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“Fifty minutes left.” Athena glances at her watch.
I check the time and murmur, “Huh. So what happens now?”
“Now, I come out of retirement.”
“I’m honored,” I say, leaning back in my chair and considering how much money I’m going to deposit in her bank account. I tend to get loose with cash when I’m pleased.
“Stick with me, Dare. I’ll have you talking in her language in the speed of light.”
* * *
While Athena is impressed with how many signs I memorized, I’m insulted that she didn’t believe me when I told her I study every day.
I felt quite cocky going into the lesson, armed with my foundational knowledge and my photographic memory.
But Athena made sure to bring with her a giant pin.
You know, to burst my ego.
After she leaves, I’m mentally wrung out.
There’s so much more to learn than just sign language. Things like deaf culture, facial expressions and gestures holding different meanings—it’s a lifetime’s worth of lessons.
And here I thought I made a difference learning the alphabet and a thousand most common words.
Strangely, even if the task feels more daunting now than before, I’m excited. With the lessons I’ve learned, I’m one step closer to Yaya.
My alarm chimes.
Time to pick up Talia from school.
I drive myself, since Mosely remained at the office while I met Athena for my lesson. The moment I park, I send Talia a text.
There’s no response.
I press my watch, knowing that hers will light up.
Huh. No response there either.
She must not be finished with her group project yet.
Taking out my phone, I check Yaya’s social media. I managed to hold out from stalking her socials for about three days.
Well, two and a half.
But after I completed a very thorough internet search about whether religiously perusing a woman’s public posts counts as stalking (general consensus is that it’s public, so it doesn’t count), I realized that I had to see her even if it was just in a photo.
I was delighted to find that Yaya posts daily.
Today’s picture is of her in the sunshine, a scarf wrapped around her neck and a coffee cup in her hand. Her long, orange nails are a sharp contrast against the light brown of the cup. Thick hair falls down her shoulders, a few tendrils teasing at the mischievous smile on her lips.
The caption says ‘want a cuppa?’.
How amusing.
I smile and press the like button.
At once, a flood of notifications rain down on my phone. This frantic activity happens every time I heart one of Yaya’s posts.
