I’ve been Deaf since I was a toddler, and if I had my way, I’d happily sign and lip-read my way through life. But the world is easier to navigate with the help of my hearing aids, so even though they often give me headaches, I wear them whenever I’m out in public.
Thomas starts talking, but then he catches himself and stops. Folding his thumb against his palm, he waves his hand slightly, giving me the ASL sign for hello before finger-signing a butchered version of the wordsMy name is Thomas.
At least he’s done his research. It’s not much, but I’ve certainly gotten less from people who are related to me. So while I don’t feel the love connection Gran is no doubt hoping for, I have to give Thomas credit for making a bit of an effort.
An excruciating hour later, after we’ve all devoured ourmeal, I revoke that credit based solely on the fact that Thomas is the most boring person on the face of the planet.
“You two have so much in common,” Gran signs, her face beaming.
If that’s true, I may just remove one of the tiny knives from the cheese board and stab my eyes out. The only similarity I can discern is that we both need oxygen to survive.
“Tell us about your trip this summer,” Grandad says, signing as he speaks. “Fallon loves to travel, too.”
“I went to Canada,” he says, and though I can read his lips, Grandad’s fingers move rapidly, translating his words for me. It’s sweet, and just something my family automatically does, but when Gran’s pouring herself another cup of tea, I sign to Grandad that he’s more than welcome to stop signing and pick up his fork and help himself to more quiche.
He shoots me half a grin and a wink, but keeps going, just as Thomas drones on.
Don’t get me wrong. Canada’s beautiful. We took a ski vacation in Vancouver when I was younger, and I’d happily take another trip north any time, but the baseball game Thomas went to in Montreal isn’t the kind of adventure I’m looking for.
“How bold of you to try relish on your hot dog, Thomas. I’m so sorry it was too spicy for you,” Gran says, her face betraying no irony when she signs. “You’ll need that sense of daring later this year when you go to Europe.”
Gran’s eyes light up as she signs the final word to me.
She’s laid down her best hand, and she’s so proud of it.
Too bad I’m not playing this game.
Instead of taking the conversational bait, I pluck a chocolate croissant from the platter and take a bite. I canfeel the conversation lull around me and though I smile congenially, I don’t make fake, polite conversation the way my grandparents do. That’s who they are, but it’s not me. And I wasn’t the one who issued the invitation to Mr. Adventure in the first place.
When brunch is over and even Gran can’t sustain the conversation any longer, I busy myself with clearing the table. I’m stacking plates in the dishwasher when I feel a tap on my arm and have a phone thrust into my hand by bony, pale fingers. The Notes app is open, so I read what he’s typed.
There’s an informational meeting about the Europe trip at church this week. It’s Tuesday at six. I can pick you up and then we can go for coffee after. I don’t drink caffeine that late, but I’ll splurge and treat myself to some hot cocoa.
Without hesitation, I tap back my response.
Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not interested in the Europe trip. It sounds like fun, but I’m busy with school.
He swipes his phone back to type out a reply.
It’s over the holiday break.
I shake my head firmly while reaching for his phone.
I’m still not interested. Have a nice time.
My polite smile is plastered to my face as I hand his phone back and head for the sink in search of more dirty dishes.
Thomas must sense that he’s been dismissed because I watch out of the corner of my eye as Grandad shakes his hand and leads him toward the door. I haven’t finished drying my hands on the dishtowel when I can feel Gran’s eyes on me. Looking up at her, I see her hands fly into a frenzy as the words pour out of her.
“It’s perfect, Fallon. The itinerary is fabulous. You start with the Christmas Markets in December and end in the Canary Islands inJanuary. You’re going to love it. And before you tell me that Thomas is…”
Bringing my index finger to my nose, I twist it twice.
“Boring is harsh,” she signs back. “But don’t worry, there are plenty of other young men going on the trip. You’ll meet them, and the young ladies, too, on Tuesday.”
Shaking my head, I sign that I’m not going on Tuesday. Grandad walks back into the kitchen and catches the last of our conversation. I watch as he frowns. He’s torn, and I hate it, but I’m not like my mom or my brother. I’m not one to give in or make nice. I don’t mind discomfort, and I certainly prefer a little tension over being forced to do something I don’t want to do.
Still, I know they love me, and that they only want me to be happy. The problem is that they’re trying to press me into their mold of happiness, and it just doesn’t fit.
