Beth gestured to the love seat where her parents were sitting; Willis was now snoring violently, paper hors d’oeuvres plate slipping from his slackening grip. February was thrown.
An implant? For Austin?
Both Beth and Deb laughed.
For Sky! Deb said. Austin! That would be the day.
Sky? But Austin said— I thought she was hearing.
So did we, said Beth.
How are you feeling about it?
I’m not sure.
At the end of the day, either way will be fine. Lots of kids up at River Valley have implants, right, Feb? It’s not even a big deal anymore.
True.
Actually, Ben and I were just talking about turning that utility closet in the greenroom into some kind of “listening room.” A place where they could go and play instruments, experiment with those iPad music editing apps—that’d be cool, right?
Yeah, said February tepidly.
February looked to Beth, who took a gulp from her cup. The longer February held her gaze, the more Beth drank. She knew about the closure. Of course she did. What kind of person wouldn’t share such information with their spouse?
Again filled with fear that Wanda might let slip the news to Mel, February excused herself and returned to the kitchen, where Mel was grinning and beckoning her from across the island. The smile eased February’s worries; she held up an index finger to buy herself a moment and went to the drink cart instead. She made a poor replica of whatever concoction Beth had been serving, and joined Mel and Wanda, who herself had now been joined by her husband.
Someone had switched on the television, and though they were not at the right angle to see the ball drop, they chanted the countdown and kissed alongside the rest of the guests. Then Mel went to find the bathroom, and February stood alone in a vodka haze, feeling a split second’s solace that her mother was gone. At least she wouldn’t be around to see what happened next.
come on, said Charlie. Talk to me.
She’d tried to be patient, let Austin rest his head on her shoulder as the bus hurtled through the dark to who knows where. She tried not to be annoyed that she’d agonized over choosing an outfit that was both alluring and acceptable for meeting someone’s parents, only to be cut off on the stoop and dragged back onto the bus.
Maybe I can help.
She could see him weighing something; he was choosing his words carefully. He sighed.
My sister.
The baby? Is she o-k?
She’s deaf.
At this Charlie couldn’t help but laugh, and Austin looked taken aback.
Sorry, she said, drawing her hand across her mouth to hide her smirk. But. Isn’t your family, like, famous for that?
She was born hearing but she’s losing it. My parents—my dad—want to implant her.
What! Why?
Austin pursed his lips.
They’re worried about her future, because—
He stopped himself. Looked down at his feet.
I don’t know.
What about your mom?
She agrees with him! She had some bullshit line about implants being better for a girl’s safety.
It was Charlie’s turn to avert her gaze.
That’s not—it doesn’t really work that way.
She looked back up at Austin, let him see in her eyes the things she couldn’t say. Her palms got clammy and she wiped them on her jeans.
Anyway.
I think she’s gonna let him do it.
That’s so stupid.
It’s ridiculous. I don’t understand why they’d want to put her through surgery just to make her more hearing. If it even works at all!
He gestured at Charlie like she was proof of his argument. Now it was her turn to measure her words—even though she agreed with him, she was well versed in the other side of this coin. Maybe seeing the counterargument would bring him some comfort. Given how upset he was, it probably wouldn’t hurt.
It’s not the end of the world, right? I mean, most people’s implants aren’t as shitty as mine.
Yeah, I know.
She can always take it off.
I guess.
And she’ll still sign.
I guess.
And she’ll still come to River Valley.
Austin lifted his hands as if to say something, stopped.
I don’t know, he said after a while.
Definitely!
She pulled the magnet from her head, slid into silence.
See? Super deaf now!
He smiled, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes.
She’s gonna be o-k. You too.
I could use a drink.
I heard Kevin’s having a party.
They’ll probably just play videogames all night.
My dad’s out. You could come back to the apartment. I’m sure he has something in the cabinet.
Yeah, o-k.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened Google Maps.
First we have to figure out where the hell we are.
They had already passed through downtown Colson and were heading into the No Fly. They’d have to get out and double back to get to her dad’s. Or—
Actually, I do know another party. On the East Side.
Deaf?
Hearing.
People from Jefferson?
Sort of…They’re kind of weird. But they’ll definitely have alcohol.
Let’s go.
You sure?
Austin nodded, reanimated now, and Charlie pressed the yellow rubber strip to request a stop, waiting for the driver to release them into the night.
austin could feel the music long before they got where they were going. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he’d found their desolate trek from the bus stop a bit frightening and was glad of the signs of life the noise represented, even if it was a hearing party. At the end of the row of warehouses one of the grilles was up halfway, and he followed Charlie as she pushed open a set of thick metal doors and let them in.
Inside, Charlie said something to a daunting woman with a bar through her nose; the woman pointed to the far-left corner, then handed them both tiny plastic cups, like the kind Austin’s dentist used. The liquid inside smelled about the same as Listerine, but he knocked it back anyway. Charlie was already making her way into the crowd, and he reached for her hand. She looked at him over her shoulder, eye whites and teeth glowing purple in the black light. There in the dark, thumping heat, he felt the night crack wide open with possibility. He was thankful that he hadn’t told her about the school closure, even if the only thing stopping him had been cowardice.
They were nearly at the front of the room, standing before a person-size speaker that made his joints feel wobbly, when she paused. She let go of his hand, hugged a boy with jagged jet-black hair, fist-bumped another with a purple mohawk, and offered a wary nod of acknowledgment to the girl between them.
S-l-a-s-h, L-e-m, S-i-d, she said after a while, pointing to the three.
Austin waved. The one called Slash stuck out his hand and they shook. Austin made his sign name, looking to Charlie to relay.
A, Slash said, and copied his sign name. Right on.
* * *
—
There was something between Slash and Charlie he couldn’t put his finger on, as if the air changed viscosity when they got close, which, on the dance floor, was happening with increasing frequency. His immediate riposte had been to take two spite shots and a hit of whatever had been in the mohawk guy’s vape pen, but still their dynamic needled at him.
Casual, he thought. Be cool for once. He ran his fingers down the length of Charlie’s neck with as light a touch as he could, until he felt her shiver.
How do you know these guys again?
Long story, said Charlie.
From hearing school?
They’re older than us.
Church?
Charlie frowned, but it wasn’t clear whether that was at the thought of church or at the continued line of questioning.
Juvie?
She sighed.
They’re in a b-a-n-d, she said finally.
Like, a music group?
I knew the one guy from Jeff. Did you know punk bands used to rent out Deaf clubs as concert venues?
I’ve heard of that, he said.
Of course you have.