Page 3 of Signs and Signals

“Nothing is set in stone right now. I’m helping interpret for a little boy in elementary school while his regular interpreter is on maternity leave. But that’s only during school hours throughout the week. I’m usually home by three after picking up Haven from daycare. Why—did you have an idea on how I can build my clientele faster?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. I get the feeling that I’m either going to dislike what she’s about to suggest or think it’s too big of a risk for where I am in my career right now. I only graduated eight months ago, and we moved a week or so after graduation. So far, I’ve been hired at different schools, filling in for interpreters when they were out on medical leave or called in sick. I have one woman who has used my services many times when she goes to events and takes her husband so he can feel like part of the conversation. I’ve noticed that a lot since going through college and even now, with Haven being deaf, people who are like her often feel left out when conversations are goingon around them and they see people laughing or seemingly joking with each other. I made it my mission to never have my daughter feel like that for one moment in her entire life.

“Well, um, Trevor wants to stay over this week and weekend so we can carpool to work. He says his car is in the shop and won’t be ready until next week. I told him I could just pick him up from his house, but he said he didn’t want me to put those kinds of miles on my car when I can just stay with him, and we ride together. I told him I’m not staying away from home that long in case you or Haven need me, so he said he would just stay with me then. If you don’t want him to be here that long, I’ll tell him no, that I’ll just pick him up every day and take him home. I know you’re not Trevor’s biggest fan, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home. I will always choose you and Haven over Trevor. Always.” Amara says all this in a rush, like she wants to get it all out before it strangles her.

“It’s your home, too, Amara. If you feel more comfortable with him here instead of you being at his house, we will deal with it. Remember, we are a team. Every decision we make together. I appreciate you giving me a heads-up on him coming here, though. That way, I can mentally prepare myself for his arrival. When is he coming to start his stay?”

Amara looks to the side and then back to me. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Today,” as if she is dreading his arrival more than I am. I give her a questioning look, already knowing I don’t need to speak the words aloud. “He has been pressuring me to move in with him or for him to move in here while you and Haven move somewhere else. He does not understand that we are not in a place in our relationship to be living together. We have been together for six months, and he has asked me to marry him four times already.”

My eyes widen in shock; she’s never mentioned any proposals before. But she doesn’t stop, her words pouring out in a relentless torrent.

“Of course, I have turned him down each time. He keeps telling me we are at the age where we need to settle down and start a family. I swear, I know he is two years older than I am, but for fucks sake, I am twenty-five years old. Plus, I don’t even know if I see myself with him in the future as a husband and father to my kids. I just feel like he wants different things right now than what I do, you know?” I nod my head, agreeing with her. I honestly don’t know how I would react if she were to move in with him, let alone marry the douche canoe. Before I can respond or offer any of my words of wisdom, her eyes go to the hall entrance, and I know that Haven is now awake and ready to start her day.

Amara smiles and signs,Good morning, Haven. Did you sleep well?

Amara and I may act like an old married couple at times, but I will never take her friendship for granted. I appreciate Amara more than she will ever understand, especially for learning ASL to communicate with Haven. The love and respect I have for this woman is beyond words.

I turn to see Haven, her dark curly hair a wild halo, her gray eyes sparkling, and her smile lighting up the room as she tucks her teddy bear, a gift from her uncle at birth, under her arm, replying,Morning, sleep good.We are working on her ASL, so she can begin to speak in fuller sentences, but she gets better and better every day.

Good morning, my precious girl. I am glad you slept well. What would you like for breakfast this morning?I learned in college that if Amara and I speak as we sign, it will make Haven feel included in everything we talk about and part of the conversation. This helps her learn more signs and expresscomplete sentences with the right emotions. So, whenever we speak and Haven is present, we sign. Even at restaurants or in public, if someone talks to us, we sign for them and ourselves. Haven knows that the only difference between a hearing person and a deaf person is that one hears with their ears, and the other hears with their eyes.

