Page 25 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Dad’s body shakes with laughter, and he says something I don’t understand. I narrow my eyes at him so he signs, “Sorry,” then fingerspells the word ‘touché.’

“It was almost instantaneous,” Mom signs, “the connection I felt with your father. Even largely pregnant with you and scared I might lose you, it was there. We both felt it. We both tried to deny it. But I’m here to tell you, connections like that don’t comeoften. When the signs are clear”—she laughs—“no pun intended, you have to read them.”

Though the start of their relationship came with a lot of hurdles, my parents have the most loving relationship I’ve ever seen.

Warmth flows through me like a summer breeze. And I promise myself if Blake asks again, I might just consider it.

Chapter Nine

9

Ellie

What was I thinking not letting Mom buy this for me? I look at the large TV box as a worker from the store loads it into the back of the Uber XL I summoned.

I scold my idiotic determination to prove to everyone that I don’t need any help.

Anyonewould need help with this.

I slip into the back of the SUV, and as the driver pulls away from the store, he tries to make conversation. When I don’t say anything and he catches me in the rearview, I point to my ear and shake my head. Then I write out a note for when we pull up to my apartment, asking if he’ll help me move the TV upstairs.

He pops the trunk when we get there, and I hand the note to him. He reads it, gets out of the car, takes the TV out of the back, rests it against a tree, then gets back in the car and hightails it out of the lot.

Geez. So much for chivalry. I guess I should have slipped him a twenty with the note. I look down at the box and over at my building. I can do this.

Maybe.

Today’s televisions are much lighter than what my parents had when I was young. How heavy can it be?

I eye the side of the box. It says it’s ninety-five pounds. I sigh. If I can just get it to the building, I might be able to push it up the stairs along the bottom edge of the box.

But how do I get it over there? The door is at least thirty feet away.

I study the box. I have a PhD, surely I can figure this out.

I tip it onto the short end. The box is almost as tall as I am, but I grip either side of it and ‘walk’ it, one bottom corner at a time, slowly across the parking lot.

Halfway there, a car pulls in, and it can’t get around me because I’m blocking the way. The driver looks annoyed at first, but then our gazes meet, and he looks a lot more interested. A cocky grin crosses his face as he opens his door and gets out.

“Need help?” the guy asks.

I nod.

He walks over and maneuvers the box so we’re each standing next to a short end. “Ready?”

I nod harder.

We lean and lift. With him walking backward and me forward, we’re almost to the door when he says, “You’re new here.”

I nod yet again, hoping he’ll catch on.

“I’m - - -”

I don’t understand his name.

I smile and nod.

“You’re not much for words,” I think he says.

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