It’s the last thing I expect out here, seeing someone speak in ASL. But it’s also a bit like seeing an old friend.
“How are you doing today?” I sign back, the movements clumsy. I haven’t had many opportunities to practice since I wasworking as an interpreter, right out of college. The work was too stressful for not enough pay, which I learned quickly enough is pretty much all jobs. At least with the one I have now, I don’t really have to talk to anyone.
Still, I’ve always loved the language, and it feels good to use it again. Especially when the little boy’s face lights up in excitement.
“You know sign language,” Blaire says, surprise clear in her voice.
Oliver is signing back at me, his hands moving too quickly for me to catch it all. But I get something about the lake, and rowing a boat, and having to do something he doesn’t want to.
“Yeah, I studied it in college.” I sign the words out as I speak them.
“You don’t have to do that,” Blaire says sharply. “He hears just fine.”
Immediately, I’m struck with a vague sense of unease. Oliver drops his hands to his sides and looks down at the grass.
The older boy, Owen, gives an exasperated sigh. “Can we go? We’re gonna be late.”
“We’re not going to be late.” Blaire, however, does give me another fake-looking smile. “Although we should be heading out. It’s a bit of a hike into Pinella from here.”
Oliver tugs on his mother’s sleeve until she looks at him. Then he signs, “Can I stay here? Chloe can watch me.”
“No,” Blaire says immediately, not bothering to sign the word. “No, I can’t just foist you off on our new neighbor.” She gives me another one of those fake smiles. Every single one makes my skin crawl. “I’m sorry about this. Oliver’s always trying to get out of his BJJ class. Aren’t you, Ollie?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“But it’s good for him,” she continues, pressing her hand down on Oliver’s back. “Being around...otherkids.”
The way she stressesothergives me that discomfiting feeling again. I shift my weight, already kind of regretting coming over here. I don’t like how Blaire talks about Oliver. I don’t like the way Owen keeps glaring at me. And I don’t really like that this is my first interaction with my new neighbors.
Although it does warm my heart a bit when Oliver signs up to me, “It was nice to meet you. Can I show you my rock collection when I get back?”
“Oliver,” Blaire says warningly, but I respond with a quick, “Of course you can.” I glance over at Blaire before adding, “If your mother says it’s okay.”
Oliver beams at me.
“We need to go,” Blaire says, corralling Oliver along the sidewalk as Oliver lopes behind them. She bends down to hiss something in Oliver’s ear. There’s just enough distance between us that I can’t make out what she says?—
Although not so much that I don’t see the way his little shoulders knot up like an old and practiced reflex.
I spendthe rest of the afternoon unpacking the boxes of essentials I brought with me in my car. The rest of my stuff is scheduled to arrive in a week or two, not that there’s a ton of it. My grandma didn’t exactly leave the house fully furnished—one of the bedrooms is literally just storage boxes full of holiday decorations, old clothes, ancient paperbacks, and other assorted grandparent-type treasures, and two of the bedrooms are completely empty. But the essentials are all there. A big king-size bed in the master bedroom, a nicely appointed living room and kitchen. There’s even a huge roll-top mahogany desk in the smallest of the bedrooms, which, according to familylore, belonged to my great-great-grandfather. It definitely puts my shitty IKEA desk to shame, which is why my IKEA desk is currently in a dumpster back in Boston.
Still, it’s vaguely unsettling to be in a sprawling, sun-filled lakeside McMansion instead of a cramped apartment. As I hang my clothes up in the big walk-in closet, the same thought keeps speeding through my head:This is mine now. This closet, which is roughly the same size as my old galley kitchen. This bedroom, with its big French doors that open to a Juliet balcony that has a view of Hanging Lake, the water glittering like diamonds in the afternoon sun. The seemingly endless supply of bathrooms. The big living room with its high vaulted ceiling and enormous wall-sized window, which also has a view of the lake. The porch. The dining room. The massive kitchen with its convection oven. The two-car garage.
All of it.Mine.
I keep thinking there has to be a catch, although I also pretty much know what it is: I’m in the middle of nowhere. I work remotely, so that’s not an issue. But if I want to go anywhere but the lake, I’ll have to hop in my beat-up old car and drive. Pinella is twenty-five minutes away, and it didn’t have much when I stopped there on my way in. A Food Lion, a Dollar General, a vape shop, a cell phone repair place. Apparently a BJJ studio, too. Asheville, the closest city, is about an hour and a half drive on the back roads.
I know it’ll take some getting used to. My parents certainly tried to talk me out of moving into the house; Mom would get this sour, pinched expression whenever I talked about my plans for moving.
Are you sure you want to live out there?she said when I first told her I wasn’t going to sell.It’s a summer home, Chloe. It’s not a place you live.
Summer homes are absurd,I shot back.Why have a house if you’re not going to live in it?
She and my dad both had a two-pronged attack to try to get me to stay in Boston, the two of them alternating calling me over the last few months. Mom wanted me to sell the house to my Aunt Lydia:It’ll stay in the family that way,she said. And you can visit when you like.Dad tried to convince me to sign up for one of those short-term rental sites.
But I didn’t want to do either. When my grandma left the house to me, she left a message, too:Think of it as a place to call your own.
And I have every intention of doing just that.
