Chapter Seven
Ellie: What are your intentions as far as school for Maisy? Technically, in the fall, she’ll be eligible for our residential program where kids live at the school during the week and come home on weekends.
I shake my head vehemently when I read her text, and I look up, disgusted. “Jesus, no. I mean, I’m sure it’s a fine school, but I wouldn’t want to only see her on the weekends.” I glance out the window, then back at Ellie. “Honestly, I’m not even sure she’ll still be living here in the fall.”
Ellie: Say that last part again.
I realize I might have been mumbling due to my disappointment over it. “I said I’m not sure Maisy will still be living with me in the fall.”
She studies me for a moment, starts typing, then deletes what she wrote. She wants to ask me more about that. More about why I just found out about Maisy yesterday. More about where her mother is and why she grew up the way she did.It’s only natural to be curious about these things. But she doesn’t ask.
Ellie: I’m happy you want her to live at home. While the school is amazing, I think the most important thing for both of you right now is to form a bond. Sending her to live at school would impede that. You’ll still have many choices to make. She can go to the Deaf school, or she can go to public school. I’ve toured the elementary schools here. They have a few resources, and an interpreter would be provided should you request one. And then there’s whether or not to try cochlear implants—a highly polarized topic in the Deaf community. And whether or not to teach her to read lips, which is not as easy as it might seem, by the way.
My head cocks to the side. “You seem to do it very well.”
Ellie: You just so happen to have easy lips to read.
She blushes. Goddamn it. Every time she does that it’s like there’s a tether on my dick that gets yanked. The redness across her face brings out freckles on her cheeks. They disappear as she starts texting again.
Ellie: In general, deaf people comprehend about 30% of lip reading. Those who grow up with hearing parents and who have taken advanced classes can achieve far greater comprehension than that. I’m pretty good at it, but by no means perfect. We rely on body language and context to fill in the gaps. Which reminds me, you are expressive, which is good, but you need to be overly-so. Whereas I don’t want you over-enunciating, I do want you over-expressing. It might seem strange at first and make you feel self-conscious, but it will be better for her. It will help her understand.
“Give me an example.”
She chews on her lip as she thinks, then she starts typing.
Ellie: Use facial expressions. Raise your eyebrows when asking yes/no questions. Furrow them when asking a question that requires more of an answer. Widen your eyes for emphasis. SHOW your level of excitement. Talking should be a whole-body experience. Use your hands, posture, face, and eyes.
Ellie: Earlier, when I accused you of being a bad parent, I could tell how vehemently you thought I was wrong. You looked not only angry (you were obviously shouting, and your nostrils flared), but you looked hurt as well, helpless almost. Hannah was interpreting, but had she not been, I still would have picked up most of it. Passion tends to come through in body language. It was the moment I knew I had gotten you all wrong. I’m not one to pull punches, Blake. I’ve had to throw plenty of them to get where I am. But I also recognize determination when I see it. You’ve got it. And if I haven’t said it before now, Maisy is lucky to have you.
“Wow.” I look up. “Now I’m the one blushing.”
She laughs silently.
Maisy pounds on the table and we both look at her. I assume pounding is her way of getting our attention.
I want to ask her what she wants, but I have no idea how to do it. I expect Ellie to do it, but she just stares at Maisy with lifted brows.
Maisy pounds on the table again—harder this time. Is she frustrated? I look at her half-eaten food. Does she not like it?
Ellie doesn’t seem as concerned as I am over Maisy’s outburst. She texts me.
Ellie: Maisy needs to learn to ask for what she wants. Even if she can’t properly sign yet. As soon as she can communicate her needs, the tantrums will stop.
Maisy pounds so hard, a bead of applesauce pops out of the cup and onto the table. Instead of wiping it up, Ellie surprises me by handing Maisy a napkin.
I touch Ellie’s arm so she’ll look at me. “That’s kind of mean, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head and goes back to staring at Maisy. Finally, Ellie points to the stack of flashcards she left on the table. Maisy looks pissed, as if she expects us to know what she wants without her having to tell us. Almost in defeat, she picks up the flashcards, goes through them, then holds one up. It’s a milk carton with a glass of milk next to it.
Shit.I didn’t give her a drink with her food. I jump up and stride to the fridge, feeling guilty once again at how I’m failing at this.
When I come back with the glass and set it in front of Maisy, she happily drinks it.
Ellie shows me the back of the card and teaches me the sign for milk. I must do it incorrectly because she reaches over, taking my hand in hers to fix the handshape of the sign. Yeah, okay, I just got a half-chub right here in front of my daughter. Soooo inappropriate. But damn her hands are soft. When she pulls them away and waits for me, I completely forget what I was supposed to be signing.
I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.
Maisy does the sign for milk, and I’m stunned. “She’s signing. That’s incredible.”
