Maybe Someday(18)

he knew my boyfriend was screwing around on

me, but he also failed to mention that he’s deaf?

Not that being deaf is something he should feel

obliged to tell me. I just . . . I don’t know. I feel a little hurt that he didn’t share that fact with me.

Me: Why didn’t you tell me you were

deaf?

Ridge: Why didn’t you tell me you could

hear?

I tilt my head as I read his text and flood with

even more humiliation. He makes a very good

point.

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Oh, well. At least he won’t hear me cry myself

to sleep tonight.

Me: Do you have any alcohol?

Ridge reads my text and laughs, then nods. He

walks to the cabinet below the sink and pulls out

a container of Pine-Sol. He takes two glasses out

of the cabinet, then proceeds to fill them with . . .

cleaning liquid?

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

When he doesn’t turn around, I slap myself in

the forehead, remembering he can’t hear me.

This will take some getting used to. I walk to

where he’s standing. When he sets the Pine-Sol

down on the counter and picks up both glasses, I

grab the bottle of cleaning solution and read it,

then arch an eyebrow. He laughs and hands me a

glass. He sniffs his drink, then motions for me to

do the same. I hesitantly bring it to my nose and

am met with the burning scent of whiskey. He

holds the glass out, clinks it to mine, and we both

down our shots. I’m still recovering from the

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awful taste when he picks up his phone and texts

me again.

Ridge: Our other roommate has an issue

with alcohol, so we have to hide it from

him.

Me: Is his issue that he hates it?

Ridge: His issue is that he doesn’t like to

pay for it himself and he drinks everyone

else’s.

I nod, set my phone back down, grab the con-

tainer, and pour us each another shot. We repeat

the motions, downing the second one. I grimace

as the burn spreads its way down my throat and

through my chest. I shake my head, then open my

eyes.

“Can you read lips?” I ask.

He shrugs, then grabs a piece of paper and a

pen conveniently placed on the counter next to

him. Depends on the lips.

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I guess that makes sense. “Can you read

mine?”

He nods and takes the pen again. Mostly. I’ve

learned to anticipate what people are going to

say more than anything. I take most of my cues

from body language and the situations I’m in.

“What do you mean?” I ask, pushing on the

counter with my palms and hopping up onto the

bar. I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t hear be-

fore. I didn’t realize I was full of so many ques-

tions. It could be that I’m already feeling a buzz

or I just don’t want him to go back to his room

yet. I don’t want to be left alone to think about

Hunter and Tori.

Ridge sets the notepad down and picks up my

phone, then tosses it to me. He pulls one of the

bar stools out and sits on it next to where I’m

seated on the counter.

Ridge: If I’m at the store and a cashier

speaks to me, I can mostly guess what

they’re asking. Same thing with a waitress

at a restaurant. It’s pretty simple to

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gather what people are saying when it’s a

routine conversation.

Me: But what about right now? This isn’t

routine. I doubt you have many homeless

girls spend the night on your couch, so

how do you know what I’m saying?

Ridge: Because you’re basically asking me

the same questions as anyone else who

initially finds out I can’t hear. It’s the

same conversation, just different people.

This comment bothers me, because I don’t

want to seem like those kinds of people at all. It

has to get old, having to field the same questions

over and over.

Me: Well, I don’t really want to know

about it, then. Let’s change the subject.

Ridge looks up at me and smiles.

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Damn. I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or the

fact that I’ve been single for two hours, but that

smile does some serious flirting with my

stomach.

Ridge: Let’s talk about music.

“Okay,” I say with a nod.

Ridge: I wanted to talk to you about this

tonight. You know, before I ruined your

life and all that. I want you to write lyrics

for my band. For the songs I have written

and maybe some future songs if you’re up

for it.

I pause before responding to him. My initial

response is to ask him about his band, because

I’ve been dying to see this guy perform. My

second response is to ask him how the hell he can