Chapter Seventeen
Ellie arrives at six. She reached out earlier asking to push our appointment back due to another client needing immediate attention.
“Everything okay?” I say and sign.
“Yes. Thank you for changing the time.”
At least I think that’s what she signed. I don’t know the sign for change. I do the sign back to her and furrow my brows. She fingerspells ‘change.’
I’m starting to pick up more and more signs. A lot of it is just filling in the blanks when I don’t get it. I feel like it’s the same with Ellie when she reads lips. Context is very important.
Maisy was acting out earlier. She’s gotten used to Ellie coming every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at four. Although I doubt she can tell time, she’s gotten used to the routine. And when I fed her dinner before Ellie came over, she noticed and got visibly upset. She even hid in her closet for a bit until she smelled her favorite dinner—grilled cheese. She pouted the whole time she ate, pointing to the drawing of Ellie. I kept signing ‘soon,’ but either she doesn’t understand the concept or is just super impatient like any other four-year-old.
I don’t tell Ellie about Maisy’s outburst. The last thing I want is for Ellie to feel guilty.
Ellie spends an hour teaching us today’s lesson. Maisy and I learn the signs for many things you’d find outdoors: lake, tree, clouds, sun, rain, park, bench, sidewalk.
Maisy becomes disinterested and fussy more quickly than usual.
“She’s tired,” Ellie signs. “We should take a break.”
She pulls out her phone.
Ellie: Speaking of outdoors and sidewalks, did you notice the new road sign out front?
“It’s here?” I ask, surprised.
She nods.
I slide Maisy’s iPad over and open a game. Then Ellie and I go out on the front lawn. There’s a large yellow sign that reads DEAF CHILD AREA smack dab in front of my house. My mind skips back to the night Maisy nearly got hit, and I’m relieved drivers will now have a heads-up to be careful in the area.
Walking back into the house, I hear voices on the sidewalk. I turn to see three teens passing by the sign and acting like imbeciles. One drags a foot behind him like a zombie. Another holds crooked hands in front of his chest as if he’s brain damaged. The third rolls his eyes up in his head and hangs his tongue out of the side of his mouth.
Fuming, I take steps toward them. “You little fuckers!” As I approach, they laugh and run away.
“What?” Ellie signs.
I get out my phone, my temple throbbing.
Me: Those kids. They saw the sign and were acting like stupid assholes. I should go after them and give them a goddamn piece of my mind. Who the fuck do they think they are?
She puts a hand on my arm and shakes her head.
Ellie: I know that upsets you, but don’t fight her battles. Especially when she didn’t even see it happen. People are cruel. They think deafness is somehow associated with lower intelligence. But let me tell you, Maisy is bright. And stubborn. Soon enough she’ll be able to fight her own battles.
I look up. “Did you? Have to fight your own battles?”
Ellie: Did and do. There are stereotypes and misinformation about the deaf. Every day I get looked at as if I’m different. She will too. Try to accept that now, Blake. You can’t change the world. The best you can do is educate people whenever you can.
“I’d like to educate those little fuckers,” I mumble.
“Say again?” she signs.
“Nothing. Let’s go back inside.”
In the house, Maisy has fallen asleep on the couch, her iPad lying by her side. I’m so fucking pissed about those boys. Is this what lies in store for her? Is she destined for a life of being mocked by ignorant people? I’ll do anything to make it easier for her. I just don’t have any clue how.
Ellie taps me on the shoulder. She gets how pissed I am, but she smiles anyway. “Guess what?” she signs.
“What?”
Ellie: I forgot to tell you earlier. Something great happened today. Maisy got her name sign.
I’ve read about name signs and how they are a shortened version of a person’s name, usually representing a physical characteristic, personality trait, or hobby. “Name sign?” I ask, wanting to learn more.
Ellie’s right hand comes up next to her hair, and with her pointer finger facing upward, she spirals it down the side of her head.
Ellie: It’s because of her spiral curls.
“You came up with it?” I ask.
“No. Children at school.”
I look at her sideways, trying to get a better grip on the concept. “You have a name sign, don’t you? I vaguely remember you telling me so the first time we met.”
With her palm open and facing toward her face, she taps her middle finger twice on her cheek.
“What does that mean?”
She fingerspells ‘freckles’ and does the ASL sign for it.
“Makes sense,” I say. “Your freckles definitely come out when you blush. Your parents must have noticed that early on.”
Ellie: My parents didn’t give me the name sign. Name signs can only be given by Deaf, not the hearing. It’s a rite of passage. I went to a public school where I was the only deaf student, so I didn’t get my name sign until college.
“Tell me how.”
She rolls her eyes. Then she blushes, her freckles appearing as if to validate the meaning of her name sign. Oh, this is going to be good.
