14. Millie
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MILLIE
I close my eyes.
I can almost feel him. Almost taste him. The space between us is almost gone, and I'm not the one closing it, but I'm not pulling away either.
His lips land on my cheek.
Soft. Warm and delicate. He lets them stay there for a second longer than a cheek kiss should last, long enough that I can feel the shape of his mouth against my skin and the faint scratch of stubble along his jaw, and then he pulls back.
I open my eyes. He's looking at me with that face. The one where the charm is still running but something quieter is driving. His hand is hovering near my arm like he almost touched me and stopped himself.
I try not to look disappointed. I shouldn't be. This is the right move. The respectful, careful, gentleman move. He's being a gentleman. I should appreciate that. A man who slows down instead of rushing forward. A man who chose my cheek over my mouth because he wanted to do this right.
I do appreciate it.
I'm also a little annoyed by it, which is confusing and irrational and probably hormonal, and I'm blaming the pregnancy for all of it.
"I had fun tonight," he says.
I nod. I place my hand on my chest and mouth me too.
He steps back. "So, I'll see you soon? And by soon, I mean tomorrow morning. Because it's only our second date, but we live together and we're having a baby, so the whole 'I'll call you' thing doesn't really apply."
I chuckle and nod.
He walks me to my room. I step inside and for a second, just a second, a part of me wants to pull him in. My hand is on the door frame, and his is in his pocket. The hallway is dim, and I could reach for him.
I don't.
Good night, Mills. He signs it. Slow and careful. The same one I taught him at the restaurant. He remembered.
I sign back. Good night.
His face softens. Then he turns and walks to his room. I close my door, lean against it, and press my palm against my cheek where his lips just were.
I'm in so much trouble.
The next day, I can't stop thinking about it. The date. The cheek kiss. The goodnight he signed instead of spoke.
He's at work right now, and the apartment feels too quiet without him—which is ridiculous, because I've lived in silence my whole life.
But this is different. His absence has a shape.
It's the outline of where he sits on the couch, the empty hook where his keys go, the counter where he stands and hums while he cooks.
What's missing here isn't sound. It's him.
I catch myself replaying the hallway. The lean. The moment I closed my eyes. How close his mouth was. And then the soft press of his lips on my cheek instead. I keep touching the spot like an idiot, like the warmth is still there. It's not. But my hand keeps going back.
Tofu meows, and I look at her.
I'm going crazy, aren't I? I sign to her.
She meows again. Agreement, apparently.
Seriously, whose side are you on?
She licks her paw, avoiding the question. I sigh. I need to talk to someone before I lose my mind.
My phone buzzes. Adeena. She's asking how I am, if I need anything. I want to see her, but I'm tired, and the idea of getting dressed and going out sounds exhausting. I text Joseph asking if it's okay to have someone over.
He responds in seconds.
Joseph
Of course. Make yourself at home. It IS your home.
Four words. It IS your home. I read them three times.
Adeena arrives twenty minutes later and immediately scans the apartment like she's appraising real estate. Kitchen. Living room. The view from the window. The bookshelf. The leather couch. She turns to me.
"You've hit the jackpot."
I roll my eyes.
We settle on the couch. Tofu inspects Adeena for approximately four seconds and then climbs onto her lap and falls asleep.
Adeena takes this as the highest compliment possible.
She tells me about work. The firm has been running her into the ground.
A partner dropped a case on her desk at five on a Friday like it was a favor.
She's exhausted, but she tells the story like it's stand-up, pacing the words, doing voices, building to a punchline.
That's Adeena. Everything is a performance.
She asks about me. I tell her my ribs are better. I don't mention the orchestra. If I start pulling that thread, I won't stop.
So I tell her about the date instead. I sign it all. The restaurant. The rooftop. The walk along the river. The cheek kiss. Adeena watches my hands the whole time. When I stop, she looks at me.
"And?"
I sign: And what? That's it. He kissed my cheek.
"Millie. You just signed for five straight minutes about a rooftop dinner. You described the string lights and everything in detail. And you're sitting here telling me 'that's it'?"
I don't respond.
"You like him."
I don't deny it. I sign slower now, not because the words are hard but because saying them makes them real. It's getting harder to pretend I don't. When he comes home from a shift and drops his keys on the counter, everything in the apartment rearranges. The air. The weight of the rooms. Me.
"So what's the problem?"
I pick at the edge of the couch cushion. I don't sign for a long time. Then I do.
Look at him, Adeena. He's a surgeon. He's smart. He's funny. People love him the second he walks into a room. He could be with anyone. Someone who can actually talk to him. Someone who doesn't need a phone screen just to say good morning. Someone who isn't...
I stop. My hands drop to my lap.
Adeena waits.
I sign: We've been on two dates.
"And you've been living with him for how long now?
That's more time than most couples spend together in three months of dating.
You eat together. You watch TV together.
Plus the man chose to stay. He didn't have to.
He could have written a check and disappeared and nobody would have blamed him.
But he moved you into his apartment, bought you ginger candies, and put a whiteboard on his wall so you could leave him notes. Who does that?"
I sign: Someone who feels obligated. Someone who feels sorry for the pregnant mute girl who fell down a staircase.
The humor drops out of Adeena's face completely.
"Is that really what you think?"
I don't sign anything. I just look at my hands.
"Millie. Look at me."
I look at her.
"Stop. It's okay to want this. It's okay to let someone want you back.
You don't have to earn it first. You don't have to be louder or different or more than what you already are.
And if he can't see that, he's wrong. But from everything you just signed to me, Millie, he sees it. He already sees it. So let him."
I stare at my hands. I don't sign anything back. She knows I can't. Not because I don't have the words, but because the ones she just said need somewhere to land and I haven't built the place for them yet.
