“Pretty cool, huh?” Warren says.
I’m dumbfounded. I have never heard him speak a single word. “How long have you been verbalizing?” I sign.
Ridge shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “A few months.”
I shake my head, completely in shock. His words are exactly how I imagined they would sound. Our relationship with the deaf culture is what ultimately brought all of us together. Warren’s parents. Mine and Ridge’s hearing loss. But Ridge’s hearing loss is much more profound. Mine is so mild, it doesn’t even hinder my life in any way. Which is why, for years when we were together, I did all of his speaking for him. Even though we could both communicate using ASL, I still wanted so badly for him to learn to speak out loud. I just never really pushed him because I don’t know what it’s like to have profound hearing loss, so I didn’t know what it was that was holding him back.
I guess he figured it out, though. And I want to know every detail. I’m excited for him. This is huge! “How? Why? When? What was the first thing you said out loud?”
Something immediately changes in his expression. He becomes guarded, like it’s not something he wants to talk to me about. I glance at Warren, who is staring straight at the road like he just purposefully checked out of this conversation. I look back at Ridge, but he’s looking out the window again.
And then I get it.
Sydney.
She’s why he’s talking now.
I suddenly feel envious of them. Of her. It makes me wonder what it was about her that made him overcome whatever obstacle it was that held him back. Why wasn’t I enough of a motivator to ever make him want to say things to me out loud?
And here she is again: the insecure, depressing version of myself.
I grab the Dr. Pepper and take a drink, trying to drown this sudden onslaught of jealousy. I’m happy for him. And I’m proud of him. It shouldn’t matter what spurred him to want to learn how to communicate in more ways. All that matters is that he is. And even though my chest still burns a little, I’m smiling. I turn back around and make sure he can see the pride in my expression.
“Have you cussed out loud yet?” I sign.
He laughs, wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. “Shit was my first cuss word.”
I laugh. Of course it was. He liked watching me say that word when I was angry. I realize speaking words out loud without being able to hear them probably isn’t as satisfying as being able to hear your own voice, but it has to feel a little good, finally being able to cuss out loud.
“Call Warren an asshole,” I say.
Ridge looks at the back of Warren’s head. “You’re an asshole.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, completely in shock that Ridge Lawson is verbalizing. It’s like he’s this whole new person.
Warren looks over at me, taking the steering wheel with his knee so that he can sign what he’s saying for Ridge. “He isn’t a toddler. Or a parrot.”
I punch Warren in the shoulder. “Shut up. Let me enjoy this.” I look back at Ridge and rest my chin on the head rest. “Say fuck.”
“Fuck,” he says, laughing at my immaturity. “Anything else? Damn. Goddamn. Mother-fucker. Hell. Son of a bitch. Bridgette.”
I die with laughter as soon as he includes her name in his string of profanity. Warren flips him off. I turn around and face the road again, still laughing. I take a sip of my drink and then relax against the seat with a sigh.
“I’ve missed you guys,” I say. Only Warren knows I’ve said it.
“We’ve missed you, too, Maggot.”
I roll my eyes, hearing that nickname again. I look over at him but make sure my headrest is a barrier between me and Ridge so that he can’t read my lips. “Is Sydney mad that he came?”
Warren glances over at me briefly and then stares back at the road. “Mad isn’t the right word. She did react, but not like most people would have reacted.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “She’s good for him, Maggie. She’s just…good. Period. And if this whole situation weren’t so damn weird, I feel like you would really like her.”
“I don’t dislike her.”
Warren looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He smirks. “Yeah, but you won’t be getting manicures together and going on road trips with her anytime soon.”
I laugh in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”
Ridge leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. He looks at me and then he looks at Warren. “Rearview mirrors,” he says. “It’s like a sound system for deaf people.” He leans back in his seat. “Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
Warren laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.
“Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
“Stop talking about us…”
“Us.”
He refers to himself and Sydney as an us now. And he speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn’t quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.
I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Ridge leave to go stay the night with his ex-girlfriend, or sitting in his apartment, alone with Bridgette.
As soon as Warren and Ridge left, Bridgette’s phone rang. She answered it and walked to her bedroom without acknowledging me. It sounded like she may have been talking to her sister, but that was an hour ago. Then I heard her shower start running.
Now, here I am, cleaning their kitchen and doing their dishes. I know Ridge told me not to worry about it, but I won’t be able to sleep if I know there’s food out all over the counter.
