by Celeste, B.
Ollie says, “Hi, buddy.” Milo’s eyes turn to his Daddy in a quick bolt of his head, where a big smile spreads across his face.
Tears leak down my cheeks as I hold him against me tightly. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Trying to calm down, I wipe at my tears and sniff back the oncoming ones. “We’re so proud of you, sweetie. Look at you!”
His little laugh surprises him, his body wiggling and hand reaching for his ear. He tugs on the lobe, seemingly in awe over what’s happening.
Woodshed taps his knuckles against the edge of his desk. “Milo, look over here.” His knuckles wrap louder on the wood, causing Milo to turn and stare at the older man. “Good boy. I’m going to turn it up a little bit and run a few sound tests and see how he reacts. Okay?”
Milo begins making noises, his bottom squirming on my lap as I kiss the back of his head over and over.
Woodshed starts playing a soft alarm sound, the beeping increasing as the seconds drag by. Milo cries out and claps his hands, pointing at the doctor.
“Good job,” I praise, not bothering to stop the tears from escaping my eyes. My chest swells so rapidly as I watch Milo react to the other sounds Woodshed throws at him.
Bells.
Whistles.
Laughter.
Milo hears it all.
He. Hears. It. All.
Struggling to swallow past the lump of hardened emotion in the back of my throat, I rock him in my arms while Ollie leans into me. He presses a long kiss against the top of my head, his own cheeks damp with tears.
“Keep talking to him, parents,” Woodshed directs, giving me an encouraging smile.
“I love you, Milo. So much.”
“So much,” Ollie confirms, both of us holding onto him and absorbing his warmth.
Woodshed grabs a plastic toy and jiggles it, letting the beads inside create a new noise for Milo to listen to. When we hear his light laughter, everything inside me bursts.
With joy.
With hope.
With love.
The appointment lasts another hour as we go through the expectations. It’ll take time for him to get used to all the sounds, and he’ll need plenty of hearing and speech therapy as he gets older to adjust. Since he’ll need new ear molds, we’re expected to go in for fittings once a month to ensure he’ll be able to continue using the aid as his ears grow.
“It’s going to be overwhelming for everyone,” Woodshed states, giving us a serious expression. “However, you have just given this child something beautiful. You should all be proud of what has been accomplished. Take it a day at a time and don’t be afraid to reach out.”
“Can I…” I press my lips together. “Will he be able to speak normally? I mean, I know sometimes there’s a bit of a speech impediment with the hearing impaired.”
“Speech therapy will be able to help,” he answers, standing up and flattening his white lab jacket. “There will always be a slight difference in the way he talks though. Are you still planning on teaching him sign language?”
We both nod.
His smile is praising. “Good. It’s a useful skill to have. When it comes to schooling, there are plenty of options. There schools for the deaf around, or typical public and private institutions. I’m not saying one is better than the other. As far as I’m concerned, Milo is as normal a kid as the next. However, deaf education can help build skills that kids without impairments already have. In fact, some patients have enrolled their children in schools for the deaf for the first few years to heighten their speech abilities before switching them to public education settings.”
Ollie is the one who asks, “But it’s not necessary, is it? We’d like Milo to be raised how we were. I’d hate to think we’re isolating him because of his condition.”
Woodshed shakes his head, putting one hand in his lab jacket pocket. “It’s certainly not required. The only thing I would highly encourage is the hearing therapy. It’ll be beneficial to Milo adjusting to hearing after this long of not. Speech therapy too, to prepare him for any type of education you two decide.”
We nod along in understanding, knowing we have a lot of decisions to make. But each one we choose will be worth what’s been given to Milo. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.
In a tiny voice, I ask, “Can I give you a hug, Dr. Woodshed?”
His eyes soften. “Of course.”
Passing Milo off to Ollie, I stand and walk over to the man who has changed our lives—changed our son’s life. I’ll be grateful for him for as long as I live.
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. He reminds me of Robert James, professional and kind. Someone who loves and is proud of what he does.
“You are more than welcome, Charlie.” His large hand pats my back before pulling away, smiling down at me. “And congratulations on baby number two.”
I blush. “Thank you. Um…” I wet my bottom lip and shift from one foot to another. “I know you probably wouldn’t know, but what is the likelihood that…”
He knows what I’m asking before I can even gather the courage to speak the words. “I wouldn’t focus on what your baby will go through. It all depends on how the genes line up. Some siblings have the same condition, others don’t. We can’t be sure.”
Not knowing what to say, I just smile.
Ollie stands up and shakes his hand. “I can’t seem to put to words how much this means to us. Just … thank you. For everything you do for families that need this.”
Woodshed clasps his hand. “It’s truly my pleasure. Being able to give people a chance to hear is one of the best feelings. And I don’t doubt for a second that your family is going to conquer any obstacle along the way.”
Milo makes noises, coos, and giggles over every sound. We all laugh, watching him completely awestruck over such a magical feeling. It’s amazing what we take for granted daily that others don’t have.
