And I know part of that is my fault. I haven’t exactly thrown myself into passions or hobbies. When we got our inheritance from Nonna Giulia, all it did was enable me to continue not working.
I don’t regret renting my commercial space out to the Vyastil couple for their coffee shop, but it wasn’t like I went to bed as a kid dreaming of becoming a landlord. And while baking the dick cookies for Dante has allowed me to feel somewhat creative, there’s still a piece of me that feels unfulfilled.
I just don’t know what to do about it. I feel like there’s something missing—something I’m searching for. But I have no idea what it is.
For now, I am lost.
A moment later, a tall man with dark hair and bright metallic-purple cochlear implants approaches. He has a very model-esque look with a chiseled jaw, five o’clock shadow, and very straight teeth when he smiles. He nods in greeting, and I fire one back.
His badge around his neck reads Asher, and I flash him mine, then offer my name sign before he does the same.
I don’t like to assume that everyone’s fluent in ASL, but I still ask with my hands, ‘Looking for anything specific?’
Asher grins and shakes his head. ‘Your booth seemed more interesting than the one with all the pickled fruit.’
I burst into laughter. ‘Why does that guy insist on pickling everything?’
He grins wider. It’s not uncommon that Deaf across the country know each other. Especially the ones who have haunted the expos. But I’m with him. Pickled corn, I can probably deal with. But strawberries? Absolutely fucking not.
‘Are you here alone?’ I ask. I haven’t seen him before, and I definitely would have recognized him.
He nods. ‘My brothers usually come with me, but they were all busy this year. We have a couple retail shops in Detroit.’
‘So, probably not able to stock vibrators or dick cookies?’ I ask.
His whole body moves with his laughter. ‘Probably not, but it might be worth considering expanding. Did you make all of this?’
‘The cookies,’ I tell him. ‘My brother does the other stuff. He’s got the only sex shop in our town.’
Asher blushes a little harder. It’s kind of cute. He’s not necessarily my type, but I try not to be super picky when I’m at these things. It’s definitely expected that people who aren’t tied down hook up.
And it’s kind of expected that people who are tied down sometimes do, too.
What happens in Vegas, and all that.
‘Is this making you uncomfortable?’ I ask. It feels nice to be straight-forward and not have to dance around hearing people’s polite social requirements and tender feelings.
He shrugs. ‘No, not really. Is your brother Deaf too?’
‘No. I’m the only one in the family,’ I tell him.
He grimaces, and it’s not the best feeling in the world. As much as I hate when hearing people feel sorry for me when they find out I’m Deaf, it gives me the same twitch when Deaf people act like my upbringing isn’t as good as theirs because I stand alone.
I have a good family. One that tries. My dad was the first one to become fluent after Dante, and while sometimes they forget to sign, they’re better than most.
They’re the reason that, as much as I’d love to live closer to a bigger Deaf population, I also never want to be too far from them.
‘My brothers all are, but my parents are hearing,’ he says. ‘Recessive gene or something. My mom got kind of obsessed with figuring it out.’
I’m tempted to ask if they all got CIs too, but as much as he’s probably used to invasive questions, I just can’t be fucked. Mostly because I’d ratherbefucked.
I think I need to shoot my shot. I watch him pick up one of the butt plugs—Dante designed it for people with limited arm and hand mobility. When Asher looks back up at me, he sets the toy down and plucks one of the free condoms we have on the table.
‘You gay?’ I ask, and he shakes his head, his cheeks turning redder.
‘You?’
I shrug and then fingerspell pansexual. Listen, why discriminate when there are so many options out there?
