by Laura Brown
Mom shook her head. “Not to take care of you, to work together as a team. Your father and his bar, he made it his burden, he shut me out. Together we might have been able to save it. I don’t know if the reduced stress would have saved his life or not, but in my dreams, it would have made a difference.
“My point is, you have a problem right now. You bring this problem to your family, and together you can come up with a solution.”
“Last I checked, you were part of my family.”
Mom’s face fell, the wrinkles appeared more pronounced. “I burned that bridge a long time ago. It’s amazing you’re even here. I’m not the person to help you get on your feet, when I haven’t been on mine in a long time.” She moved one foot. “Even before the hip injury.”
I let the conversation shift from there. Because it didn’t matter, not one bit of it. My goal remained the same: own a bar. And live alone. But being alone had lost some of its thrill. Instead of relaxing solitude, I feared now it would feel more like empty sorrow.
THAT EVENING, I rang the bell to Nikki’s apartment, though I really wanted to turn around and leave. I dug in my feet. I could wallow on my own tomorrow. Tonight was for friends.
The few I had left. I should have brought chocolate as a peace offering.
The door opened, and Nikki sent me a smile, part relief, part mischief. She pulled me into a hug, and I held her, hard. I’d missed her. I’d missed people and comfort and friends.
She pulled back and bit her lip. “Don’t be mad.”
A cold bead of sweat slithered down my spine. I didn’t move. I knew what I’d find. “You can’t play matchmaker.”
She popped a hand on her hip. “Why not? You did.”
Shit, I had. But her first kiss with Pete was about them both acknowledging a new situation, nothing like the drawn-out fight between Dev and me.
Nikki opened the door wide, the perfect face of innocence. I could leave, try to see her again alone. I was stronger than that.
I stepped in, and there Dev sat next to Pete on the couch. One jean-clad leg crossed over the other, a beer dangling from his hand, showing off his yang. He wore a tight tee shirt with some writing on the chest I didn’t stop to read and a day’s worth of stubble. It physically hurt to see him. The other night darkness had shielded some of his features, giving the sense of some separation between us. Now even that was gone. I had the strongest urge to run to him. Instead, I stepped away, allowing Nikki to close the door.
Dev’s blue eyes locked with mine. Neither one of us moved to sign anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Pete signing, “Awkward,” and he was right.
“Should you be drinking?” I asked.
A small wry smile crossed his face. “Just one tonight.” Silence resumed and threatened to consume us.
Nikki waved, breaking our stare. “The four of us are friends. I meant what I texted to each of you: I am not choosing sides because you two are in a fight.”
Dev’s eyes were on me, but I looked at my shoes, refusing to confirm or deny Nikki’s comment.
No one moved, everyone frozen in place. It occurred to me that everything had probably been fine before I arrived. I messed it up. “This is crazy. I’m going to leave.” I faced Nikki and signed before she did. “We’ll meet up another day.”
“I do have your box,” Dev signed from the couch.
Those eyes, I needed to stop getting lost in them. A coil of stress unwound from my shoulders. “I know.”
My chest tightened as words passed between us, a whole hidden conversation, like the ones we used to have all the time. He didn’t have just my box; he had me. And I hadn’t forgotten it; I left it there.
No matter where we were, what we did, there would always be a connection between us. There would always be an us in some shape or form. I didn’t know how long it would take for us to figure out the final stage of our relationship.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I signed to Nikki. I waved to Pete but only looked at Dev. Thoughts battled in my head, thoughts I hoped he’d infer: I’m sorry, I miss you, I don’t know how to solve us. If he understood, he didn’t have any answers either.
I LEFT THE lights off in Mom’s apartment—it went with the loneliness. After seeing Dev and the drained look on his handsome face, the isolation grew worse, nearly suffocating. I wanted to stomp, I wanted to scream, but I didn’t dare disturb any of Mom’s neighbors.
Why was it so complicated? This was supposed to be the easy answer: stick to my path. Only I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I didn’t know what my future held and what I should be fighting for.
I hadn’t eaten and I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was a little queasy, but stress would do that to a person. A nice, long, soothing shower sounded good. Maybe a bubble bath if Mom had any on hand.
No bubbles, but I prepped the shower. Before I got in, I discovered my period had arrived. It should have been a nonissue—go to my bags, grab a tampon, done. Instead it reminded me of that last shower at Dev’s place, that last sex with him. The pills I really didn’t need to take.
I wasn’t pregnant.
I got in the shower, trying to wash my thoughts away. Only I couldn’t wash these emotions away, they bubbled up inside until they boiled over. My head rested against the wall, and I cried. For the child that never was but could have been. For that connection between Dev and me that spanned much more than our damn tattoos. For the loss that wasn’t really a loss at all.
And when the tears dried and I managed to wash myself, another realization hit: I wanted a child, or children. One day, I wanted to be a mother.
With Devon as the father.