When we say goodbye after making an appointment for next month, I settle into the backseat next to Milo. Ollie gets in the front and starts the car, bathing the space in classical music that Milo claps over.
“You like that?” I laugh, tickling his stomach. He giggles and grabs his toes, looking up at me with such a brightness in his eyes I can’t help but grin from ear to ear. “You take after Mommy, huh? Are you going to learn how to play the piano?”
He has no idea what I’m saying, but it doesn’t stop him from seeming happy over it. We stay like that for about twenty minutes, listening to various songs on the radio before we hit traffic from a construction zone on the highway.
When the high-pitched noise of machinery breaking apart pavement on the left lane grows nearer as we creep along, Milo’s eyes glaze with tears. His hands go to his ears and pulls as he belts out a cry that only makes him bawl harder.
“Ollie,” I panic, not knowing what to do.
“We’re almost out,” he assures, speeding up a little to get past the construction.
“We need to get off the highway.”
His eyes meet mine in the rearview. “I’d need to take the next exit and that would bring us the long way around. Are you—”
“Please?” I soothe Milo by rubbing his belly and humming to him. “There’s more work further ahead. It’s too much for him right now.”
Ollie nods and moves to merge onto the exit, bringing us down the ramp. When it’s safe, he pulls over and parks the car. Turning around, he studies Milo, and then me.
“You okay?”
I don’t realize that I’m also crying as I try calming Milo. Managing to nod, I force myself to inhale and flood my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “I’m sorry. Woodshed said it’d be overwhelming, but I didn’t realize how much. Milo is going to need so much therapy to get used to these sounds, Ollie. That’s a lot of money. And the speech therapy seems like a necessary evil to get him used to talking—”
“We’ll be okay. Charlie, breathe.” He reaches for my knee and squeezes. “We have the money in my trust
fund. I already moved some aside for his schooling, no matter where he goes.”
I hiccup. “Do you think he should go to a special school? He needs the extra help, and we can’t give him any. We can teach him sign language but that’s it.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll teach him a lot of things, baby. How to be kind. How to work for what you want. How to never get up. When we get home, we’ll think about our options. We need to take this one step at a time that way we aren’t stressing out about every detail.”
He’s right. Counting in my head to simmer down, I dry my cheeks and look back at Milo. His eyes are still glazed, but the tears on his cheeks have dried up. I lean down and pepper kisses across his forehead.
“That was scary, huh?”
He coos.
“You’re okay, sweetie.”
He manages to smile, and that’s when I know it’s true. Because Milo Brahm James is just like his parents. Strong. Resilient. Nothing that comes his way will stop him.
As a family, we’ll get through anything.
Epilogue
Six Years Later
Ollie
Two pairs of feet pad toward the kitchen as I finish zipping up the second lunch box and set it by my car keys.
“We’re going to be late,” I call, just as my little brunette walks into the kitchen with her thumb in her mouth and her brother’s hand holding her other.
Aria takes after me in just about all departments—dark hair, dark eyes, and fair complexion. She was born without any complications, passing all the newborn tests the hospital did on her. Charlie didn’t experience the same difficulties following the birth, and Milo genuinely seemed excited to be a big brother.
I can tell it’s hard on him though. He loves his little sister and protects her just as I did with River when she was adopted. But the way he watches her interact, hears her talk, brings a dull to his eyes as a reminder they’re different in more than just looks.
“You okay, Ari?”
She pops her finger out of her mouth. “I don’t wanna go to school today.”
I kneel to her level. “Why not?”
It’s Milo who says, “The other kids pick on her.” I notice how he tightens his hold.
My frown matches the one on Aria’s face. I reach out and pulls her into me, giving her a tight hug. “What are they saying, sweetheart?”
When she pulls back, her eyes are pointed toward the ground. I know it must be rough if she doesn’t make eye contact. Both kids tend to avoid looking at us when they’re uncomfortable. Like when Milo wrote all over the walls in permanent marker two years ago and tried pretending like it’d always been there.
“It’s about me,” Milo murmurs.
My eyes widen. “What?”
Milo crosses his arms over his chest and kicks at the floor with the tip of his little beige work boot. “They know I don’t go there because I’m deaf. When we went to her open house, they heard me talk. How I … don’t sound right.”
Nostrils flaring, I reach out for him. “You don’t sound any different than them, Milo. Come on, buddy. I know it’s been hard, but—”
“Can I go to school there?”
I blink. Charlie and I have discussed letting him transfer once he finished the year off at Callie’s School for the Deaf, that way him and Aria can be in the same elementary school. “Do you want that? Your mother and I discussed it, but we thought you liked your school.”
His lips tip downward. “I do.”
“If there are problems—”
“Dad,” he cuts me off. “I want to be where Aria is. It isn’t fair that she’s being picked on because of me. Just because I’m different.”
Swallowing past the anger bubbling over a bunch of asshole kids, I give him a terse nod and force myself to calm down. “Tell you what. When we’re all home tonight, we’ll go over things with Mom. Sound like a deal?”
Aria sticks her thumb in her mouth, then moves it to ask, “Why am I not death?”
