Invincible Summer(25)

“I don’t even mean, like, physically alone. Just . . . don’t you want to be able to make a decision without someone unnecessary complaining that they weren’t consulted? Or stand in line at the grocery store without having to make small talk with the woman behind you? Or . . . I don’t know, Jesus, take a shower without all the stupid things you said wrong the whole day bouncing around in your head?”

“You think too much.”

“I know. I’m really, really aware that I think too much.

Listen, Chase, this is the best advice I can give you. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that college is for smart people. College eats smart people alive.”

The restaurant is one of those steakhouses with dark wood booths and barely enough light to read the menu. When we go out, it’s usually to a steakhouse; they tend to have macaroni and cheese, which is a staple when you have three kids under thirteen. But Claudia orders something in a French, with a French accent, smiling the whole time at the short-haired waitress. Claude’s wearing this dress—it’s green and clings to her shoulders, and it makes me uncomfortable.

Gid tugs my sleeve when the waitress looks at him. Want he says, and points at a picture of a hamburger. He completely couldn’t eat more than two bites of that.

It’s about as big as he is.

The name’s written right next to it—Southwestern Steak Burger. Maybe he’ll pick at the bun. I look at his skinny little elbows. The boy needs to get more protein.

I point to a picture of a hotdog instead. Something he can actually manage.





No no no.


“Just a second,” Claudia says, biting her lip at the waitress.

Dad says, “Just pick something out for him.”

“He can choose his own food,” Mom and Noah mumble

together. They glance up at each other.

Gideon points to the hamburger.

Name tell me I sign.

He looks at the burger, looks at the name, looks at me. His lips pucker, and I wonder if he’s understanding, for the first time, that there’s a whole world out there that he’s not getting, and it’s more than just screaming parents and smoke alarms. I wonder if he ever thought that those strange symbols on paper have to do with our moving mouths he can’t comprehend.

He’s got to learn to read, but I realize I have no idea to what extent Gideon understands being deaf. Does he know that there are other people out there like him? Does he know this isn’t going away? I say, “He’s going to have the Southwestern Steak Burger.”

The waitress writes this down. “Okay, sure thing.”

I look down. “Thank you.”

Mom and Dad order wine—independently, by the glass,

not the bottle. Mom orders red and Dad orders white, but they still take their sips at the same time.

“I’m not hungry,” Noah complains to me, quietly.

“Are you sick?” He kind of looks like shit, and maybe that explains why he’s been so weird lately.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

For once, Gideon’s not screaming and causing a scene, but Lucy’s pounding her fists on her high chair and shrieking, so we’re still getting stares. I want to apologize to everyone. To no one in particular, I say, “I’m sorry my parents think bringing a one-year-old to a restaurant is a good idea.”

My mother sighs like Noah does. “Chase . . . ”

Dad’s laughing.

“And what’s so funny?” she says.

“It’s just that he’s making this announcement to no one . . . ”

Claudia gets up and goes to the bathroom. Dad’s still giggling. “Oh, no, we’ve offended Claudia.”

I snort, Dad catches my eye, and the two of us lose it.

We’re crying into our iced teas.

Mom says, “I . . . really don’t understand what’s so funny.” Noah says, “‘I was assailed by memories of a life that wasn’t mine anymore, but one in which I’d found the simplest and most lasting joys.’”

I gasp in air. “That’s it. That’s it exactly.”

Dad leans on the table, shaking his head. “You guys are bizarre,” he says, and I’m laughing even harder.

Gideon leans his head against my arm, and I lean down

and kiss the top of his head. He’s not laughing, but I still am, so he’s shaking when I’m shaking.

My dad’s getting a hold of himself. “You boys have a Camus quote for every occasion.”

Noah and I look at each other. “It’s more like ten Camus quotes that work for all occasions,” he says, because I’m still laughing.

This is when Gideon reaches for another roll and spills his soda all over my shirt.

I completely fall apart. I’m totally freezing. Ice sticks to my good tie.

“God.” Mom hides her forehead in her hand. “God, I can’t believe Noah is our most well-behaved.”

Noah giggles. “I am the oldest and wisest, after all.” He uses his cloth napkin to dab up the mess Gideon made. Gideon looks like he’s about to cry, so I give him a hug and sign fine.

Sorry. Sad no. I hug him again.

“Go clean yourself up,” Mom tells me.

I head toward the bathroom, holding my shirt a few inches away from me, signifying to the other diners that this is not my fault. That this isn’t my shirt or my mess. My life is just something that happened to me.