‘I know. That’s why I’m here tonight.’
I kind of expect him to say thank you, but he doesn’t. It’s fair, of course. He can never learn to hear, but I can do this, and not just for him, but for the new people Robbie and Thom have brought into my life.
Rome traces his fingertips on the table for a second. ‘Do I get an A for that?’
I scoff. ‘No. You need to work harder to be a teacher’s pet.’
He glowers at me, then flips me off, so I give him another-1.
“Dick,” he says aloud.
It’s so unexpected I burst into laughter, and I can’t ignore the little pleased look he has on his face.
The moment settles, and then he brings his fingers to his chin and tips them down. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why?’
‘You never ask me to speak.’
Oh. It never really occurred to me to do that, but I’m not sure how to say that without it sounding like I’m patting myself on the back, so I just smile at him and hope he understands that I want to meet him more than halfway in this. Because he deserves it.
The food comes before the moment can get more awkward, and we make more small talk as we eat. Italian is easy now that I’ve gotten better at one-handed signing. Although, one time, Thom invited me over for a barbeque with ribs and roasted corn, and I discovered that conversation like that got messy.
And kind of gross.
I twirl fettuccine noodles around my fork and take a massive bite, watching Rome as he cuts his chicken into neurotic, bite-sized pieces, then scoops them up and dumps them on his salad.
‘What?’ he demands as I watch.
My lips twitch. ‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t judge me.’ He stuffs a huge bite into his mouth and chews obnoxiously.
I put the notebook on my lap, and when he tries to take a peek, I shake my head at him.
‘No more cheating,’ I tell him.
I don’t want him to see how he’s doing for the rest of the date.
He gives me an exasperated look but refills my wine with a little flourish, and he smiles when I give him a Deaf clap.
‘You learn that in Paris?’
He snorts and eases back. ‘No. In Paris, we drink right from the bottle. Eat baguette right out of the paper bag on the street.’ He describes it with his hands, his expressions so on point it’s hard to keep my composure. I feel soft all over.
Happy.
‘Did you like it there?’
He considers this for a moment, then shrugs. ‘It’s beautiful. Some people were fun. Nice,’ he clarifies. ‘But no one felt like home.’
God, I know that feeling. I’d tried to leave this little town more than once when I was younger, but I’ve never felt settled. It always felt like I was meant to be here. Like something—someone—was waiting for me.
I don’t want to believe it’s Rome because I’m not foolish, but god, what if it is?
I swallow a mouthful of wine and dig into my eggplant. The conversation stalls, but the silence is more comfortable this time. Halfway through the meal, I feel a tap on my foot and realize it’s him. When I smile, he doesn’t move his feet away.
Another+1in the book.
