Page 12 of Cold as (N)ice

They suck,she signed emphatically, feeling her temper rise. Is it that little monster, Devin, again? I’ll talk to the teacher and your interpreter. He should not be bothering you.

No. Mommy, they wiggle their fingers at me, and then laugh about it. They aren’t talking to me. They are teasing me. My interpreter says to ignore him, but it hurts.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, blaming it on hormones and wishing she could protect him from all the cruelty of the world. Her sweet soft boy did not deserve to deal with the hassles of public school.

They are jealous that you have a beautiful gift, and we can talk like this.

It’s not a gift, Mommy. They call it a disability,he signed, rolling his eyes and looking so much like her in that moment. Kneeling, she touched his face and met his gaze, smiling tenderly.

It is a gift – because YOU are the gift,she messaged him, feeling tears sting her eyes.You may not be able to hear, but you see, feel, and understand more than any of those kids. They are jealous because you are cool enough to talk with your hands. It’s like a secret language that you have to be in our special club to be a part of. Don’t let them bother you.

It’s hard. They are mean.

I know it is, but if they see you get upset, they will tease you more.

Can Barrett be in our club?

He can sign, right?She answered, trying not to think of how much it made her feel to watch the two of them talking. Barrett never ignored her son or pretended he wasn’t there. He was always unfailingly polite and outgoing toward the boy. It was her that he usually avoided unless it was an awkward text message.

Stephen’s knowing smile was enough to settle the conversation. That was fine. If he needed to feel like someone else was ‘in the club,’ then so be it. She would call the school and speak with the teacher to make sure that things weren’t getting out of hand.

Her phone beeped again, causing her to sigh.

What’s wrong?Stephen immediately asked.

Mommy is late for work, and Barrett is texting.

Can we send him a picture?

How about you color him one today at school instead? I don’t have any makeup on and don’t want to take a photo. I feel gross.

You look pretty.

You look like you are going to be late for school if we don’t get moving, buster!

Rising to her feet, she grabbed her purse and glanced at her phone. Barrett had sent her a photo. Clicking on it, she laughed.

What’s that?

A trivet.

You put hot stuff on it to keep from ruining the counter.

Oh – awesome! Thanks!

Irene chuckled as she walked out the door of the apartment, shutting it firmly behind her as Stephen ran along to the car. She was almost at the car when her blasted phone dinged again, showing that Barrett sent another message – with yet another picture.

Getting into the car, she jabbed her keys in the ignition and distractedly started it, while clicking on the screen… and burst out laughing wildly again, feeling Stephen tap on her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate, turning the phone to her son and seeing him look at her quizzically.

Barrett is being goofy.

I see.

Buckle up, please.

The photo Barrett sent her was a picture of him, sitting on the counter, with the trivet under one buttcheek – sticking out deliberately so you could see it. His expression was the same bland one except for a single eyebrow lifted in a mock challenge.

She texted him back.

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