Chapter Thirteen
Every so often, Blake glances at me from the driver’s seat. It’s hard to have a conversation with him driving the car, so we sit silently.
It’s been eleven days since our kiss, and we haven’t kissed again. Not because we haven’t wanted to. Oh, we have. The heated stares from him. The blushes from me. The accidentally-on-purpose touches from both of us. There just hasn’t been a chance. But wow, that kiss. It’s not the first kiss I’ve shared with a hearing man. But he’s the only hearing man I’ve truly wanted a second kiss with.
Maisy starts getting frustrated in the back. She doesn’t understand where we’re going. Perhaps she thinks she’s being taken back to her mother, which I’m not even sure how she would feel about. Does she love her mother? Is she even alive?
Driving down the freeway, there isn’t much I can do to calm her. Blake looks stressed as he glances at her in the rearview mirror.
I point to the volume control for the radio. Blake shakes his head. I point to it again and do the sign for ‘music,’ but he looks confused. I suppose there isn’t any reason he’d have learned that sign. I do the sign for ‘up’ then ‘loud’ hoping he understands one of those. He narrows his brows but reaches for the touchscreen, taps the audio settings and settles on a station.
“Good?” I sign. “You can hear?”
He nods and grips the steering wheel harder when the car wobbles out of our lane. He’s not used to driving and talking with a deaf person.
“Sorry,” I sign. I point to his eyes and then the road.
Then I put my hand on the speaker in the passenger door and turn up the radio until I feel the music. Then I turn it up even more. Blake’s reaction is typical of what a hearing person looks like when something is too loud. He winces, almost like it’s painful. Even after all these years of people telling me about it and learning about it in school, it’s still amazing to me that sound can cause pain. How is that even possible?
I turn to Maisy, point to the speaker next to her car seat, and do the sign for ‘touch’—something she’s learned over the past week because we’ve taught her what she shouldn’t touch.
She touches the speaker with her fingertips, and her eyes double in size. She lays her hand flat against it. Her mouth goes slack, and she looks at me, her face slowly morphing into a smile.
Maisy has the most amazing smile. It doesn’t come out much because she’s frustrated a lot of the time, but when it does, it lights up the room. Her alabaster skin, platinum blonde hair, and white party dress make her look like an angel. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an incredible sight.
When we stop at a light, Blake turns to me and I sign, “She’s beautiful.”
He glances in the rearview and smiles. Then he points to me. “You’re beautiful.”
The light turns green. He lightly brushes his hand against my arm then begins driving. I look down at my arm, the skin still tingling at the memory of his touch, not to mention his words.
It isn’t much longer when we turn down a road at a large sign reading Montana Winery. I’ve never been to a winery before so this will be exciting. And other than Maisy going to school, this is her first official outing. I wanted her to see where Blake and his family work. She’s already met most of his family, so it shouldn’t be too stressful for her. It’ll be an easy outing compared to say, taking her to a mall, which is also on my list.
The list is long. Based on my interactions with Maisy the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize just what a sheltered life she’s lived. My goal is to introduce her to all the things in life most people take for granted but that she’s most likely never experienced. Parks, restaurants, a fire station, a pool.
My eyes are glued to the side window as we wind our way down the street. As far as the eye can see over the rolling hills, there are rows after rows of grapevines that look like short little trees. But they aren’t full of grapes.
We’re driving slow enough that I feel it’s safe to sign. “No grapes?”
He turns his head enough to keep an eye on the road but also so I can see his lips. “It’s spring. The vines have just - - - from - - -”
I’m not sure if it’s the angle of his face or if he’s saying fancy words, but I don’t pick up most of them. I put a finger to his lips to stop him. I shake my head, shrug my shoulders, and hold out my hands, palms up.
He laughs, getting that I didn’t understand a darned thing.
“Say again,” I sign.
It’s a sign he’s become more than a little familiar with.
He pulls into a parking spot by what I assume is the main building and gets out his phone.
Blake: It’s spring. The vines have just reawakened from dormancy. It’s called a bud burst. Green leaves burst awake in preparation for photosynthesis with the warmer months. But it’s a delicate time as the new growth is in danger of spring frost.
I sign. “When do you pick them?”
He smiles, proud of himself for understanding. I can always tell when he gets what I sign because there’s an added sparkle to his already amazingly bright eyes.
Blake: Grapes are picked in the late summer or early fall. If we pick them too soon, the acid levels will be too high and the sugar levels too low. If we pick too late, it will be the opposite.
“Can you eat them?” I ask.
Blake: Wine grapes are edible, but they’re not really meant to be eaten out of hand like table grapes. They have seeds and thicker skins and tend to be sweeter because the sugars will be turned into alcohol during fermentation.
Me: Thanks for the crash course.
People emerge from the building looking strangely at the car. I silently chuckle when I remember the music must still be on. I turn it off and Blake cuts the engine, then nods for us to get out of the car.
