Page 48 of Unloved

I pluck my phone out of my pocket and text him.

This is a nice surprise.

It was hard to miss how confident he’s become these last few weeks. Finding out his diagnosis, surprisingly grounded him. With the right information and resources, he’s now able to look to the future positively. There is no more back and forth about whether or not this is permanent, and now that they’ve confirmed it is, he seems to be truly thriving.

It would be silly to assume that all is right in his world; there are still days where the loss catches him off guard, where the circumstances aren’t as conducive. There are days where expectation versus reality is a bitter pill to swallow, reminding him that he’s still grieving the loss of his life before the accident.

Finally, I reach him and, without a care in the world, I wrap one of my arms around his torso, bringing him to me, and carefully bury my head in between his shoulder and neck. It’s my favorite place to be, his pulse fluttering under my lips, his large frame somehow smaller when enveloped by mine.

He wraps his free arm around my neck and his fingers scratch the back of my head. “I missed you.”

I move my mouth up his neck, across his jaw, and press my lips to his. I feel my whole body melt. I indulge in the feel of his mouth against mine, loving how I’m no longersecretlypining over my best friend.

I missed you too.

“I spent the day at the university student office,” Lennox tells me as he leans back against the car again. “I don’t like that I’ll be here next year without you.”

Bit by bit, Lennox is making changes throughout his life to adjust to his hearing loss. This included deferring the rest of our final semester and coming back for it next year.

Holding on to him by the loop of his jeans, I use my other hand to text him and ask him about his day.

Do you feel better now that you can cross that off your list?

He runs a hand over his face after he reads my message. “I like that I don’t have it hanging over my head. It gives me time to work out who I am as a deaf man.” He tips his head to the side. “Is it weird hearing me refer to myself as a deaf man?”

Is it weird for you?

“It was weird being in the Center for Accessible Education Office and realizing that I had absolutely no clue on how hard it is for people with disabilities to access services. How much paperwork there is, how many roadblocks.” He shakes his head, his face etched with disappointment. “And what about all the people who don’t have access to assistance of any kind?”

I’d found myself having the same thoughts after Lennox’s accident. Watching how people interacted with him now; people who knew him before the accident and people who have only met him after. It was amazing to see that for every empathetic person out there, there was another person who truly felt inconvenienced by other people’s disabilities.

I wonder if I’ve ever made anybody with a disability uncomfortable.

It’s a learning curve. For all of us.

I remind him.

He nods half a dozen times. “I know, I know. How was your day?”

Obviously better now. What are you doing for the rest of the day?

That earns me a lopsided grin. “I was hoping to hang out at your place while you shower, then maybe check in with Rhys.”

I love the sound of that.

Retrieving my keys from my bag, I press the fob to unlock the car and open Lennox’s door for him. After he climbs in, I round the front and hop in, setting my cell on the phone stand and opening it up to the notes app. I hit the microphone and start talking.

“Have you spoken to Rhys today?”

The words appear on the screen, and Lennox answers.

“After his morning session with Arlo. He said he also had a few job leads he wanted to follow up on, but you know how he clams up when talking about it.”

One night when we were having dinner with Frankie and Arlo, Arlo mentioned how there was still a lot of shame and stigma when it came to “finding your feet,” and I’d wondered if it was the same for Rhys.

I knew from the conversation he and I had that night, he believes he has nothing to give. He’s always so hard on himself, and he expected everybody else to be that way with him too.

“I’ll text him and see if he wants to do something tonight,” Lennox says as I turn off the engine.

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