I load the last of the silverware when Bridgette walks out of her room with pajamas on. Her phone is to her ear again, but this time she’s looking at me. “You aren’t like gluten-free or vegetarian, are you?”
Wow. We’re really doing this. And wow. I’m actually a little bit excited. I shake my head. “I’ve never met a slice of pizza I didn’t like.”
Bridgette puts the phone on the bar and puts it on speaker as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. She hands it to me, expecting me to open it, so I take it and look for the bottle opener.
“Pizza Shack,” a guy says, answering her call. “Will this be carry-out or delivery?”
“Delivery.”
“What can I get you?”
“Two large pizzas with everything. One thick crust, one thin.”
I open the wine bottle while she continues to order.
“Do you want all the meats?”
“Yeah,” Bridgette says. “Everything.”
“You also want feta cheese added?”
“I said I want everything.”
There’s a tapping sound, like fingers against keys while the guy takes a moment to enter the order. “Do you want pineapple?”
Bridgette rolls her eyes. “I’ve said everything like three times. All the meats, all the vegetables, all the fruits. Whatever you have, just put it on there and bring us the damn pizza!”
I pause and glance over at her. She makes a face at me like she’s on the phone with the biggest idiot in the world. Poor guy. He doesn’t ask her any more questions. He takes her address, and she gives him Warren’s debit card number before she ends the call.
I’m curious to see what kind of pizzas we’re about to get. I pray that restaurant doesn’t have sardines or anchovies. I pour two glasses of wine and hand Bridgette one. She takes a sip and then folds her arms over her chest, holding the wine glass to her lips as she looks me up and down.
She’s really pretty, in a sexy way. I can see why Warren is so drawn to her. They really are the most interesting couple I’ve ever met. And when I say interesting, I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment.
“I used to hate you,” Bridgette says, matter-of-fact. She leans against the bar and takes another drink of her wine.
So casual, like this is how people are supposed to interact with other people. She reminds me of one of my friends from childhood. Her name was Tasara, and she said anything and everything that was on her mind. I swear, she spent more days in detention than she did in class. I think that’s why I was drawn to her, though. She was mean, but she was honest.
I’m dumbfounded. I have never heard him speak a single word. “How long have you been verbalizing?” I sign.
Ridge shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “A few months.”
I shake my head, completely in shock. His words are exactly how I imagined they would sound. Our relationship with the deaf culture is what ultimately brought all of us together. Warren’s parents. Mine and Ridge’s hearing loss. But Ridge’s hearing loss is much more profound. Mine is so mild, it doesn’t even hinder my life in any way. Which is why, for years when we were together, I did all of his speaking for him. Even though we could both communicate using ASL, I still wanted so badly for him to learn to speak out loud. I just never really pushed him because I don’t know what it’s like to have profound hearing loss, so I didn’t know what it was that was holding him back.
I guess he figured it out, though. And I want to know every detail. I’m excited for him. This is huge! “How? Why? When? What was the first thing you said out loud?”
Something immediately changes in his expression. He becomes guarded, like it’s not something he wants to talk to me about. I glance at Warren, who is staring straight at the road like he just purposefully checked out of this conversation. I look back at Ridge, but he’s looking out the window again.
And then I get it.
Sydney.
She’s why he’s talking now.
I suddenly feel envious of them. Of her. It makes me wonder what it was about her that made him overcome whatever obstacle it was that held him back. Why wasn’t I enough of a motivator to ever make him want to say things to me out loud?
And here she is again: the insecure, depressing version of myself.
I grab the Dr. Pepper and take a drink, trying to drown this sudden onslaught of jealousy. I’m happy for him. And I’m proud of him. It shouldn’t matter what spurred him to want to learn how to communicate in more ways. All that matters is that he is. And even though my chest still burns a little, I’m smiling. I turn back around and make sure he can see the pride in my expression.
“Have you cussed out loud yet?” I sign.
He laughs, wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. “Shit was my first cuss word.”
I laugh. Of course it was. He liked watching me say that word when I was angry. I realize speaking words out loud without being able to hear them probably isn’t as satisfying as being able to hear your own voice, but it has to feel a little good, finally being able to cuss out loud.
“Call Warren an asshole,” I say.