Ellie’s face cracks into a wide smile, she lifts an eyebrow, almost in challenge, and sorts through the deck of flashcards. She holds up one of a cat and shows Maisy. Maisy wipes milk off her lip and then runs fingers across fake whiskers. Ellie turns the card around and shows me the sign. The same sign Maisy did.
Ellie then shows Maisy a house. Again, Maisy does the sign as it appears on the back. This happens several more times. Boy. Girl. Ball. Book. Eat.
The whole time, my heart is in my throat. Maisy can communicate. After less than an hour with Ellie, she can talk. Well, sort of.
I touch Ellie’s arm and find it impossible not to let my fingers linger. “It’s a miracle.” I point at her with my other hand. “You’re amazing.”
She smiles. At my words? My touch?
It’s almost like she doesn’t want to pull away to text me. She likes my hand on her as much as I do. Eventually, when it becomes awkward, she retreats.
Ellie: I told you, kids are sponges. She’s going to learn quickly.
My stomach growls and I check the time. It’s nearly time for dinner. I get up, go to the pantry then the refrigerator, and bring back a few things. I stand in front of Ellie with a box of macaroni and cheese in one hand and two steaks in the other. I raise my brow. Actually, I over-raise it.
She smiles just for a second, but it’s gone in an instant. I have to put the food down to read her text.
Ellie: I appreciate the invite. But it’s best I not eat meals here. It would give Maisy the wrong information. She needs to know this is your house. This is her house. This is not my house. I’m her advocate. Her mentor. If I eat here, she may come to believe I’m her stepmother or her father’s girlfriend.
I swallow what feels like a shard of glass and ask, “Does she know I’m her father?”
Ellie shrugs.
Ellie: I’m working on it. It’ll come soon. She may suspect already.
I pick up my phone, wanting her to understand clearly.
Me: You say you shouldn’t eat here. How about at a restaurant? Not tonight, but maybe another day? I have family willing to watch Maisy.
She seems to read my text more than once. And she doesn’t look up, not right away. Is she contemplating it? Or am I an idiot for hitting on the woman who’s trying to help Maisy. Ah, shit, maybe I’ve gone and fucked it up just when she was making progress. I tap the table with my fingers, and when she looks up, I shake my head. “Forget I asked. Not a good idea.” I nod to Maisy. “Tell me what to do now.”
Guiltily, as if she wanted to accept my invitation but thought it might be a conflict of interest, she types out a text.
Ellie: Play games. The memory card game would be a good start. Engage her in play with every opportunity. Use the flashcards to communicate for now. Draw lots of pictures with her. The next time we meet, we’ll talk more about your options. We’ll start to come up with a plan about school. With your blessing, I’d like to see her enrolled in Pre-K at the Deaf school at the very least. It’s a half-day program that will immerse her in ASL, allow her to meet other deaf and hard of hearing kids, and hopefully improve her social skills, which are greatly lacking.
Ellie: If I can leave you with one bit of advice, it would be this: don’t get so wrapped up in her diagnosis that you miss the milestones. It’s not always about being deaf. Don’t forget to enjoy your daughter.
I feel more inadequate than ever with all this information. Especially knowing Ellie is about to leave and I have no idea what will happen next. “When are you coming back? And will you be her teacher at school?”
Ellie: I’m not a teacher. But as her assigned mentor, I will have some one-on-one time with her on a daily basis. Pre-K is every day for three hours. I’ll do home visits three times a week whenever it’s convenient for you. We’ll take her out into the world on some of those. Expose her to stores, restaurants, parks. I get the feeling she’s lived a very isolated life. She’s pale, shy, and only has her stuffed cat as company. I’m afraid your daughter has lived a life devoid of not only communication, but external stimuli. The more we can expose her to, while at the same time teaching her, the faster she’ll acclimate to her new world.
Three home visits a week. My eyes re-scan that sentence. Home visits. Here. At my home. My stomach tightens at the notion of seeing her that often. I feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush on his teacher. His hot, curvy, sexy teacher.
Ellie holds out her hands as if asking, “what?” As I don’t know the sign yet, maybe she is.
I shake my head. I’ve already been shut down. I don’t need her knowing I’ve had fantasies about her this past week, before I even knew who she was or had a conversation with her. And now that I’ve seen her, talked to her, smelled her, those fantasies will not be going away anytime soon.
Ellie: I can see you’re overwhelmed. It’s a lot to take in. For now, let’s concentrate on baby steps. Learning to sign the basics. Focusing on visuals. Using letter cards and picture flashcards. Building her vocabulary. Eventually the hope is to have her bilingual in ASL and English.
As Maisy finishes her milk, and then busies herself with drawing, Ellie gives me pointers on how to communicate when she’s not here to help. She also urges me to buy Maisy a durable iPad, telling me there are lots of programs she can watch that will help her learn to sign.
Ellie: Everything you do at this point should be educational. But also fun. At bathtime for instance, get foam letters and make learning exciting and silly. Mealtime can be about counting peas. Clothing choices can teach her names of colors. Make her a part of it. Learn with her. Once you both learn signs, you should try and sign everything you say. And we should sign every conversation.
