Before I can start to panic again, the interpreter connects. It’s a woman with a pale face, freckles, and light blue eyes.
‘Hello, I’m interpreter 5728. Calling now. Ring. Ring. Ring.’
I take a deep breath and am finally connected to the agency. The interpreter goes through the usual spiel, notifying the hearing individual on the other end of the line that a person using ASL is waiting to speak to someone.
I have a meeting for a new contract with a startup tech company that’s recruited entry-level employees from the Deaf school, but they’re sorely lacking in what they need for accessibility. It’s the perfect new contract for our company, and it’ll be my first contract negotiation since fully taking over from my father.
But I need an interpreter there to negotiate the communication so it’s all done properly.
The interpreter smiles at me, clearly relaying the voice on the other end of the call. ‘Hi, this is Emma from CommUnity. How can I help you today?’
‘I need to book an in-person ASL-English interpreter for Wednesday. I have a meeting at a tech company, so preferably, someone who’s familiar with lingo regarding accessibility technology.’
‘Any other preferences?’
I zone out watching the interpreter’s hands, and I think about Dex’s for a second, but I quickly force myself back to the present. This is no time for pining. ‘I don’t want someone new.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘And I want someone certified.’ I would prefer a Certified Deaf Interpreter, but the list of CDIs in the area is slim to none. Leaning fully toward none. At least, that’s how it was before I left, and I don’t think that much has changed in three years.
So I’ll take what I can get, but I’m tired of being nice and getting stuck with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.
‘We can do that. Can you please relay the details of where, what time, and who to bill?’
I give them all the information, and then it’s done, and the call is over.
Staring at the blank screen, I realize this task hasn’t taken up nearly enough time, and my stomach is twisting with hunger. I could go home and cook, but that sounds like the worst idea in the world, so I check the DeafEats app to make sure the couple of Deaf-owned restaurants haven’t gone under in the three years I was away.
Everything looks almost exactly like it was before, only there’s a new Greek spot listed, which sounds perfect. I couldeat my weight in pita and tzatziki, hoping it’ll comfort me better than my sorry-ass ability to self-soothe will.
Grabbing my phone and my keys, I lock up the office, then jump in the car and head the few miles down the road. The spot is near my rental, which is nice, and while it only has street parking, the road is mostly deserted, so I’m able to snag a spot right out front.
If there’s music playing when I walk through the doors, I can’t tell. It’s not high enough for me to catch any of the vibrations, but inside has a good vibe. It’s small but fairly busy, which bodes well, and the lighting is bright enough to see well, but not enough to give me a headache.
It’s also an order-at-the-counter place, which I appreciate. In line, I notice a bunch of ASL guides for hearing customers, and I feel at home.
It’s the first time I’ve felt calm since the gym, which is starting to become a problem.
Fuck, I need to get control of myself. I have to be able to handle my shit if I’m going to be around Dex, and it’s become very clear that one—I can’t seem to stay away. And two—even if I do figure that out, he’s still going to be hanging out with people I know.
Short of burning all my bridges and turning into an actual hermit, I have to get used to him. I just…don’t know how.
Taking out my phone, I pull up his social media profile and click on his name. I don’t know why. It’s not like he’s going to have a post about me, is he?
There’s a new video, but it’s a very obvious intro to his ass class. I watch it for a few seconds before I feel a tap on my arm. I look up to see a disgruntled-looking man standing in front of me. His mouth is moving rapidly, so he’s obviously not Deaf, which is not what I expected to deal with here.
I blink at him, then zero in on his lips. It’s hard to catch anything mid-conversation with zero context, but I put together something with the bits of sound I can hear from his low rumble.
“…down…mind. Thank you.”
It takes me a second, and then I realize the volume on my phone must be up. I stare him in the face as I click it all the way down, then smile with teeth. ‘Sorry,’ I sign. ‘I’m Deaf.’
I’m fairly sure he doesn’t know ASL, but from the way he blushes, he can probably work out that last part of my sentence. He swallows heavily, then turns and takes a big step away from me like it may be contagious.
I fucking wish it were sometimes. At least then these hearing weirdos would have something real to complain about.
Going back to my stalking—I meanperusing—I watch the video again, then one more time for good measure before I realize it’s my turn to order.