Pancakes. Bacon. Juice. Please.Haven signs as her little nose scrunches up, making sure she is giving the correct sign for each item. This little girl amazes me more and more each day, and I am blessed to have her in my life. Despite the tragic loss of my family and the terrifying experiences in foster homes, I will never regret my decision to keep her. She is my light in the darkness, my reason to keep going. Every moment with her makes all the pain and fear worth it. She is my heart, my hope, and my greatest blessing.

I get to work making breakfast while Amara and Haven sit at the table, chatting about their plans for the day. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of pancakes and bacon. Moments before breakfast is ready, Amara leans over to kiss Haven on the top of her head, telling her that she loves her and to be good today. She then comes to me, planting a kiss on my cheeks.

“Love you both. Have a great day,” she says with a warm smile before heading out the door.

Haven and I settle in at the table, enjoying our breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and orange juice. The morning light streams through the window, casting a golden glow over us. As we eat, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment and gratitude for these simple, precious moments.

Chapter Two

Atlas

Wiping the sweat from my face with a gym towel, I reach for my phone, which has been buzzing nonstop with texts and calls. I don’t need to check the screen to know who’s been trying to reach me. With a deep breath, I decide to tackle the texts first, bracing myself for the flood of messages that have been piling up over the past two hours.

Every morning at four, I rise at dawn to start my workout routine. A protein shake fuels me before I head down to the gym in my condo building. As I step inside, the lights flicker on automatically, guiding me to the treadmill for a light jog to warm up my muscles. Once the sweat starts to bead on my forehead, I dive into lunges, lifts, and heavy medicine ball work. My final challenge is the high jump, pushing my limits before cooling down on the treadmill. This two-hour ritual is my daily sanctuary, known to everyone in my circle. Yet, there are two people who fucking couldn’t care less about my routine or anyone else—my mother and my ex.

The first four texts are from Mallory, my ex, each one a variation on the same theme.

Mallory: Good morning, handsome. Have a great workout.

Mallory: Hope you enjoyed your pre-workout shake.

Mallory: I bet you are sweating now.

Mallory: I would lick the sweat from your body like it was my favorite latte.

I roll my eyes at the last message. Mallory has never been one to hold her tongue. If only she could get it through her thick skull that we are over—permanently. I’ve told her countless times that I want nothing to do with her. I even considered changing my number, but I know my mother would hand it over to her, whether I wanted her to or not. Ignoring her messages, I delete them and block yet another number she’s used to contact me. The rest of the texts are more of the same, except for one from my brother, Van, which came in while I was scrolling through Mallory’s relentless messages.

Van asks about plans for the week and mentions he’ll be at the midweek game. He tells me to hit him up later today. I send him a thumbs-up emoji, signaling I’ll call him later.

Now, onto the call log. Four missed calls from Mallory, the bloodsucker. Two from teammates, one from an outfielder confirming our practice, and twelve from my mother. Most of her calls are back-to-back, with no voicemails. Her calls started at four this morning and ended at six, right when my workout finished. Shaking my head, I feel a surge of annoyance. She knows my schedule—workouts, games, extra practices—yet she still calls incessantly without leaving a message or even a text. Taking a deep breath to calm my irritation, I dial my mother’s number.

“It’s about time, Atlas. What if something had happened to your father? I don’t understand why you can’t answer when I call the first time. I know you’re awake. I thought something terrible had happened to you since you didn’t answer. You could have been dead in a ditch, and I would have never known.”

I let my mother go on with her dramatics for a bit. Samantha Kensington is known for her theatrics. My father, Thomas, just ignores her when she gets like this, which is probably why she does it so often. She doesn’t care that dear old dad only cares about money and having more than anyone else. She wants to be the center of everyone’s universe and will stop at nothing until she is.

“If I were dead in a ditch, I wouldn’t be able to answer the phone, Mom. Now, what was so urgent that you needed to call me so many times without leaving a message or even a text?” I drone, letting her know I’m not falling for her antics. She can be as dramatic as she wants, but my siblings and I have learned to tune out that part of her whenever she speaks to us.

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