After really diving into the language and the Deaf culture, it became really important to me that others have access to opportunities and high levels of care regarding their communication. So, here I am, doing exactly that.
And I’m so glad I didn’t go the legal route.
“It’ll be great to see her again.”
Brynlee is two years older than I am. We were never friends, per se, but we liked each other well enough.
“Good. All right, let me get Olivia up. There’s a binder on the table, read it, memorize it, you’ll never have to ask me anything because Sara literally listed everything about Olivia in there. Her appointments, schedule, information about school, favorite colors, it’s all there.”
That’s right, she has two and a half weeks left in school. Crap. “And what do I do when she’s at school?” I ask.
“Fuck if I know . . . I’m sure it’s in the binder,” Asher yells as he’s walking away.
Binder. Got it.
I flip open the top, and my jaw drops. He wasn’t kidding. There are probably eighty pages, front and back. What in the world have I agreed to?
I read through the first page, which lists emergency information, doctors, therapist, and I stop when I see who her audiologist is. If she has any appointments, I am for sure going. I don’t care what deal I have to make with Asher. Doctor King is literally the king of audiology. He is doing cutting-edge research, and I tried so hard to get an internship with him at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia—because they’re seriously the best—but he had no openings.
Maybe I can beg at an appointment though . . .
Nope. Not going there. I go back to reading the information I need. I check for allergies, of which there are none listed.
That’s a relief.
But, Jesus, this girl’s schedule is more complex than a Rubik’s cube. She has appointments practically every day after school, after school is out for the summer, her appointments are even worse. Although, Sara has allotted an hour of “fun” between sessions—I won’t even go there.
I keep flipping, seriously, her mother has some major issues to write out how to make Kraft Mac and Cheese to Olivia’s liking, but . . . to each their own. Immediately after that, though, I think about my own mother. How if she had a binder like this when she died, so many things would have been easier.
Someone clears their throat, and I turn, forcing myself to smile. There stands an adorable little girl with light brown hair. She signs.“Hi.”
I lift my hand, wave, and sign back while also speaking.“Hi, I’m Phoebe. I’m going to be your nanny, which sounds ridiculous so let’s just say your older friend. Although that’s not much better. Do you read lips?”
She nods. Good, sometimes that really helps when there are others in the room as well. Not everyone signs and often the conversations move quickly.
The dread that was in her pretty blue eyes fades.“I’m happy you’re normal.”
I laugh.“I wouldn’t say that.”
Asher taps her shoulder and signs to her.“No, she’s not normal. She’s more like Uncle Rowan than Aunt Brynlee.”
I step forward, Olivia’s eyes going to mine.“Don’t listen to him. He has a stick up his butt.”
Asher glares at me. “Really?”
I shrug. “That’s for the allergy comments.”
Olivia makes a noise.“Sign please.”
It’s so easy to forget how much deaf and hard of hearing people struggle. Everyday conversations that they would normally listen to don’t exist. If the people around them don’t sign or face them so they can read lips, it means they’re excluded completely from the conversation.
I tap Olivia’s shoulder.“I was saying that your father deserved the comment since he made fun of me.”
She nods and tilts her head at him with pursed lips.
I like this kid already.
“I wanted to ask, do you have a name sign?”