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But I love children and I really don’t mind their questions about why I sign or why I wear hearing aids.
The little girl whirls to me, brows knotted in displeasure. She takes out her phone and grudgingly types in her notes app.
Talia.
I recognize the name immediately. At the rehab center, Lucy said that everything her brother was doing was for Talia.
So this is the most important girl in Sullivan’s life.
She’s something close to what I expected.
Blonde. Blue-eyed.
She’s certainly pretty. And dripping in designer brands.
Those shoes on her tiny feet are from an Italian luxury line and so is the belt around her skirt. My eyes bug when I see her bag. The subtle logo dangling from the keychain is like catnip.
Is it wrong of me to feel jealous of a child?
Sullivan reaches over Talia to offer his phone to me, but the little girl swats at his hand. Her girlish pout screams annoyance. I guess she doesn’t appreciate being the middleman in our pass-the-phone conversation.
I’m already anticipating that this will be a long, awkward drive when Sullivan lifts his hands and signs, “Sorry about my niece.”
My heart nearly stops.
The last thing he signed to me was ‘please’, so I knew he wasawareof sign language. Still, the fact that he nailed that sentence makes me unnaturally happy.
“You sign so well.” I give him a pleased look.
“Not good yet.”
That’s objectively true. He’s not using proper ASL grammar and it’s clear he’s uncomfortable using his hands to communicate, but I still think it’s incredible.
“How long have you been learning?” I sign.
His movements are slow. He pauses and readjusts his fingers clumsily. “The day we met.”
What does he mean by that? Why would he learn ASL after one encounter with me? Even if he planned on blackmailing me from the start, it’s an extra step and a lot of effort to learn another language.
Sullivan is staring at me, watching every muscle twitch in my face. I’m pretty sure all he sees is a cloud of confusion.
Talia tugs on his hand to get his attention. She swings his arm back and forth, telling him something. I put together that she’s hungry when Sullivan pats his stomach and gives her a nod of assurance.
When his eyes meet mine, I’m ready for the question and I laugh a little when he makes a motion to his mouth.
Are you hungry?
That isnotthe sign for eat, but I have no problem with his use of gestures.
I shake my head.
Sullivan stops at a nearby McDonald’s and orders. The smell of fried sausage and egg fills the car and my stomach grumbles. I pull out the apple I took from the fruit basket. It tastes like health and misery.
Theworstpart of modeling is watching my weight. I’m already considered ‘plus sized’ in the world of couture because of the muscle definition in my legs. After years of running track, my body looks nothing close to the size zero that designers favor.
Fast food is a big no-no. If I want carbs and animal fat, it’s better to make it from home where I can control the ingredients.
Ugh.But that bacon iscallingto me!