Ridge looks at the back of Warren’s head. “You’re an asshole.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, completely in shock that Ridge Lawson is verbalizing. It’s like he’s this whole new person.
Warren looks over at me, taking the steering wheel with his knee so that he can sign what he’s saying for Ridge. “He isn’t a toddler. Or a parrot.”
I punch Warren in the shoulder. “Shut up. Let me enjoy this.” I look back at Ridge and rest my chin on the head rest. “Say fuck.”
“Fuck,” he says, laughing at my immaturity. “Anything else? Damn. Goddamn. Mother-fucker. Hell. Son of a bitch. Bridgette.”
I die with laughter as soon as he includes her name in his string of profanity. Warren flips him off. I turn around and face the road again, still laughing. I take a sip of my drink and then relax against the seat with a sigh.
“I’ve missed you guys,” I say. Only Warren knows I’ve said it.
“We’ve missed you, too, Maggot.”
I roll my eyes, hearing that nickname again. I look over at him but make sure my headrest is a barrier between me and Ridge so that he can’t read my lips. “Is Sydney mad that he came?”
Warren glances over at me briefly and then stares back at the road. “Mad isn’t the right word. She did react, but not like most people would have reacted.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “She’s good for him, Maggie. She’s just…good. Period. And if this whole situation weren’t so damn weird, I feel like you would really like her.”
“I don’t dislike her.”
Warren looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He smirks. “Yeah, but you won’t be getting manicures together and going on road trips with her anytime soon.”
I laugh in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”
Ridge leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. He looks at me and then he looks at Warren. “Rearview mirrors,” he says. “It’s like a sound system for deaf people.” He leans back in his seat. “Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
Warren laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.
“Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
“Stop talking about us…”
“Us.”
He refers to himself and Sydney as an us now. And he speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn’t quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.
I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Ridge leave to go stay the night with his ex-girlfriend, or sitting in his apartment, alone with Bridgette.
As soon as Warren and Ridge left, Bridgette’s phone rang. She answered it and walked to her bedroom without acknowledging me. It sounded like she may have been talking to her sister, but that was an hour ago. Then I heard her shower start running.
Now, here I am, cleaning their kitchen and doing their dishes. I know Ridge told me not to worry about it, but I won’t be able to sleep if I know there’s food out all over the counter.
I load the last of the silverware when Bridgette walks out of her room with pajamas on. Her phone is to her ear again, but this time she’s looking at me. “You aren’t like gluten-free or vegetarian, are you?”
Wow. We’re really doing this. And wow. I’m actually a little bit excited. I shake my head. “I’ve never met a slice of pizza I didn’t like.”
Bridgette puts the phone on the bar and puts it on speaker as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. She hands it to me, expecting me to open it, so I take it and look for the bottle opener.
“Pizza Shack,” a guy says, answering her call. “Will this be carry-out or delivery?”
“Delivery.”
“What can I get you?”
“Two large pizzas with everything. One thick crust, one thin.”
I open the wine bottle while she continues to order.
“Do you want all the meats?”
“Yeah,” Bridgette says. “Everything.”
“You also want feta cheese added?”
“I said I want everything.”
There’s a tapping sound, like fingers against keys while the guy takes a moment to enter the order. “Do you want pineapple?”
Bridgette rolls her eyes. “I’ve said everything like three times. All the meats, all the vegetables, all the fruits. Whatever you have, just put it on there and bring us the damn pizza!”
I pause and glance over at her. She makes a face at me like she’s on the phone with the biggest idiot in the world. Poor guy. He doesn’t ask her any more questions. He takes her address, and she gives him Warren’s debit card number before she ends the call.
I’m curious to see what kind of pizzas we’re about to get. I pray that restaurant doesn’t have sardines or anchovies. I pour two glasses of wine and hand Bridgette one. She takes a sip and then folds her arms over her chest, holding the wine glass to her lips as she looks me up and down.
She’s really pretty, in a sexy way. I can see why Warren is so drawn to her. They really are the most interesting couple I’ve ever met. And when I say interesting, I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment.
“I used to hate you,” Bridgette says, matter-of-fact. She leans against the bar and takes another drink of her wine.
So casual, like this is how people are supposed to interact with other people. She reminds me of one of my friends from childhood. Her name was Tasara, and she said anything and everything that was on her mind. I swear, she spent more days in detention than she did in class. I think that’s why I was drawn to her, though. She was mean, but she was honest.
