Sam and Matt. They’re ribbing each other about who can go the fastest. Matt rolls his eyes at Logan and Sam and wipes his face.
“Fuck both of you assholes,” he says as he flips them both the bird. He slows his treadmill and comes to a stop.
Suddenly, Logan lifts his hand to his forehead and grins. It’s a popular game in deaf circles. If you smell a fart, you lift your hand to your forehead, kind of like the sign for “father,” and wait for someone else to smell it. It’s a way of saying I didn’t do it. Did you?
Matt covers his mouth with a towel and gags. “Who did that?” he asks in sign language when he uncovers his mouth momentarily.
I already have my hand lifted to my forehead. No way will I get blamed for that one. It’s too foul even for me.
“Sam,” they all say at once and I realize he’s the only one who doesn’t have his hand up.
He shrugs. “I couldn’t help it!”
“Find a way to help it next time,” Paul warns with a look. Sam’s face colors.
“I made quiche last night,” Sam explains.
“Well, don’t ever make that again,” Pete gripes. He shoves his shoulder.
Josh, the one in the wheelchair who is married to one of Lark’s sisters, pretends to cough into his closed fist. “So…I heard a rumor that someone had a hot date last night.” Josh just learned to sign, so his movements are halting and slow, but he’s trying.
“Funny,” I say, “I didn’t hear that rumor.” I point to my ear. Deaf humor is always funny.
“Who did you go out with?” Logan asks.
“Nobody.”
I start doing butterfly lifts so I don’t have to talk.
“He went out with Lark,” Josh says. Then he fans his face. “And I heard it got a little steamy.”
I put the weights down and glare at him.
Sam pats my back as he walks by me. “Dude, get used to it. Those girls tell one another everything.”
“Everything?” I ask.
He nods. “I think they all know the length and width of my dick. And my asshole, for that matter.”
“Eww,” Matt says. “Change of subject, please.”
I grin.
Sam sits down across from me with a towel slung over his shoulders. “Do you like her?”
I nod.
“How much?” he asks, his eyes narrowing at me.
“How about none of your fucking business,” I toss back.
“Oh hell no,” Sam replies. “If it’s about one of my sisters-in-law, it’s my business. Trust me,” he says, “you’d rather have me in your business than Emilio.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “He’s brutal when he’s pissed.”
I point to my arm. “I did her tattoo.” I shrug. “That’s all.”
“A tattoo that included dinner?” Sam looks at Pete. “You ever had a tattoo that included dinner?”
“Had one that included a blow job. But not dinner,” Pete replies.
Paul opens his mouth to say something, but Pete adds, “I gave Reagan a heart on the inside of her ankle.” Paul calms down immediately.
Words come tu
mbling, almost unbidden, from my fingertips. “I like Lark a lot, but she’s not the type of girl I normally date.”
“Tits too small?” Pete asks.
I glare at him. “Her tits are perfect.”
“Ass too wide?” Pete says.
“No such thing,” Sam tosses out.
“She’s too smart for you, right?” Matt asks, but he’s grinning.
“Definitely,” I agree. She’s smart and funny and thoughtful. And scarred in so many ways. But I can’t tell them any of that because it’s her secret to tell. Not mine.
“Then what makes her not your type?” Paul asks. “Is it the hearing thing?”
“The hearing thing?” I ask, waving my hands sarcastically. “You make it sound like it’s nothing. She can hear. I can’t. It’s a pretty big thing.”
“Peck plays drums and I can’t,” Sam says.
“Reagan kicks ass and I can’t,” Pete tosses out.
“It’s not the same,” I protest.
Sam stares at me. “Peck stutters and I don’t.” The room goes quiet.
Logan speaks up. “Emily can’t read well, and I can.”
Emily has been very outspoken lately in the media about her dyslexia and has started some programs for kids who find reading difficult, so I’m not surprised Logan is bringing this up.
“Friday has a foul mouth,” Paul says. He scratches his chin. “Wait, I do too. Never mind.”
Matt shoves his shoulder.
“We’re all different,” Josh says, moving the wheels on his wheelchair back and forth so that he rocks. “Let’s face it, dude. The only thing that makes us all the same is that we are so very different from one another. If you’re going to let the fact that she can hear keep you from getting to know her, that’s on you—but you could be missing out on something wonderful.”
They stare at me until it gets uncomfortable, and I pick up the weights to break the tension.
They all go back to exercising, all discussion on the matter stopping, but I can see them shooting looks at one another, and I can tell this is going to be a topic for discussion later when I’m not around.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s a picture of my baseball cap leaning against a fire hydrant. There’s a dog standing next to it.
Lark McCapSnatcher: Your hat is in mortal danger. I can choose to save it from the dog that really looks like it needs to pee. Or I can leave it to its fate. What’s your choice?
Me: What are my options?
Lark McCapSnatcher: Lunch with me?
Me: I already have plans for lunch. Do you want to join me?
Lark McCapSnatcher: What kind of plans?
Me: Meet me at the library at 1 and I’ll show you. If you have enough balls.
Lark McCapSnatcher: Last time I checked, I had no balls at all.
Me: 1 o’clock? Library?
Lark McCapSnatcher: You talked me into it.
Me: Now pick my cap up before it gets pissed on.
Lark McCapSnatcher: (Sends me a selfie with her wearing my cap)
Me: Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.
Lark McCapSnatcher: The cap?
Me: The girl in the cap.
Lark McCapSnatcher: Gotta go throw some cold water on my face. Totally blushing here.
Me: You want to talk about my dick? It’ll take your mind off your blush.
Lark McCapSnatcher: Dude, that just went weird.
Me: My dick wants you to know that it has balls. Since you don’t have any.