Joseph comes home while Adeena is still here. I hear the keys first, then the door, then him calling out "I'm home," the way he always does, like he's announcing himself to the apartment. He walks in, sees Adeena on the couch, and doesn't miss a beat.
"Hey! You must be Adeena. I'm Jo." He holds out his hand.
"The famous surgeon." She shakes it. Her eyes do the sweep. Up, down, back up. She's not subtle about it. She has never been subtle about anything in her life.
"Guilty. Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, a full background check?"
She laughs. He grins. And just like that, he's got her. Within five minutes, he's made her laugh twice.
I watch my best friend fall for the same thing I fell for, and I can't even be mad about it.
Joseph is Joseph. He fills a room, and people lean toward him without realizing they're doing it.
Adeena's doing it right now—laughing a little too easily, angled toward him in her seat.
I watch from the couch with Tofu on my lap, thinking about what she said earlier. Stop being afraid. Let him.
When Adeena leaves, she stops at the door. She glances back at Joseph. He's putting groceries away in the kitchen, still humming. She signs, so he can't understand her.
Girl, what are you worrying about? He's charming, nice, funny, and a successful doctor. He's perfect! I like him.
I sign back: Yes, I know. I saw how you smiled at him.
Well, duh. Look at him, Millie. He's hot and cute at the same time.
I roll my eyes. She grins.
I'm serious, though. Whatever you're holding back, whatever wall you've got up, take it down. This one's different. I can tell.
I sign: How can you tell from one conversation?
Because I watched his face when he looked at you. It's different. He cares about you. I'm sure you can see it too. You're mute, not blind.
Goodbye, Adeena.
I push her out.
"You can't escape this, Millie. So, have fun and take care of yourself."
I close the door and stand there for a moment, her words still in the room with me. Then I turn around and catch Joseph looking. His eyes snap away the second mine find them.
I type and hold it up: You're a bad spy.
He chuckles. "I am. A loud guy like me would be the worst spy." He pauses. "And sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Is that even the right word for sign language? I just saw you two signing, and I couldn't look away. It's beautiful to watch."
I smile.
"What were you two talking about?"
My eyes widen. I start typing, trying to think of something, but before I can finish, he asks, "Was it about me?"
I don't need to type anything. My face gives it away. He laughs. "I figured. I hope it wasn't anything bad."
I shake my head and type: No. In fact, I think Adeena might have a crush on you.
He reads it and laughs. "I'm flattered. And while I think Adeena is great, I'm afraid I can't return the feelings. I already have a crush."
Something drops through me. A crush. On someone.
Who? An old friend? A colleague? My brain starts cycling through possibilities, and every one of them is worse than the last. This is stupid.
I have no right to feel this. We're not together.
Two dates and a shared apartment with a baby on the way don't make us anything.
He can have a crush on whoever he wants.
I try to keep my face neutral. I fail. I've always failed at neutral. My face is a billboard, and right now it's advertising disappointment in neon.
He reads it immediately. "What? What is it?"
I shake my head. I wave my hand. Nothing.
He looks at me for a second, like he wants to push. He doesn't.
"Have you eaten yet?" he asks, and I'm grateful for the subject change.
I shake my head. He holds up a bag and smiles. "Good. I brought food."
We eat at the counter. He talks about his day.
A resident who froze during a routine exam.
A patient who insists his titanium knee sets off every metal detector in the city and wants a doctor's note for airport security.
"He asked me to write 'This man is part robot and should be treated with respect' on the hospital letterhead. I'm considering it."
I smile, but it doesn't land the way it usually does. He pauses for half a second before moving on.
"Oh, I almost forgot. So my friend Sarah, I think I've mentioned her before.
Connor's wife. Connor's my best friend, he's the head of cardiothoracic surgery at St. Aldric's.
Sarah is a second-year resident there. She's planning to go into pediatrics.
" He smiles. "They're kind of the hospital's power couple, except Connor would hate me for calling them that. Anyway, Sarah wants to meet you."
I raise my eyebrows.
"Yeah, she's been on my case about it. She said, and I quote, 'If you don't bring her to dinner soon, I'm showing up at your apartment unannounced.' And she will. She absolutely will."
I type: She sounds intense.
"She's the best person I know. She's also terrifying when she wants something.
But in the best way." He takes a bite of his food.
"She's pregnant too, actually. Further along than you.
So she knows what you're going through. The nausea, the fatigue, all of it.
I thought it might be nice for you to have someone to talk to who gets it. "
I think about it. New people always means the same sequence. The introduction. The moment they realize I can't speak. The face. That split second where they recalibrate everything they were about to say.
He reads my hesitation. "She's not going to be weird about it, Millie. I promise. Sarah is... she's been through a lot herself. She doesn't judge. She doesn't do pity. She's just kind. Actually kind."
I type: Okay. I'd like that.
His face breaks into a grin. "Yeah? I'll set it up. You're going to love her."
I smile. A real one this time. He sees it, and his shoulders drop like he'd been holding them wrong this whole time.
We're cleaning up after dinner. Side by side at the counter, him washing, me drying because he finally let me help with something after I gave him a look that said I will revolt if you make me sit on that couch one more time.
I reach for a glass on the top shelf and twist the wrong way, and my ribs flare. Just a sharp pinch, a reminder that I'm not fully healed yet. I wince. Before I can reset, Joseph is beside me, his hand on my arm, his body turned toward mine.
"You okay? Does it hurt?"
I look up to tell him I'm fine, but his face is right there. Close. Closer than either of us planned. I can see the flecks in his eyes, the darker ring around the iris. We didn't mean to end up this close. It just happened, the way things keep happening with us.
He doesn't step back. I don't either.
His eyes drop to my mouth. Just for a second. But I see it.
He leans in.
This time I lean in too.