Her question takes me aback.
AmI close to my mom? I talk to her once a week. Eden and I go to her house in Florida for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year, or at least, I did when I wasn’t overseas. But are we close? Do I share my worries and insecurities with her? Not really.
I glance at the timer on the oven, currently set for forty minutes. Then I look past the breakfast nook to the small glass-encased sunroom, which, so far, is my favorite part of the house. Angling my head in that direction, I ask, “Do you want to sit out there for a few minutes? Take a quick break?”
Bea follows my gaze. The sun is out, casting a soft golden glow through the room. Several hanging plants add a pop of color. There’s a couch that overlooks the fenced-in backyard, where a bare patio sits, waiting for spring.
She nods. “Okay. I’ve got some time before I need to start the pasta.”
“Good.” Without thinking, I take her hand and lead her out into the sunroom. As we walk out there, the sun catches Bea’s hair, picking up streaks of gold and platinum.
Once we sit down, she scoots close to me, so our legs are touching. Flecks of silver glitter in her eyes. Her cheeks are pink from the heat of the kitchen, and her lips curve into a smile that catches hold of my heart.
“It’s nice out here,” she says. Then she flinches.
I turn towards her. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Is the sun too bright?”
Small teeth dig into her lower lip. The pink in her cheeks deepens. “I feel fine. I just… Was I talking too loud?”
“Too loud?”
“Yes.” Her voice dips, going quieter than normal. “It kind of echoes in here. Since there’s not a lot of furniture, and no carpet.With the vaulted ceiling and the windows, too… It’s hard for me to tell if I’m talking too loudly.”
The uncertainty in her eyes makes my protectiveness surge. “You’re talking just fine, Bea. But I wouldn’t care if you talked louder.”
“It’s one of the things I’ve had to work on,” she explains. “Regulating the volume of my voice. When I first got my implants, my parents had to keep reminding me to stop yelling. Because hearing myself talk was different from what I was used to.”
“And a room like this makes it harder?”
She nods. “At first, at least. But I don’t want to be sitting here, yelling in your ear. It makes me feel…”
“I understand.” I drape my arm around Bea’s shoulder and draw her to my side. “For the longest time, I felt like everyone was staring at me. Staring at my hand. And I hated it. That’s one of the reasons I acted like such an asshole. Because I was embarrassed.”
“I was embarrassed, too.” Bea holds my gaze. “And I thought…”
“What?”
Bea stares out the window, frowning. Then she turns back to me. “I was a teenager. I wanted to date. Go to parties. Do all the normal things teenagers do. But with my hearing, and then the surgery, high school just kind of passed on by. I thought in college, things would be different. But…”
“But?”
“I was still self-conscious. Big parties were hard; I couldn’t understand everyone. And the guys…”
Something in Bea’s expression makes my stomach twist. In a carefully controlled voice, I ask, “What about them?”
Staring at her lap, she says, “They thought my implants were weird. Gross. One guy even asked if I had holes in my head.”
“What?” My molars nearly shatter. “He said that? What was his name? Where does he live?”
Bea flashes me a tiny smile. “It doesn’t matter. He was just one of many guys who thought my implants were weird. Who talked to me like I was stupid because of them.”
Thoseassholes.
Despite the rising anger inside me, I keep my voice calm. “You’re not stupid. And your implants aren’t weird. You know that, right?”
After a few seconds, she nods. She lifts her head to meet my gaze. “I do. I never thought I was stupid. But I did feel insecure. Sometimes I still do.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re amazing, Bea. You have nothing—nothing—to feel insecure about.”
