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LUCA

I’ve always loved Las Vegas, mostly because I’m Deaf and I love all the colorful lights. I can just stand on a busy street corner and be awash in the visual noise. It makes my heart race and my skin tingle. This must be what hearing is like.

Overwhelming sensory overload.

Whenever there’s a Deaf expo here, I always sign up. My brother has no interest in attending, even if it would be good for business. It has a lot to do with Dante’s pain issues, but he’s also not a big fan of crowds. This is one of the many ways we’ve always been complete opposites.

And frankly, seeing him and his new Vyastil roommate creeping toward something I’ve wanted for a while now and haven’t been able to find, it’s nice to get away. I’m happy for Dante, of course, and my heart breaks for Cielo and everything he’s gone through.

But seeing them together—circling each other in a way I don’t think Dante fully understands yet—is a harsh reminder that I’m lonely.

It’s hard living in a small place where hardly anyone speaks my language. Where everyone expects me to meet them on their level. Where I am expected to adapt to a world I wasn’t really born for.

At the Deaf expo, at least for a little while, I’m surrounded by people who get it—who get me. I’m not as culturally Deaf as a lot of them. I haven’t had the opportunity because I haven’t wanted to leave home to live in a place that has a strong Deaf community. But it’s nice, for once, not to feel like such an outsider.

Everyone here is signing. I don’t need to struggle to read lips or switch my brain to English. I don’t need to worry that I won’t be understood, or that the noises I inadvertently make will make someone uncomfortable.

I stare down at my table; one half is full of the dick cookies I spent all week baking, and the other half is displaying some of the prototypes for the sex toys Dante has come up with over the last year. I’m not sure I’m going to get any contracts this year, but I’m going to try.

Vegas is an easier place to peddle these wares. The entire vibe is a lot less pearl-clutching and a lot more piqued curiosity as people stop by to snag a cookie and a business card. It makes me feel useful in a way I don’t often feel at home.

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, it only enabled 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 something is 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 for Deaf across the country to 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 also expected that people who are tied down sometimes do too.

What happens in Vegas, and all that.