It was crazy. I knew how many sacrifices Dad had had to make to keep the bar afloat and not be with me. But I saw myself in a bar that looked a lot like Dad’s, passing a wet mug to a little boy or girl with blue eyes and brown curls. That kid would smile and dry the mug while waiting for their father to pick them up after work. And when I got home so very late at night, I’d kiss that sleeping child and re-tuck them in before waking my husband, who had fallen asleep in front of the television. We’d talk, make love, and go to bed, repeating it all again the next day.
The image was so real; the smells, the tastes were all there. I wanted it all.
If Dev could handle raising a child in a bar, insane hours and all, then the main part of our fight would be resolved.
Well, the second part. I still needed to learn to accept his help.
I stepped out of the bathroom into the dark apartment. Help, or lack of it, was the reason Mom never got her life back on track after Dad died. I had no idea how much of it had been offered, but she never reached out for it. If she had, maybe things would have been different. I would be different. Help was good. I just had to find a way to believe.
The images kept coming, this potential future I’d created. Not ten minutes from now, but ten years from now. My fingers itched to make it a reality. While so many details were out of my control, one area wasn’t.
I turned on a light, grabbed my notebook, and turned to a blank page. Instead of random ideas and concepts, I started with a simple checklist of all the important particulars I needed in place before I could open my bar.
The place I envisioned wasn’t a dive bar like Len’s. A college bar was more my style, so I could put my mixology skills to use. Beyond the drinks I’d serve, the bar would offer a greater purpose: a hangout for the Deaf Community. It would be a Deaf-friendly location, with beer on tap, mixed drinks, and a bright, accepting environment.
My checklist would take time to complete, but it was a start. No more distant dreams that slipped through my fingers. One way or another, I’d make this a reality.
Chapter Forty-Two
Devon
“SORRY,” NIKKI SIGNED after she closed the door behind Jas. I contemplated getting up and going after her. She looked like she needed a hug, or maybe that was me selfishly wanting her in my arms again.
I let her go. Not that I wasn�
��t willing to fight for her. She needed time, especially after my stupid drunk stunt. Until she had her own answers, I needed to stay clear.
“We’ll figure out how to be in the same room together one day.”
Pete shook his head. He shared a look with Nikki, and I held up my hands before either could interject.
“Don’t sign anything. I’ve got this under control.”
Nikki glanced at the door, then me. “No. You don’t.”
That was kinda true. “I know she doesn’t need me pestering her right now.” Nikki raised her hands, but I kept going. “She needs time or for me to figure out the right answer. I haven’t yet, but I will.”
“It’s so strange having you two separated. I can’t remember that ever happening before.”
“Growing pains,” Pete signed.
I rubbed my wrist, an absentminded gesture, my thumb pressing against my yang. The recovering mark ached like it was brand new, and I’d bet my college education it had little do with the actual healing process. To think, we got the tattoos to prove how permanent we were, and before they fully healed we were as divided as our separated symbols.
Not over, never over. But the metamorphosis stage sucked. There was only one outcome I wanted. I had to pray that when Jas shifted through all her baggage, she’d agree.
I STRETCHED AWAY from the computer, eyes on my phone vibrating on the table with an incoming text, and froze with my hands in the air when I saw who sent the message.
Jas: Got my period, told you it would be fine.
My stomach dropped. Funny how that didn’t feel like a good thing. But she didn’t want a family, so no use wondering what could have been.
Me: You OK?
Jas: Questions not to ask a woman on her period.
Me: Not what I meant.
I waited. It took some time, but she answered.
Jas: I’m OK.
It was something. I wanted more, more talking, more interacting. I’d take what I could get.
She surprised me when, ten minutes later, another text came through.
Jas: Actually, I’m not OK. I’m sad.
Jas: And I have no idea why I sent that.
I stared at her words as shock worked its way through me. Had she just given me an opening?
Me: It’s OK to be sad.
Me: I’m sad.
Jas: We’re too young.
My heart picked up to a run. I wanted to have this conversation in person but took what she gave me.
Me: We won’t always be this age.
Jas: True.
I didn’t push her. She’d opened the door, and I’d win her back.
DAD MUST HAVE sensed I needed to be active; he sent me back to Charlie’s place to review his documents and get his signature. An hour later, I sat at Charlie’s table with the papers open in front of us. His pictures haunted me; the whole scenario felt too damn close to being my future. Would my mantel show my kids and their kids? Or would it have a faded picture of Jas and images of Blake’s kids?
I couldn’t get Jas’s text out of my head. Did that mean she wanted this too?
“What happened with the girl?” I asked, pointing to the black and white photo.
Charlie took in the photograph with sad eyes. “I loved her before I had all this, and I was too stupid to know what was important. I gave her up to become successful. When I got my money, she’d moved on. Married, had a few kids. I lost my chance.”
Not what I wanted to see. “I’m sorry.”
“She was happy though. That’s all that matters.”
Couldn’t argue with that one. I turned back to the papers. Charlie owned a few properties, part of the reason his taxes were such a mess. I went over them with him, verifying we had the right information this time, and froze at an address I knew very well.
He owned the building where Jas’s father had his bar.
I pointed to the address. “You own this building?”
Charlie nodded. “Bought it seven years ago, thought I could fix a struggling building. Now it’s mostly empty.”
