Page 6 of Signed With Love

Jamison’s eyes widen, and despite that beard, his cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson.

I smile. He’s trying so hard. I pull my phone out and start typing. You can type things out like this too. It’s okay.

I pass my phone over with a reassuring smile masking the way my heart thunders in my chest, imaging him wanting me. He takes the phone and reads the text. His fingers type over the keyboard. Smooth and quick.

He passes the phone over and looks at Dad sidelong. I raise my brows and use my hand to quickly sign. Go.

Dad raises his hands in surrender and leaves, although his body is still shaking in laughter. I glance down at my phone to read Jamison’s words.

I wanted to spend some time together as friends. To get to know you.

My lip is between my teeth as I read his message for the third time. My thumbs don’t move in a response, and my throat is tight while I contemplate.

His hand is extended toward mine, his fingers requesting to sign. He’s doing so well with things I’d expect from someone in the deaf community. I’m not sure how he knows these things, but I wonder if my father is the reason. Jamison seems to be learning as we become acquaintances.

Please? I’d like to know you, he signs. There’s a vulnerability to his green eyes until they shutter closed and it’s gone again.

When? I ask. I don’t see when we would get to know each other, how we would, or even why. It’s not like I’ll be back for another month.

Next month?

I nod. Yes.

He watches me for a few more moments, then tells me good night and slips out the front door. I stare at the closed door for too long after he leaves. I’ve been friends with a few guys, sure, but I’ve never known someone like Jamison. He’s gorgeous, but the extent to which I know him is that my dad enjoys his company, and I enjoy looking at him. I want to know him too.

I walk back to the living room to find Dad stretched out on the couch and the movie on pause in the background. I plop down on the couch and sigh. The smell of nature is in the air, mingling with the buttered popcorn, offering me a familiar comfort while I wrap my head around Jamison’s deeper intrusion into my life. I have a very structured life, and friends aren’t something I’ve focused much on.

Did he ask you out? Dad raises his brows and picks up some popcorn to throw into his mouth.

Yes, as a friend. I didn’t know he signed. He never has before.

He asked me to teach him.

I twist around on the couch and smack Dad’s shoulder. That means he learned just to communicate with me. I don’t know what to think about that. You taught him. Why?

He’s smitten? Dad wrinkles his nose, raising his other brow, his body shaking with laughter. He’s trying to get me to lighten up.

My throat vibrates with a growl. I’m not sure why it bothers me, except I suck at getting to know people. I don’t want him smitten.

Why? He’s a nice man. Works hard, Dad signs.

“I don't even know what he does!” I push out of my rough, dry throat. The thought of getting someone to like me—especially a hearing person—makes me sweat.

Only when I get worked up do I speak and sign simultaneously. My father is the only one besides Maddie or Mom who’s heard my voice since I was very young. It’s hard to speak when you don’t hear the way you sound, but Maddie always made me try. Also, so many hearing people assume that if I can speak, I must be able to hear them.

He’s a pilot, Dad signs, drawing my attention back to him.

I run tired hands over my eyes. They burn, and I’m worn out. He asked me on a friend date next month. That’s it. I’m not interested in discussing it more with my father. Let's watch the movie.

A bowl of warm buttered popcorn is slid into my lap just as Mom walks into the living room. She sits on the couch, and with both of my parents beside me, I lose myself in the movie as the subtitles scroll across the bottom.

By the end of the movie, I have convinced myself that a friend date to get to know Jamison is just what it sounds like. I can be his friend and get to know him without letting him know how much that scares the shit out of me.

???

The morning school bell hasn’t rung yet, so I settle myself on the couch and pull the letter from my purse. I didn’t give Jamison my phone number, so he’s found another way to communicate with me. My parents weren’t able to pay the rent last month, so I assume Jamison got my address from the check I used to pay him.

I open the letter and read his words over again.

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