“Deaf,” I correct, emphasizing the f. Brushing hair behind her ear, I smile at her. “We talked about this, Ari. You were born with the ability to hear.”
She almost looks disappointed that she’s not like her brother, and it makes me want to chuckle. Instead, I kiss her cheek and then stand up. Rubbing Milo’s head, I back up and notice the lack of backpacks near them.
“Backpacks. Now.”
Milo sighs and walks into the entryway to grab both of their bags. Just as I’m grabbing them a couple Pop Tarts to take with us, I notice Aria’s bright purple bag moving in the slightest way. The sound coming from it has me quickly reaching for it despite her pleas.
Our black and white cat, appropriately named Oreo, jumps out and bolts into the other room. My eyes go to Aria, who’s once more looking down at the hardwood floor.
“We talked about this,” I remind her.
“But it’s show and tell…”
Milo takes her hand. “Oreo doesn’t like people, remember? Mom says she’s like that lady from the grocery store who looks like she has something shoved up her—”
I clap loudly. “Okay. Here’s some breakfast. Don’t tell your Mom I gave them to you so early. She’s under a lot of stress trying to finalize the deal for her new location.”
About six months after Aria was born, Charlie mentioned wanting to expand her business because more people were getting in touch with her about her music therapy lessons. We looked at different buildings in town but couldn’t find one that would work for one reason or another. She decided not to worry about it until this year when I offered the idea of building a guest house on our property that she could run her business from. Her client numbers have climbed enough where it’s getting harder to continue running it from the spare room.
As of two weeks ago, the structure itself was completed and given the proper okay to do what she needed to it. Now she’s in the final stages of setting everything up and making sure everything is perfect. I even surprised her with business cards so she can start distributing them.
“Mommy?” Aria says.
I reach for her hand. “She had to meet someone early this morning, but she’ll be here when you two get back.”
She nods and shoves her thumb back into her mouth, a habit we’re struggling to get her to break. Milo is quiet as we all load into the car. It’s become routine to drop him off first and then bring Aria in with me since we’re both at the same district. It’ll be easier once Milo is too, that way we won’t be as rushed in the morning.
When I pull up in the drop off section, I turn to face Milo. Giving him a big smile, I sign, I love you like I always do before he gets out.
He hesitates, looking out the window like he’s embarrassed over someone seeing him sign it back. When he sees only a few teachers waiting for last-minute students to be dropped off, he signs it and says it back since Aria only knows part of the alphabet so far.
I watch Milo and one of the teacher’s aides sign each other in greeting before entering the school side by side. He looks back and waves, getting a frantic wave back from his sister.
Shaking my head and stifling a laugh, I pull away and head back toward the interstate to get us where we need to be before the first bell rings. Usually we’re not this behind, but both kids were dragging their feet this morning.
After a few minutes of nothing but the radio going, Aria says, “Can we get a puppy?”
What the fuck?
Unlike the argument I lost with Charlie on the cat we adopted from the shelter, I’m determined to put my foot down.
“Dogs are a lot of work, Aria.”
“Please?”
“Sorry, sweetie.”
“Pretty please?”
“Ari.” I sigh and recall the similar conversation at the zoo with Charlie. “We’re not getting a dog. Please stop asking.”
Her silence is both welcoming and surprising but knowing her it’s not the last I’ll hear of the matter. Especially if she gets her brother in on it. I groa
n just thinking about it, turning the radio up to drown out the thought.
“A puppy would make you happy.”
I just sigh.
Epilogue #2
One Year Later
Charlie
Milo won’t let me hold his hand when we walk toward the Liberty Elementary entrance, which I try not to take to heart. He’s seven now, growing up. I doubt he wants to be seen at his new school holding his mother’s hand. I wouldn’t have wanted that either.
Even though he knows where he’s going, I can’t help but double check. “Do you remember your teacher’s name and classroom?”
His groan is loud as we stop outside the Main Office. “Yes, Mom. You and Dad asked me that like four times already.”
“We just want to be sure.”
He’s gotten taller over the past year, he’s already up to my chest. Something tells me he’ll easily get to Ollie’s six-four height. I just hope Aria doesn’t sprout as quickly as Milo, or we’ll be going through clothes again like crazy.
I smooth out his shirt. “I have to sign some last-minute paperwork and then I’ll be out of your hair. You know you can reach me anytime if you need something, right? If there are any problems—”
“Mom.”
I take a deep breath. “Sorry. I love you.”
He doesn’t sign it, making my lips twitch a little. I know he worries about what other kids will say about him using that to communicate. He’s also mentioned to Ollie that he doesn’t want the other kids to laugh at his implants. “Love you too, Mom. I’ll be okay.”
Hearing him say that makes the waterworks want to flood my face, but I force them back, so I don’t embarrass him. We’ve been telling him that for so long, it’s no surprise he says it so easily. What’s great is that he believes it because he knows he’s ready for this.
He gives me a cautious glance. “Oh, and I think Doug puked in my room this morning.”
My lips part. “You’re just telling me this now? Why didn’t you clean it up?”