Page 48 of My Wife
Giving a lackadaisical wave, I say, “Hi.”
Jessica continues, “She’s Deaf and an expert at reading lips.” So only I can see, she whispers, “Don’t do your usual mumbling and grunting. It’s rude.” Then louder and at an upbeat pitch, she adds, “I’ll sign to fill in any gaps.”
I tuck my chin back, not expecting this level of confidence and command or the list of rules she texted which were more like demands.
I nod politely because my grandmother would slap me upside the head if I didn’t defer to my elder. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Jessica mutters, “I guess Cara was right and you weren’t raised by wolves. Possums maybe.”
“Who’s rude now?” I snarl back, then more loudly, “Also, why was Arsenault talking about me?”
“She hired me and gave a briefing. Described you as a loner with zero personality and a limited vocabulary,” she says as if awarding me with accolades.
I scowl in her direction.
“At least that was the gist.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, accidentally knocking into the table. “Is that so? Then why did you take the job?”
“I couldn’t decline because she and I are best friends and because Grandma Dolly is a super fan … and I was in desperate need of a job.”
The woman mouths a few words and signs rapidly.
Jessica translates. “She saidshethinks you’re dumb and ugly.”
My jaw drops a fraction of an inch. What transpired in the last few days to cause Jessica to go from eager assistant with hope in her eyes to hostile enemy with me in her crosshairs?
The older woman flashes a scolding look and elbows her.
Jessica huffs an exhale. “I’m kidding. Grandma Dollysaid thatshe thinksyou’re more handsome in real life than on TV and the poke check penalty at the last game was unfair.”
“Thank you very much. It was a great game. I appreciate your support.”
Grandma Dolly signs and waggles her eyebrows.
Jessica blinks slowly at her grandmother who mischievously bats her eyelashes. “She says she appreciates your biceps and wouldn’t object to a peek at your—” She coughs and kind of clears her throat, sounding like someone gagging on a duck whistle.
“What was that?”
“You know, your—” Jessica spins her finger in the general direction of my abdominal area.
Grandma Dolly rapidly signs.
“Apparently, in certain circles, your abs are quite the popular commodity. They even have their own hashtag.”
“They do?” I nearly splutter my tonic water with lime all over the table.
“Don’t sound so smug.”
Actually, that was the sound of surprise. My sister says I need to work on my delivery because I’d be the last person she’d want to receive news of a diagnosis from or find out about a new addition to the family. She claims that I’m gruff no matter what and lack nuance.
Jessica beams a smile as if well aware she just got under my skin by referring to my, ahem, skin.
“That’s, uh, very kind of you, Mrs. Dolly,” I say because how else do you reply to a septuagenarian who makes a comment like that?
“It’s Grandma Dolly. Everyone in Cobbiton calls her that,” Jessica signs.
The server appears wearing an official O’Neely’s Fish Bowl t-shirt. She and Jessica exchange a side hug and happy, bouncy, excited cheers.
