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I keep my hands at my sides.
Henry does too.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Lexi signs. Her eyes are expectant. She’s got that innocent, doe-eyed look that makes her a shoe-in for a Disney princess. “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”
Henry juts his chin at her date. “Who’s this?” he signs.
Henry, don’t ask.
“Boyfriend.” Lexi seems a bit sheepish. At least she has the decency to realize how weird it is that she jumped into another relationship so quickly.
The tension rises as Henry and the new boyfriend stare at each other. The stench of testosterone threatens to turn the wedding hall into a boxing ring.
New Boyfriend points at Henry and snickers. I immediately despise him. I’ve been on the receiving end of bullying enough times to recognize when it’s about to go down.
Hearing people tend to believe the world revolves around them. The very thought that people with differences exist is mind-boggling. Most approach those differences somewhere between apathy and mild curiosity. But there are others who get downright nasty for no reason other than that differences scare them.
New Boyfriend stinks of the last category.
Lexi calls her boyfriend off. “I’m sorry. He’s being a jerk.”
“Why did you leave me for a jerk?”
“Henry, please.”
“Were you talking to him when you were with me?”
Lexi’s eyes widen. “No.”
New Boyfriend looks back and forth between all of us. He doesn’t understand ASL and his fragile ego can’t take being left out. The fact that we’re all having our own conversation is clearly annoying him.
He glances at Lexi, waiting for her to interpret. When she doesn’t, he reaches into his pocket and brandishes a single key. He starts swinging it around on his index finger, acting like a child fidgeting in silent protest.
Light glints against the key fob, temporarily distracting me. I don’t know jack about vehicles, but I recognize that logo thanks to one of my modeling gigs. The car on set was so exclusive that we had to sign liability contracts.
I’m not surprised an idiot like Lexi’s new boyfriend would swing that key fob in our face as some kind of emotional punchline. He seems like the type who thinks throwing money around is a statement.
Fart-wad.
“I’m sorry,” Lexi signs to Henry. Wrapping her hands around her boyfriend’s bicep, she drags him across the room.
It’s for the best. Her boyfriend and Henry were about to engage in a pissing contest via baby-level sign language on one side and the ASL equivalent of dirty-mouthed sailor language from Henry.
I’m glad I don’t have to see that.
Henry stalks to the exits and I follow, ready to be an amazingly supportive best friend by taking him to a bar where we can drink our sorrows away and insult Lexi’s new boyfriend together.
Unfortunately, the crowd seems to have tripled in size. The way to the door is cluttered with guests.
I try to weave past politely.
Henry, uh… doesn’t.
He’s like a bull seeing red. People who notice him coming skitter out of the way. The others who don’t get bounced to the side. He bucks into someone’s shoulders, and they throw their hands up in warning. I mouth a quick ‘I’m sorry’ and dip my head in apology before scurrying after him.
We finally make it outside, and the faint vibrations from the music go dead completely.
My heels sink into soft grass.