She doesn’t reply.
Me: Did I just skeeve you out?
Lark McCapSnatcher: No, I was too busy laughing to catch my breath. Your dick has balls. That’s handy. They come as a matching set, I hear.
Me: You mean I’m not unique?
Lark McCapSnatcher: Not when it comes to your junk, I’m afraid. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
Me: Better the bearer of bad news than the wearer of bad shoes. Just sayin’.
Lark McCapSnatcher: I’ll see you at 1 at the library.
Me: Don’t wear bad shoes.
Lark McCapSnatcher: I don’t own any bad shoes. And I’m officially offended.
Me: Talking about my dick didn’t offend you but talking about your shoes does?
Lark McCapSnatcher: Shoes are sacred.
Me: So is my dick.
Lark McCapSnatcher: Prove it.
I swipe a hand across my mouth, trying to wipe away the silly grin I know is plastered across it.
Logan sits down across from me. “You’ve been laughing at your phone for the last five minutes.”
I hold it up. “L-A-R-K,” I tell him.
He nods. “You going to let the hearing thing stand between you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He grins. “Good.”
Me: I want another date with you.
Lark McCapSnatcher: I’ll think about it.
Me: See you at 1.
Lark McCapSnatcher: See you then!
Lark
He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt, and he’s the most handsome man standing in front of the library. He’s with a small group of people signing, and I hesitate to interrupt. After a minute or two, he sees me and motions me over. He’s smiling, and his friends look curious.
“This is my friend Lark,” he signs. “I invited her to join us.” He introduces his friends really quickly. Then he stops next to a man who looks a lot like him, but he’s a little stockier and his hair is darker. “This is my brother Mick.”
I stick out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.” He doesn’t sign it. He says it. I look at Ryan. I thought everyone in his family was deaf.
“He’s the oddball who can hear,” Ryan says. “But our parents kept him anyway.”
I must still look confused.
“He’s just jealous because I can hear the pretty girls whistle at me.” Mick smiles and looks at me like I have two heads. Or four boobs. Or something else he can’t quite figure out. “You look shocked,” he says.
“A little, actually.” We walk as a group into the library.
“Not nearly as shocked as I am,” Mick says quietly so that only I can hear. “I’ve never seen him with a hearing girl. Speaking of which, don’t find yourself alone in a corner with any of them. I’m not sure they like you.” He nods toward the girls, who don’t look that happy to see me.
“I’ll be right back,” Ryan says to me and he walks over to talk with a person behind the circulation desk.
“So, what do you do for a living, Lark?” Mick asks.
I grin. He doesn’t know who I am. “I’m a musician.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “And for some reason, that’s making you look suspicious as hell.”
I shrug my shoulders and wallow in the joy of having him not know who I am. It’s freeing.
“So how did my deaf brother, who can’t hear music, hook up with a musician?” He rocks back on his heels and smiles down at me.
“He gave me a tattoo.”
“And…” He pauses and draws it out like the word will go on forever.
“And I stole his baseball cap. I’m holding it hostage so he’ll go out with me again.”
He smiles. “Again?”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “We’ll see.”
Ryan turns and motions me forward. As we walk around the corner, his hand slides into mine and he looks down at me and smiles. It’s a sleepy, guilty little smile, and my heart starts to trip.
Mick looks at our clasped hands and looks away quickly, but I’m pretty sure I saw him biting back a grin.
We walk into a large room with a group of children sitting on the floor. They’re all facing a woman who’s sitting on a stool beside a stack of books. Expectation hangs heavy in the air, like a kid waiting to lick the beaters when Mom’s making a cake. The woman at the front of the room waves as we walk in.
Mick takes the stool when she gives it up, and
he picks up the first book. Ryan leads me to a spot at the back of the room and points to a chair, but I sink down onto the floor instead, directly behind the children, and cross my legs in front of me. A few parents linger on the edges of the room.
The kids are excitedly waiting for whatever is about to happen. Mick motions to the stack of books. “Which book do we want to read first?”
“The Very Hungry Caterpillar!” the kids yell at once.
Mick folds his arms and pretends to look cross. “Something tells me you’ve all heard these stories before.”
“No, no, no,” they cry. “We’ve never heard these before!” They pretend to be adamant about it, but I can tell this is a game they’ve all played before.
“You’re sure you’ve never heard The Very Hungry Caterpillar?” he asks, and he teases them by opening the book.
“We promise!” they yell on top of one another.
He puts the book back down.
Ryan barks out a laugh beside me. It’s noisy and beautiful, just like him, and I’m giddy inside just seeing how excited he is.
Mick picks up a different book and the kids cheer for that one too, but not quite as loudly as they did for the caterpillar book. One of Ryan’s friends goes and sits on the floor beside Mick and holds her hands at the ready.
She starts to tell the story in ASL, and Mick follows along with her signs, reading out loud as she goes. She obviously knows the story by heart, and he’s just keeping up and showing the pages, but the excitement is for the way she’s telling the story. She’s not just interpreting. She’s storytelling. She’s using ASL to paint a vivid picture of what’s happening in the book for the children. She’s acting, signing, and being overall funny, puffing out her cheeks and shaking her finger. Mick laughs at her and continues to read, keeping in time with her story, even if it means he has to pause every now and then so she can elaborately draw a picture with her hands. She’s telling a story with her hands and the rest of her body.
It’s mesmerizing.
And it’s so much more than I ever thought storytelling could be.
Everyone claps when she’s done, and I see that a small group of children waves their hands in the air. “Clapping for deaf kids,” Ryan explains to me. I see that the kids are wearing hearing aids and other listening devices. They enjoyed the story tremendously, and so did the hearing kids.
Holding Her Hand Page 4