I held out my wrist, pointed to the yang. “The woman who has the other half of this, her father used to own that bar.”
A spark came to Charlie’s eyes. “Deaf?”
“Her father was hearing, she’s Deaf. She wants to follow in his footsteps, own a bar like he did.”
Charlie smiled. “A Deaf bar. That would be something.”
“One day. Hard to find work as a Deaf bartender. She’s been saving to buy her own place, but that will take time.” And accepting help, but I didn’t need to share that part with him.
“Deaf help Deaf, yes?” Charlie asked, then tapped the paper. “What else do I need to sign?”
I walked him through the rest, amazed at how small the world was. Wouldn’t it have been something if Charlie had known Eddie? I had a feeling Charlie held an answer or two to my problems. All I had to do was ask and find out.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jasmine
I TOOK OFF my coat and draped it over the chair in Mom’s rehab room. “That job interview.” I held my thumb upside down. “Awful.”
Mom frowned. “What happened?”
I settled into the chair. “Discrimination. Simple as that. They kept asking me to speak and if I could lip-read. I showed them how well I can communicate with a whiteboard, but I don’t think I’ll get the job.”
“I’m sorry.”
The experience was dreadful. Not unexpected, but dreadful nonetheless. I’d kept a smile plastered to my face as the two interviewers kept trying to talk to me. At times, both their mouths moved. How the fuck was I supposed to follow that? I wrote on my board, even showed them how I attached it to a clip on my hip to keep it with me when my hands were full. But by the looks on their faces, the glances they shared, I knew they’d find a way not to hire me.
“That’s life. Maybe I should work at the packaging company with Pete.” It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but my options ran thinner by the day.
Mom shook her head. “That’s not you.”
“Who I am and what life requires are two different things.” My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out of my back pocket, thumbing to the new text message I had.
Dev: Meet me at your father’s bar.
I blinked at his words.
Me: Bossy much?
Dev: If you trust me at all, do it.
I scowled at my phone. I did trust him. I’d always trust him. Even when he did weird things that didn’t make any sense. I showed Mom my phone.
“I think he’s trying to win you back.”
“By bringing me to Dad’s bar? When I can’t find work and can’t afford his place? That’s mean.” It didn’t help that I kept imaging his place with all my plans.
Mom shifted, closing her eyes briefly as she tried to get comfortable. “Not everything in life is fair, you know that well. Remember that when you see him.”
“You kicking me out?”
“You’re miserable. I want you happy. I want that smile back. He makes you smile. Why are you here? Go see him.”
It wasn’t that simple. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re scared. That’s all.”
I sucked in some air, ready to fight back. She sent me a stern look, and I relented. She was right. “I don’t want to mess things up.”
“You can’t, not with him. Trust your heart and you’ll be fine.”
Trust my heart. Therein lay part of the fear that kept me from fixing us. If I trusted my heart, I’d take us both off the market for good. Which should have scared me more. It didn’t.
Maybe I was ready.
I collected my jacket, kissed Mom on the cheek, and headed to my car. A half hour later, I pulled into the empty parking lot behind Dad’s former building. The sun shifted below the tree line, the sky more purple than blue. One business remained, but it was closed for the night. Shame—this area used to be brimming with life when I was a kid.
At least, from my kid-col
ored glasses, it had been.
I rounded the building and stopped at the edge. In front of Dad’s dark bar stood Dev. He leaned against the dirty glass pane, hair a mess, light stubble along his jaw. I missed him so much it hurt. I wanted to run to him, fling my arms around him, and never let go.
He deserved answers from me, proof that I’d make an honest try at a partnership. I had to figure out a way to show him all that.
I moved away from the edge, and he looked me over, hungry eyes taking me in like I took him in. The pull between us sprang to life, a pull so much more than friendship. There was a true bond between us, always more than just friends.
It really did take us far too long to figure it out.
“Why are we here?” I asked, stopping a few feet from him.
“You look good,” he signed.
I felt my frizzy hair. “I just had the job interview from hell. I doubt I look that good.”
“I’m sorry.” Though for the first time, I didn’t buy he truly meant it. “You always look good.”
I was missing something. “Why here?” I asked again.
Dev rubbed his neck. Whatever his reason, it had him all tangled in knots. “I have something for you. But I also know you don’t want to accept anything from anyone else. So I’m not sure how to proceed.”
“I can’t really afford a puppy right now.”
A small smile ghosted across his lips. I wanted to bring a full one out, then lick it. In what reality did I believe I could stay away from him? “You know what I mean.”
I nodded. “You’re not still joining your father’s business, are you?”
His mouth turned a fraction more. “I applied for the social work position. Dad knows and accepts.”
Relief uncoiled a knot in my back I hadn’t realized was there. “Good.”
His eyes narrowed. “If I hadn’t?”
“I’d shake you until you gained some notion of sense.”
“You planning on keeping me in line?”
“If I can.” My hands moved slowly, shyly. Shy and Devon were not a thing I usually did.
“Where’s your freak-out level?” He studied my face. “You look ready to run already.”