He scowls at me, and I lock our ankles together under the table, loving the contact. His cheeks flush as menus are placed in front of us, and I glance down at it. Everything is in Italian, and I have no idea what most of it is.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the server asks, his Italian accent thick.
I lift my hands and my eyebrows and ask, ‘Drink?’
Rome glances down at the menu and then back up at me. ‘Wine?’
I nod.
‘What kind do you recommend?’ Rome asks, and I immediately go into interpreter mode. Not that I’m trained in any of this, but I’ve been around Deaf people for the last three yearsand have had plenty of casual practice. I really want Rome to have the best access to communication that he can have on our date. Even with my limited skills.
If he were gradingme, I’d want an A+.
“What kind of wine do you recommend?” I ask, and the server rattles off a few choices, my fingers struggling to keep up and most likely butchering the names, but I manage well enough, and Rome understands.
We decide on an expensive red, and when the server walks off, he meets my gaze. ‘Since when have you gotten so good at interpreting?’
‘Since I’ve been practicing with friends.’
His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips. ‘You’re good at it.’
‘Are you just saying that so you can get a positive mark in my book?’
He glances at it and rolls his eyes, making me grin. ‘You want an appetizer?’ he asks instead of answering me.
I glance down at it and then wrinkle my nose. ‘I don’t know what most of this is. Hold.’
I snap a picture on my phone, send it onto the internet for translation, and then show it to him.
‘What about this one?’ He points at the menu.
‘The Frittelle di Fiori di Zucca?’ I ask, my fingers trailing off at the end, as he obviously got the point.
‘Yes.’
‘Sounds delicious. But it’s zucchini. Does it remind you of Michael? Of what we were doing when he hit you with one?’ I meet his gaze, and his cheeks turn an even darker red.
‘Fuck you,’ he mouths, and I smile widely as he shifts in his seat.
The server comes back, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring it lavishly into our glasses.
I stare at it, dripping down the inside of the glass. That means it’s good, right? If it sticks to the glass, it means it has a higher alcohol content. I try to think back to the Deaf Wine and Sign class I took with Robbie and Thom last year. All I remember is tasting too much of it and stumbling out afterward.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Rome asks.
“The wine,’ I reply and then pick up my glass, swirling it around and taking a sip.
He stares at it, watching my throat as I swallow. My cock perks up slightly at the sight of him watching me.
‘Taste. It’s good,’ I tell him.
He does what I say, putting the glass to his lips and taking a small sip. ‘Tastes the same as cheap wine.’
I let out a laugh, the table across from us looking our way. ‘Well, next date, I’ll make sure you have some boxed wine for your sophisticated French palate.’
‘That’s saying I want to go on another date with you,’ Rome retorts, and I kick at him slightly under the table before making a mark in my notebook.
It’s not a favorable one, and he sees it.
