Chapter 14
Benson
Snickerdoodle follows on my heels as I bring another bag of wood shavings into the new brooder pen at the petting-farm barn. Remi says we’ll switch to straw once the chicks are a little older.
We is a word I’ve been noticing a lot from him lately, and it never fails to leave me feeling warm and…settled. At the office, I was part of a team, but it never felt like this. Like my actions mattered.
Like I mattered.
I should call my dad. Soon. We didn’t part on the best terms, not that my dad was upset with me exactly. He was upset about my diagnosis and what that means for him. I don’t know if he’ll ever be willing to truly examine that part of himself. He likely doesn’t see the point.
He’s lived sixty-seven years as he is. What good would change do now?
And I get it, from a theoretical standpoint. But having felt the change inside myself, the acceptance of myself, I know how much it can matter.
Remi is outside with one of the new petting-farm attendants Jackson hired for the start of spring. We’ll be open more frequently now as winter melts away and visitors are more prevalent.
We. Even I’m doing it, apparently.
I stick my head outside, finding Remi going over the ropes with the new employee as the goats run about. It’s sunny today, and although the snow hasn’t melted completely, everyone on the farm seems to have an extra pep in their step, animals included.
With Remi busy, I step back inside the barn and pull out my phone. My dad is usually free this time in the afternoon, even if he’s working through his break. Without giving myself time to find an excuse not to, I click his name and call.
It rings three times before he answers.
“Benson?”
“Hey, Dad. You have a minute?”
“Sure. Let me just…” There’s a pause and then he says, “Go ahead.”
I lean against the outside of the chicks’ pen as Snickerdoodle noses through the fresh shavings and other supplies Remi bought. “I just wanted to…check in, I guess. How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” he says slowly. “You?”
“Yeah, fine.” Rubbing the side of my nose, I heave out a breath. “Better, actually. A lot better.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” His tone is genuine if not a touch strained. But that’s nothing unusual. Neither of us are good at…this. Talking about anything real. Phone conversations, even. “Your mom says you’ve been staying at the house?”
“Yeah. For now. Have you talked to August recently?”
There’s a brief pause. “It’s been a while.”
“You should call,” I tell him, wishing that’s something I’d been better about myself. But Christ, I can’t even find a way to talk to my brother face-to-face. How was I supposed to manage it over the phone? “He’d appreciate it if you can.”
My dad hums. “Are you still…in therapy?”
“Yes.” My pulse thumps as I wait for a response.
My dad only offers a grunt. “My break is about over.”
I nod, bouncing my hand a couple times before flicking it out to my side, as if I could somehow dispel every ounce of my discomfort that easily. But it doesn’t work like that. Even still, my fingers drum against my thigh as I answer my dad. “Yeah, all right. Talk soon?”
“Yeah,” he says, when we both know soon could easily be six months or more. “Take care of yourself, Benson.”
I want to tell him I am. But the call clicks off.
That went about as I expected.
I stare at my brother’s name right below my dad’s in the short list of my favorite contacts. There’s also my mom. Steph. And now Remi.
Clicking my brother’s name, I find the last text we exchanged over Christmas. He asked if I could grab eggnog while I was at the store.
Before my bravery wanes, I send him a text.
Me: Can we hang out this weekend?
I nearly cringe. Do people still say hang out?
My brother’s reply comes through before I can Google it. It’s not like he doesn’t know I’m goddamn old anyways.
August: Is this my brother?
August: Or, more likely, do aliens have your phone?
August: Quick, tell me my favorite number.
Sighing, I text back.
Me: 7. Which is a terrible favorite number.
August: What the hell? Why?
Me: It’s too sharp.
My phone rings, startling me enough that I jerk. Snickerdoodle kicks up her head next to me, appraising me with golden eyes before deeming the danger has passed and trying to sneak into the feed room. I answer my brother’s call as I guide her away and shut the door. “Yeah? Hi?”
August snorts. “Hi. What does that mean, seven is too sharp?”
“Just what I said. It’s an uncomfortable number. Too…prickly.”
He sounds amused. “Uh, sure. That makes complete sense. What’s your favorite number then?”
“Forty-four.”
There’s a loud voice, our mother’s, in the back of the call asking for more pastrami. August puffs out a breath. “I gotta go. Saturday?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s answering my initial question about this weekend. “Uh, yeah. That works.”
“Okay.”
August hangs up, and for the second time in a handful of minutes, I stare down at my phone screen.
“Watching porn?” a voice asks.
