Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROME
‘Hey, you have time to talk?’ I ask after tapping Denver on the shoulder, making him jump slightly.
‘How did you find me?’ I arch an eyebrow at him, and he huffs a nervous laugh. ‘Right. I told you about my secret hobby last year while drunk. You haven’t told anyone else though, right?’
I cross my heart and hold up my hand. He nods and then pulls a chair over with his foot.
‘Sit. What’s up?’
I do as he says and extend my legs out in front of me. ‘First, you. Why are you down here? I know you only look at old magazines when you’re stressed.’
He side-eyes me a moment and then purses his lips. ‘I think my stalker might be back.’
My eyes widen, and I sit up a little taller. ‘Where? How you know?’
He sighs, and I can see the nervous twitch of his lips. ‘I can feel him, you know? Like he’s watching me, and it’s driving me crazy.’
‘Have you actually seen him?’
‘I thought I did. In the crowd at the performance last weekend. But I can’t be sure.’
I stare at him long and hard, worried for my friend, feeling suddenly silly that I searched him out in the microfilm room just to ask him how to get an A+ on my next date with Dex.
‘You should call the cops.’
‘No evidence.’ He looks defeated, his shoulders slumped, his chin wobbling. ‘I just want him gone.’
I reach out and squeeze his leg. ‘I know. You want to stay with me? Until you feel safe again?’
He peers up at me and shakes his head. ‘No, I’m okay.
I have a gun.’ My eyes widen, and Denver’s lips twitch up in a smile.
‘Okay, not a real gun. It’s one that shoots pepper spray and glitter at the same time.
’ That makes me laugh, and he sits back.
‘That way, if I see him and he bothers me, I can mark him.’
‘Good idea. Where did you get that? I’ve never seen one at the store.’
He glances back and forth and then lowers his signs, making them small. ‘Thorne got it for me. Dark web.’
I roll my eyes and then shake my head. ‘Seriously, you all need to stop going on the dark web.’
‘I know, but the gun is cool. Glitter plus pepper spray. Win-win.’
I mean, I agree with him on that.
‘So why are you here? Tell me. Distract me from my awful life.’
‘Well, it’s silly now that I’m here.’ He arches an eyebrow at me, and I sigh. ‘Fine, I’ve been dating Dex.’
His mouth drops open, and he sits forward slightly. ‘Really? That’s the man you were talking about last time?’
‘Yes. And, well, since I’m an asshole, he’s been grading me on every date.’
His eyebrows rise even farther. ‘Grading? Why?’
‘I already told you. Me-asshole.’ Denver chuckles and leans back, waving his hand for me to continue. ‘So I’m working on getting an A+. Haven’t yet accomplished it. I came here to ask you for help.’
Denver places a hand over his heart and makes a face. ‘Aw, so nice. I am the best at everything.’
‘You are. Besides, I can’t go to Robbie, and Leaf is chaos.’
‘Third choice me?’
‘Best choice,” I amend, and he nods in approval.
‘Well, tell me about your previous dates and the grades you’ve gotten, and I’ll give you some advice. I’ll make sure you earn that A+. I am a teacher, after all.’
I lay it out, going over each date in detail, causing Denver to laugh out loud and fan his face—although I omit all the really filthy things—and when I’m done, I sit there while he processes it all.
‘Well, it seems you’re opening up,’ he finally says, and I throw my hands in the air. ‘Do more of that.’
‘That’s all?’
‘It seems he really likes it when you are really yourself.’
‘I don’t even like me, and yet you think I need to be more me?’
Denver leans over and pats my leg. ‘Yes, I think you should keep doing what you’re doing. Talk more, open up, be yourself. And also figure out what he likes and do it. The street fair was his favorite thing, it seems. Can you top that?’
I mean, he can top me, I think before sighing. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Guess you’ll have to ask Thom. Or…’ Denver’s fingers wiggle as he thinks. ‘The ex. Lexi! She would give best advice.’
I frown at both options. I think I would rather enter the afterlife.
‘Serious?’
Denver looks completely stoic. ‘Yes, serious.’
Well, fuck.
I don’t have Lexi’s number, and I’m not about to call the interpreting agency to try to find her, and I can’t ask Dex for it, so that leaves me one choice: I send her a follow request on her Instagram.
My thumb feels heavy as it hits the Follow button, and then I turn my phone screen off and throw it across the couch. It hits the cushion and slides down, toppling over with the screen up.
Taunting me.
Mocking me.
I grab one of the couch pillows, shove my face into it, and scream.