Me: EVERY conversation, Ellie?
She reads my text, then looks up at me as if she knew I texted it because I wanted her to be clear on every word.
I can almost see a shiver run through her as if the connotation behind my words sent tingles down her spine. And then… bingo, I see the blush. Good, I’m glad she understands I really would like to have more conversations with her that may not necessarily be centered around my daughter.
Ellie: Every conversation that concerns her. Basically, every conversation that a hearing child would be privy to. And you’ll need to help her feel included by letting her know about the sounds around her. Deaf people miss out on tons of audiological information throughout the day. We don’t hear the sounds hearing people take for granted. For instance, tell her someone is at the door when the doorbell rings. Better yet, have a visual doorbell installed that will set off flashing lights when rung. Tell her the phone is ringing before you just get up and answer it. Tell her you’re going to make dinner as she won’t be able to hear pans clanging, which clues hearing individuals in to what’s going on in the other room. Tell her your girlfriend is here when you hear her car pull into the driveway. All of that is incidental noise. Dogs barking, a firetruck’s siren in the distance, conversations going on around her that are clues into people’s behavior. Be her ears and fill in the gaps. It will make her feel included and less isolated.
I smirk and look up from my phone. “I see what you did there, sneaking that in.” I snicker. “I’m not dating, Ellie. There will be no girlfriend pulling into my driveway.”
She shrugs as if she has no idea what she did. But I don’t miss the small, satisfied grin she tries to hide. She stands, typing out another text.
Ellie: It’s time for me to go. The next time I come, Hannah won’t be with me. I don’t feel it’s necessary after this initial meeting as long as you’re comfortable with it. Since you seem eager to learn, you’ll learn faster without someone speaking for me. We can text when needed. Like I said, I’m a pretty good lip reader. With instruction and lots of practice, Maisy can be too if that’s what she wants. The goal is to introduce her to different ways of communicating and then she can choose what she’s most comfortable with. I’m not here to tell you or her what to do. As a parent you have choices. There is no one right way. Each child is different. When she’s older, she may even change the way she wants to communicate. I’m getting ahead of myself. This conversation is for another day. We made good progress today. Maisy is a special little girl.
She swipes on her phone, and I get a glimpse of her calendar as she studies it.
Ellie: What days and times work the best for you? I’ll work around your job.
“I’ll work my job around this. Maisy is my priority.”
She smiles, her whole face lighting up at my proclamation. And damn, my entire body hums at the authenticity of her smile. I have about a hundred things on my plate right now, but my dick is only concerned with one of them.
Ellie: Like I said, she’s lucky. How about M/W/F at 4:00? We’ll spend an hour or two together, the three of us.
Three to six hours a week face-to-face with the enchanting doctor? Yes, please.
Our eyes connect and I give her an affirming nod.
Ellie: We’ll meet again this Friday then. We can go over more options then too. She can start Pre-K on Monday if you’re good with that. We’ll meet with a few administrators and educators at the school to come up with an IEP. That gives you a few days to do some learning. Watch videos. There are some great on-line programs that can teach hearing people ASL. I’ll text you some links. Your homework—learn to sign Maisy’s name.
I have a hard time not smiling when I use my right hand to fingerspell M-A-I-S-Y.
Ellie’s eyebrows practically touch her hairline, making me laugh.
“My sister, Allie, taught me last night. It’s all I know.”
Ellie: What’s your sister’s name? It looked like you said my name.
Me: It’s Allie.
She fingerspells Allie’s name and shows me the sign for sister.
Ellie: You’ve gotten off to a great start, Blake. And it’s very encouraging to see a parent who wants to be so involved.
It’s hard not to show my disgust over parents who would simply ignore their child’s deafness. I mean, I’ve only known Maisy for one day and I already want to give her the goddamn world.
Ellie waves to Maisy and points to the door. Maisy looks upset and shakes her head. Ellie picks up the flashcards and hands them to me then points her finger between me and Maisy. Maisy seems to understand, but from what I can see, wants nothing to do with me. She wants Ellie. She hops off her chair, runs over, and hugs Ellie.
A pang of jealousy courses through me. Maisy is my daughter. She should be hugging me.
Ellie stares at me and the look on her face tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking. She sinks to Maisy’s level, points at herself, then at her eyes, then at Maisy, then she does a sign. I’m not sure what the sign means, but it looks like it might mean ‘later.’ If I picked up on it, I wonder if Maisy did too.
Maisy looks sadly at the ground, picks up her cat, and heads back down the hallway, presumably to her room, and maybe even her closet.
Ellie: Don’t worry. It’ll come.
Then she waves at me, gathers up whatever she didn’t leave for us, and walks out the door.
I feel the loss when she’s gone. Like I’m emptier somehow. I just wonder if it’s because Dr. Stone—Maisy’s mentor—just walked out the door. Or because Ellie—the woman—did.