I raise my brows, waiting.
She scoffs, then starts texting.
Ellie: It was given to me my freshman year at Gallaudet. I had a professor who was very handsome. Younger than most. And every time he called on me, I’d blush. It didn’t take long for me to be given the name sign. About Maisy, though, this is a big deal. It means she’s part of the Deaf community. You should be happy her peers have taken to her so well. She’s doing better than any of us anticipated.
I look at my sleeping daughter, wishing she could understand just how proud of her I am.
I turn back to Ellie. “You had a crush on your teacher?”
She shrugs.
I laugh. “I completely understand. I seem to be having the same issue.”
She blushes.
I laugh again and do her name sign.
I nod to Maisy. “She’s had a long day. I’m going to put her to bed. Wait here?”
She signs, “I’ll wait here,” and raises a challenging brow.
I know this look. It means she wants me to sign. So I do. “You wait here.”
Her satisfied grin tells me she’s happy with that.
I wake Maisy enough to get her to use the toilet, brush her teeth, and change into pajamas. Once in bed, she’s asleep before I get to page five in her favorite picture book.
When I go back out, I find Ellie staring at all the new drawings on the dining room table. Maisy loves to draw cats. She loves to watch videos about cats. She loves to play with her stuffed cat.
“She sure does love cats,” I say. “I was considering getting her one. What do you think?”
“Good idea,” she signs. “Teaches responsibility.”
“I’m glad you like the idea. Will you go with us to the pet store? It could be a fun outing.”
She shakes her head.
Ellie: No. But I’ll go with you to an animal shelter. You should adopt, not buy. She’s too young to understand, but someday she will. Someone’s unwanted pet is another person’s best friend.
I read her text several times wondering if the meaning is so much deeper. She herself was unwanted by someone. It’s not the first time I’ve wondered just how much this affects everything she does. Too deep a conversation to get into right now.
“I should go,” she signs.
“You don’t have to. You could”—I start signing—“stay for a drink.”
Her gaze goes to the door, then back to me as she contemplates my offer. She sticks up one finger.
Wasting no time, I smile and go into the kitchen for two wine glasses. Then I motion down the hallway and sign, “You pick the wine.”
She looks amused and heads down the hall. Maisy’s room used to be where I stored all my wine. But now, the wine racks have all been moved into my home office. Ellie flicks on the light and peruses the bottles. She pulls out and studies three or four before making her selection and handing it to me.
“You have great taste,” I say, not telling her she picked the most expensive bottle in the lot. Not that she’d care.
It’s interesting that Ellie and I both had the same type of upbringing. We were raised by very well-off families, sent to public schools not private, taught to appreciate our position, and brought up to respect money, not covet it. Yet sometimes I feel we’re worlds apart. In an instant, it becomes my mission to close that gap.
Back in the kitchen, I open the bottle and pour her a glass. She sips it and groans audibly, as if she instantly knows it’s of the highest quality. She licks her lips. That’s it. I can’t stand it any longer. I take her glass, put it on the counter and cage her against the refrigerator with my arms. “I should have done this the other night,” I say, right before I lean in and kiss her.
Her lips part instantly for mine. My tongue darts into her mouth, knowing this kiss will be even better than the one before. Because today she tastes like my wine.
I moan into her mouth. She must feel the vibrations and her hands come up to grasp my neck. I snake mine around her back and hold her tightly to me as our tongues explore each other’s mouths. We kiss until we’re out of breath, then my lips trail down her jaw and the cords of her neck. She tastes divine.
She grips me harder, her hands tugging on my hair. I take the opportunity to work my hand around to her front, up the side of her rib cage and over her right breast. She gasps but doesn’t pull away, breathing heavily as my lips capture hers again. With one hand back on my neck, her other runs down my arm and settles just above my ass. There’s already nothing between us, but she presses firmly anyway. I like that she wants us closer even though we’re as close as we can be.
Touching her over her shirt isn’t enough. I want to feel her skin. See her breasts. Lick her nipples.
I grind my erection into her and whisper close to her ear, “I want to see you, Ellie.”
Shit. I pull back, embarrassed that for a moment I forgot she can’t hear me. I look into her eyes, gauging whether or not she felt my whisper on her ear. I don’t think she did.
But pulling away has broken the spell. I can see it on her face.
“We can’t,” she signs. “Maisy.”
“But you’d be okay if Maisy weren’t in the other room?” I ask.
She bites her lip, shrugging.
Fuck me, that’s a yes if I ever saw one. I get out my phone and make a quick call.
Ellie puts her hands on her hips, cocks her head, and gives me a questioning stare.
“Allie will be here in twenty minutes. We’re going to your place.”