When it’s my time to speak, on the other hand…
“Thank you for coming,” I sign, facing my parents straight on, trying to channel some of Kayla’s levelheadedness. “I know we fight a lot. I’m not saying this to be mean, but living at home, I felt like I was more stranger than family.”
My dad sits stiff, while my mom holds her hands tightly together. By this point, they both would be talking over me, but surrounded by other people and having to go through an interpreter, they’re quiet.
“All my life, I’ve felt lesser than. Like Madison was the perfect child you always wanted and I was some reject second choice who was considered a hinderance.” I swallow, glad I don’t have to speak or my voice would break. “You always assumed you knew best. You never asked me what I needed. But you always told me what you needed from me. How you wanted me to communicate. How you wanted me to be. And by doing that, you just kept pushing me away. There was never any patience or willingness to adapt so that I could fit into the family better.
“I got to go to a Deaf school, but I was only encouraged to embrace that side of me there—never at home. Whether it was the intention or not, it felt like I needed to hide who I am. So I needed to move out because I think we can only hope to repair our relationship with distance between us. Coming here today was a great first step.”
Both of my parents’ eyes are welling up, and I need to look away. Mom looks at me and, with the interpreter signing for her, says softly, “I assume you want us to learn sign language.”
“Yes. Though, in the meantime, there are other ways to make me feel welcome. Don’t force me to wear my hearing aid or cochlear receiver when I need to take them out. Don’t get mad when I can’t hear something, especially when you’re all talking over each other at the dinner table. Don’t try to change who I am.”
My mom nods slowly.
Dad asks a simple question. “Can you visit home for Christmas?”
Now tears pool in my eyes. “Yes. And maybe, for the big family party, we could get an interpreter? That way I can be included, because otherwise it’s too noisy and difficult to talk to anyone.”
“We can figure that out,” Mom says, brow furrowed, clearly uncertain about the logistics but not saying no.
My dad squeezes her hand. “I know this was hard. Thanks, Ellie-door.” He notices my hesitation at the disliked nickname. “I mean, Ellie.”
I nod, indicating that I’m done addressing the group. I walk away to get something to drink from the kitchen and take a moment for some breathing space. That was much more emotional than I thought it would be. Looking over my shoulder, I see that my parents are chatting with Izzy’s through the interpreter. My mom’s patting her cheeks dry with a tissue while my dad wipes his eyes with his shirt sleeve, but both are now chuckling at something Izzy’s mom just signed, probably relieved that the tension has been broken. I’m glad Izzy offered to bring her own folks. Some messages get across best parent to parent.
I’m still shaking from the adrenaline of it all. This was cathartic. Like taking a weight off my shoulders that I hadn’t realized had been dragging me down for so long. Who knows what my parents will take away from this experience—at the very least, hopefully we can find our way into each other’s lives.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself before going to rejoin the conversation.
All these chairs will be useful for the party we’re throwing soon. I’m still counting down the days until New Year’s Eve.
And to seeing Jackson again. Giving him space has been harder than I thought, but maybe it’s all about to change, for the better.
Chapter Fifty
Jackson
It’s almost timeto start back at school again next week. I’m not sure how simple it will be to slip back in the final semester of senior year. Who knows what rumors have spread? Liam supposedly thought I was in rehab this whole time. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to manage getting through all my classes without the midday nap I’ve grown used to.
I’m starting New Year’s Eve by playing in a rec league one-day soccer tournament. Darius invited me last week. I’m nervous to be back on the field, but this low-stakes match is probably the best way to do it, especially since I know I’m not as fast or agile as I used to be. This will be a good test for how I’ll be able to play the spring season at school.
My dad drives me over to the indoor sports center, giving my shoulder a soft pat once we park. “Well, take it easy out there.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘take it easy’ before in your entire life.”
I’m half expecting a chuckle, but Dad turns away and says, “If this year’s taught us anything, there’s more important things than always going full speed.” When he looks at me again, his eyes have a sheen to them—they contain a multitude of words that go unsaid. I’ve never seen him like this.
“Yeah” is all I manage to muster.
He clears his throat, looking straight ahead out the windshield, ready to drive away. “Have fun.”
“I will.” I give a wide smile before hopping out of the SUV. “Thanks.”
The gym smells of turf and sweat. It’s not too crowded, since players don’t have to hang around when it’s not their game time. Teams of four face off on the two small fields, with the time almost up on their games.
Darius and I are playing with two other guys from the school team. For a moment, I think I’m in the clear from the player I most want to avoid. Except it turns out Liam is on the opposing team.
I lace up my cleats and take a seat on the edge of the bleachers. I used to have a whole warm-up that I’d do, but now, doing just a few stretches, I’m more concerned about conserving my energy for the match. It’s been so long since I did a scrimmage match at Amber, and even longer since I played in season last year. How much of this is going to come back to me once I’m on the field?
