Page 41 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Not about to balk at the special treatment—after all, I’m trying to impress my date tonight—I say goodbye to Julie and Tim and motion for Ellie to follow the hostess.

We’re seated in a nice booth by the window with a view of the sunset. Ellie sits across from me, and I wonder, if we became a couple, would she always sit across from me? It would make it easier to talk, but the thought of it makes me momentarily sad. Like I’d be missing out on holding her hand or pressing against her thigh.

“Hi. I’m Makenna. I’ll be your waitress this evening.” She hands us each a menu, and I stifle an eye roll knowing this is the kind of masochistic restaurant that only has prices on one menu—and they assume that one goes to the man. “Can I get you a drink?”

I look at Ellie and sign and say, “Do you want a drink? Wine?”

Of course I learned the sign for wine. I had to. But to an onlooker, it might seem like I’m swatting a bug off my face or something.

“Are you okay?” the waitress asks, following the motion of my hands.

“She’s deaf,” I say and sign.

“Oh.” Makenna turns to Ellie and says very loudly and slowly, “WOULD YOU LIKE A DRINK?”

Jesus Christ.

I’ve done a lot of research into deafness and Deaf culture over the past few weeks, wanting to learn everything I possibly can about it for Maisy’s sake and mine. One thing I’ve learned is that a lot of hearing people just don’t get it.

“For fuck’s sake,” I snap. “She’s not hard of hearing. And she’s not stupid. She’s deaf.”

Ellie taps my leg under the table and shakes her head. Then she signs, “Wine. You pick.”

“I’m really sorry, sir,” the waitress says.

I sigh. “Yeah. We’ll have two glasses of Caymus.”

“Coming right up.”

Ellie: A lot of people don’t know any better. It’s fine, Blake. You don’t need to defend me.

Me: Well, they should know better.

Ellie: Did you?

Me: Yeah. I suppose. I mean, I grew up in a town with a Deaf and Blind school, so maybe I know a tiny bit more than the general population.

Ellie: It’s annoying at times, but you learn to let it roll right off you. You’ll have to for Maisy’s sake. You don’t want her to see yougetting angry with people because she’s deaf. That may give her the idea that being deaf is somehow a bad thing. It’s not.

Surprised by her words, I tilt my head and study her. “You really don’t think it is, do you?”

Ellie: If you’re asking me if I mind being deaf, the answer is no. And with a little luck, Maisy will grow up feeling the same way. Like I’ve said before, if you treat her like she has a disability, she may come to think of herself as disabled. Deafness, while technically falling under the disability umbrella, is not seen as such by most of us. It just means we often need extra accommodations so we have access to communication. But most will agree it’s definitely not a disability.

Wine gets placed in front of us by a groveling waitress. She looks right at Ellie and nods to her menu. Then in a normal tone, asks, “Do you know what you’d like?”

It’s a little dark in here, so I’m not sure Ellie can read the lips of a total stranger, but she knows what she’s asking, and she points to something on her menu.

“Salad with that?” Makenna asks.

Ellie fingerspells, “Ranch,” and I relay it.

“And you sir?”

“Surprise me,” I say. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

I see Ellie’s amusement out of the corner of my eye.

Ellie: If you’re trying to impress me by bringing me to this place, it won’t work.

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