Before greeting his family, he gets Maisy out of her car seat in the back. I love that his first thought is always of her.
Blake’s parents, Chris and Sarah, and his sister Allie are here.
“Welcome,” his mom says.
“Thank you,” I sign.
She seems to understand. All of his family have been learning ASL. Not at the speed Blake is, but still, they’re making a genuine effort. It’s fortunate Maisy landed in such a good situation with people to help and support her. I swallow, knowing we have that in common.
I watch as she gets pulled into a hug by her grandmother. Blake stands next to them, a look of longing on his face. Has he still not hugged his daughter?
Allie takes Maisy’s hand, and they skip happily up the front stairs and through the door.
I look around at all the buildings, shocked that there are so many. I like wine, but I truly know nothing about the process of making it.
“What are these buildings?” I sign, then furrow my brows and gesture around.
“This is our main building,” Blake says. “It has tasting rooms and offices.” He points. “Over there is our bottling facility. Next to it is our warehouse.” He points in the opposite direction, still keeping his face toward me, which I appreciate. “That’s our reception hall. We host events. Weddings and stuff. That’s what Allie does. In fact, my brother will be getting married here soon.”
“Can I see your office?” I sign.
The sparkle and grin tell me he knows what I said. “Right this way,” he replies.
Allie and Maisy are nowhere to be found when we go inside. I assume Allie is giving her niece a tour. I’m sure there’s a lot to see. I’d like to see it all myself.
Past the reception area and some private rooms with mahogany bars lined with countless bottles of wine, there is a hallway of offices. Blake stops and motions to one, and I walk inside. It’s like any other office. Desk. Computer. A few guest chairs. But what strikes me in particular is the sole picture sitting on the desk. It’s a framed photograph of Maisy. From what I know, he’s only been coming to work for a few hours every morning. He must be incredibly busy during that time, yet he made a point of getting this picture.
“What?” Blake says in reaction to my look of surprise.
Me: I’m impressed that you have a photo of Maisy here.
He narrows his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? You should see my dad’s office. You’d think it was a shrine to his family.”
I smile because I’m sure that means he, too, has a picture of Maisy.
Lucky, lucky girl.
Blake gives me a tour, having to text most of the time because, well… apparently I don’t speak winery. We eventually make our way around to where we started and meet up with everyone in one of the tasting rooms. A snack has been laid out, and Sarah offers me a glass of wine.
I give his mom a shake of my head. “I’m working,” I sign.
She doesn’t understand.
“She said she’s working,” Blake tells her.
Sarah gives me a dismissive wave of the hand. “Aren’t we all.” She pours herself a small amount, then raises a brow at me.
I roll my eyes and sigh. I hold up one finger and then sign, “Small.”
She cracks a smile and pours me a little.
Blake: Don’t mind her. She’s suspicious of anyone who comes to a winery and doesn’t do a tasting.
Me: Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude.
Blake: You weren’t. But thanks for placating her.
I raise my glass to Sarah and taste. The deep robust flavor rolls around my tongue, bursting in my mouth and awakening my taste buds as if they’ve been as dormant as the grapevines.
“Wow. Good,” I sign emphatically.
Sarah smiles triumphantly. Then she hands a glass to Maisy. I’m flabbergasted. I mean, I don’t know anything about growing up in a winery, but do they expect Maisy to… drink?
Blake doubles over, his shoulders shaking with laughter. I still don’t know what to make of it. I swat his arm and ask, “What?”
He must have said something to his family, because they all join in the laughter.
Blake: It’s non-alcoholic grape juice. Who do you think we are?
Relief floods through me while at the same time I chuckle at my assumption.
Chris gestures to the bar top. “Please, enjoy some snacks.”
“Thank you,” I sign.
While Maisy, Sarah and I graze on food and I teach them the signs for bread, cheese, and grape juice, Blake and his sister talk in the far corner. I appreciate the fact that they don’t talk right next to me when having a private conversation. Hearing people don’t understand how rude it is to talk right in front of you when you aren’t meant to be included. They just assume that because you can’t hear them, it’s okay. He gets it. He had the decency to move ‘out of earshot’ so to speak. Sometimes it amazes me how quickly he’s picked up on Deaf culture.
Blake joins us, popping a slice of gouda into his mouth. He half-grins, looking all mysterious and sexy as he types out a text.
Blake: Allie offered to babysit tonight. She knows I haven’t been out in weeks. How about it, El, join me for dinner?
El.He has a nickname for me. Butterflies dance in my stomach. I told myself I’d consider it if he asked again. It could be dangerous going down a rabbit hole I have no business going down. Especially considering who and what he is. Besides, what if I agree and we don’t click?
You know you do.
What if we have nothing in common?
We have Maisy.
What if—
Blake taps my shoulder and nods to my phone.
Blake: You have to admit we’re electric together.
I stare into his eyes before I reply.
Me: Maybe that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.