I jump, dropping my phone, and Remi chuckles. “No. Of course not,” I tell him, feeling my face flush as if I had been caught watching porn at work. Or anywhere, really.
Remi lowers his hand from his chin, a soft, earnest smile on his face. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.’
I shake my head to let him know it’s fine and swipe my phone off the ground, shoving it back in my pocket. ‘Almost done.’
Remi walks over to look inside the pen, nodding at the progress I’ve made. “We’ll need to extend chicken wire up to the top so they don’t escape. Will you be here tomorrow?”
I nod, which causes Remi’s smile to widen. Just like that.
He pops the door to the feed room open, glancing inside. “Bin all set?”
“Yeah,” I manage, still a little caught on his smile.
With ease that hasn’t stopped surprising me, Remi grabs a large bag of specialty starter feed off the floor and swings it up over his shoulder.
He carries it into the feed room, dropping it back to the ground so he can cut off the top.
As he empties the contents into the storage bin, I collect the empty bags left from the wood shavings.
I’m just passing in front of the barn door when it opens, the new employee sticking her head inside. “Oh, hi. Do you know where the garbage bags are? I’m Zoey, by the way.”
“Benson,” I say, plastering on a smile as I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. What size bags are you looking for?”
“Um…really big ones? For the gray bin outside.”
“In here,” I tell her, waving her toward the storage room. Spotting the box of industrial trash liners, I pull one free. “This look good?”
“Think so. Oh, shoot.”
A few of the goats, having found the open door, are wandering inside. “It’s fine,” I assure her, heading toward the feed room and grabbing a small handful of oats. “A little trick.”
I toss the oats out the door, and the goats go racing after them. Snickerdoodle follows, apparently deciding a snack is worth braving the cold for.
“Thanks,” Zoey says, letting out a breath. “First day, you know?”
“I get it. There’s not much you can mess up around here. Just let someone know when you have questions.”
“Appreciate it.” With a little smile, Zoey heads out the door, closing it behind her.
My shoulders drop, and I stand there for a long minute.
A soft hum has me looking Remi’s way. “You okay?”
“Huh?” I ask, wiping the oat dust off my hands.
He’s leaning against the wall outside the feed room, arms loosely crossed. “It looked like you flipped a switch when Zoey came in. Your mannerisms, your voice… For a minute, you were like the Ben of five, ten years ago. But then she left, and…” He snaps his fingers.
I don’t bother denying it. I’m just surprised he noticed the difference.
Letting out a breath, I wave a hand toward my face. “That’s the mask. I don’t even think about it most of the time. It just…happens.”
“Can I ask why? Do you know?”
I shrug a little, grabbing a broom to sweep up a few escaped shavings. “I guess I think of it as programming? Like learned behavior a robot uses to blend in with humans.”
Remi frowns, pushing off from the wall. “You’re not a robot.”
“No, but I’ve always felt like people were other.
People like this. People do that. Not me.
People. I just got good at blending in.” Setting the broom against Snickerdoodle’s stall, I puff out a breath.
“You know what shocked me the most? Learning that not everyone is constantly thinking about eye contact. How long to hold it. When to look away and glance back again. When to blink. When to soften your eyes so the person knows you’re listening.
It’s not that I can’t make eye contact. It’s just a choice.
Every time. Maintaining it isn’t natural for me. Or particularly easy.”
“I’ve noticed,” he says, voice soft.
“You don’t seem to mind.”
‘No,’ he agrees with a pinch of his fingers. “I don’t.”
“I do that all the time,” I say, waving toward the door Zoey went out of. “Until this past year, I didn’t even realize that wasn’t me. It’s like…”
“Customer Service Ben,” Remi fills in.
“Yeah,” I say around a huff of laughter.
“It’s fine. It’s just…work. Every little interaction.
I used to praise myself for passing. As a human.
Good job, Benson. You made eye contact. Good job, you gave a proper hello.
Look at that, no one caught on to how anxious you feel.
How didn’t I think anything was off about that? ”
Remi steps in close, wrapping his arms loosely around my middle. My pulse goes haywire, even more so when he looks up at me with those clear blue eyes, so like cloudless sky. “I’m going to tell you a secret. Sometimes, I leave my CI at home just so I don’t have to talk to people.”
I rack my brain for the right response. I must take too long because Remi splits the silence.
“By the expression on your face, you don’t even find that odd.”
“No,” I admit.
His laugh is soft, his smile warm. “One thing I’ve learned is that people judge what they don’t understand. I see it in their eyes sometimes. The pity. Rarely will someone ask me how I feel about being Deaf.”