I miss living in an all-Deaf space where I can be as loud as I want without terrifying the neighbors because while I could barely hear them, I am perfectly aware of how loud Deaf shouts can be.
That’s yet another thing I can’t help but wonder if Dex will be able to deal with. Most hearing people think Deaf homes are quiet. But they are not.
So if this thing happens between us for real—if there is something here—will that matter? Will he get pissed off and resent me for when I forget to turn things off or keep the TV volume or music low?
Will I resent him for forgetting I can’t hear him if he shouts for me or defaults to speaking over sign?
Fuck, I hate having to ask these questions, but then again, every time I’ve assumed one thing about him, he’s proven me wrong. Maybe it’s time to have faith in him.
He’s earned it.
He’s been…I can’t say perfect. I’m allergic to that word. But he’s certainly been something. He feels like an addiction—an obsession. And not just his body, though I can’t deny how much I crave every part of him.
But it’s more than that.
Late at night, when I’m feeling at my most vulnerable, I close my eyes and think about what life might be like a year from now with him. Or five years. Or ten.
I think of a shared house and easy touches. I think of coming home to him after a bad day and how I know he’ll look at me and understand and not have to ask what I need. And I want to believe I can do the same for him, even if it’s something I’m not great at. But I can learn to be. I think.
For him.
My phone screen lights up with a notification, and my heart leaps into my throat. For a moment, I can’t move, and then I snatch it from the cushion, and my fingers shake as I swipe it open.
There are three notifications. She accepted my follow, she followed me back, and there’s a message waiting for me in my inbox.
Shit shit shit shit.
This would be normal if Dex were Deaf. The community is just…like this. We make friends with each other’s friends when we feel like it. Communication is different for us.
But Dex comes from another world, and while Lexi might be an interpreter, she’s still hearing. I don’t know how much time she spends in the community. I don’t know if the first thing she did was text him and let him know what I did.
But I have to be brave, goddamn it. I have never been less than a straight A student my entire career. I’m not about to let that change now. Especially when Dex is involved.
I tap the icon and open my messages.
Lexi: Stalking me?
Me: Need to talk. You free?
Lexi: In person or here?
Me: Either.
Lexi: You know Leaf and Bean café right by City Hall?
Our downtown area is tiny as fuck. City Hall is also where all the utility offices are. And the post office. And it has three sandwich shops attached.
And yes, the Leaf and Bean café.
Me: I know it.
Lexi: I’m working at the courthouse today, but I’m done at three. Meet me there? I’m buying.
Me: See you then.
Contrary to who I am as a person, I show up early. It might have been different if I’d seen another human being today besides Denver that morning, but I’ve spent all afternoon in my apartment either rotting on the couch or pacing the floor.
My calves have gotten a decent workout, and I notice the burn when I slide into a decent parking space at the curb only a block away from the coffee shop and start walking.
Dex would probably be proud.
I’ve been to this shop a couple of times whenever I’ve needed to deal with contract shit for the company, and while they’re not necessarily Deaf-friendly, they’re not Deaf-unfriendly. No one’s ever copped an attitude with me when I order through my notepad, and they’re usually patient.
Which is more than I can say for myself most days.
Stepping inside, I take a deep breath of coffee-scented, recycled air, then glance around. It takes me ten seconds to spot Lexi. She’s just as gorgeous as she was the day she interpreted for me.
She’s wearing a similar black shirt and dark blue jeans with tall heels. Her thick black hair is tied in a braid down her back, and she’s not wearing much makeup.
She smiles at me, her teeth very straight and white, and she waves with her left hand, which I notice doesn’t have her ring. That’s not a surprise. Interpreters aren’t required to take their engagement or wedding rings off, but many do.
‘Coffee,’ I sign to her, then turn toward the counter. The barista gives me a slow look, almost bored, so I quickly type out that I’d like a medium black coffee on my phone and flash the screen at him.
He nods and punches it into the iPad, then twists it around for me to tap my card. By the time I’m adding in a tip, the coffee is sitting on the counter.
Fuck the cream and sugar, even though it’s probably going to taste like ass. If I can’t have a shot of whiskey before this, I’m at least going to raw-dog some straight caffeine to keep myself sane.
Lexi’s tapping her foot in a pattern as I approach. Maybe she’s nervous too? I sit across from her, and there’s a moment of very pointed, very tense silence.
‘Hi,’ she eventually starts.
It takes all of my concerted effort not to snort. ‘Hi. Thanks for meeting with me.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘My ex’s new boyfriend, who I’ve also interpreted for, is now my Instagram stalker. How could I not?’