Negotiations

LaVieEnRose

Marie was in Bali for the week, so I was...essentially running an art gallery. Okay, fine, technically Thom was in charge, since he was the assistant manager and I was the assistant to the manager, but Thom's not the one everyone was going to with their questions. All day, people were coming into my office with written notes, or the handful of signs they knew, or their best charade skills to ask me where to put something or when a show was or who needed a return phone call. It was kind of awesome. Even though it would have been way easier for them to ask Thom, they were asking me.

Still, it was almost two before I had five minutes of peace and I decided I'd finally go out in search of some food. I didn't want to be gone long or else the place was clearly going to fall apart around me, so I went to the cafe next to the gallery, used the speech-to-voice on my phone to order a sandwich and a coffee, and tucked myself away in a table in the corner. I had a floor plan of the gallery with me, and I was trying to figure out the best arrangement for a show we had starting next week. I was kind of lost in my own world with that, eating my sandwich, moving around post-it notes, and I noticed my throat was kind of itching and my eyes were kind of burning but that's not exactly noteworthy where my allergies are concerned, so...no, I did not look up and realize that everyone else in the cafe had gotten the hell out of there.

Except for one woman, who grabbed my arm, and I flinched and jerked away from her. She had the hand that wasn't clamped onto my arm tight over her ear, and was saying something to me, and it looked urgent, and I squinted and tried to read her lips but it was like there was this haze between me and her...because there was, because the fucking cafe was on fire.

I froze for a second—I fucking do that, Brian says it's a PTSD thing but I think it might just be an I'm a moron thing, but he says calling myself a moron is also a PTSD thing, and I say then how come you also call me a moron all the time, but whatever—and stammered something about how I'm Deaf and I couldn't hear the alarm.

“Come on,” she said, with an insistence I could lipread even through the smoke, and that snapped me out of it kind of and I rushed out the door with her, right past the fucking flaming oven behind the counter. Outside, all the workers and customers were standing around with their hands over their ears, and a minute later a fire truck and an ambulance pulled up, though it didn't look like anyone was hurt. The firemen ushered us all across the street, away from the building.

And then right before the firemen were going to go in, the fire inside must have hit some kind of accelerant, because it suddenly surged out the windows like the entire place had been hit with a flamethrower. The firemen rushed in, and I realized there was a good chance this was going to be mentioned on Twitter and Brian is fucking addicted and knows the cafe is right by the gallery, so it was better just to nip this in the bud.

So I texted him, hey, the cafe I was in caught on fire, I'm totally fine while everyone around me was grabbing each other, grabbing me, asking each other questions, asking me questions. The EMTs were running around checking everybody else and someone was setting up one of the little kids with oxygen.

Brian called me.

Hey, I said, making myself smile at him. See? Totally fine.

I must have been convincing, because he only sort of looked like he was about to fly into a million pieces. All right. What the fuck happened? Jesus, it's loud.

Fuck if I know.

Are you wheezing? Christ, how long were you in there? Let me hear...yeah. Make them give you some oxygen.

Okay.

You need an interpreter?

No, I'm okay. God, that was freaky. The place fucking went up in flames like a second after I got out of there. I was the last person in there.

Why the fuck were you the last person in there? he said, like it was something I'd chosen to do specifically to piss him off.

The alarm didn't have lights.

The alarm didn't have lights, he repeated, and seeing it said back made it really hit me, and fuck was I mad.

Yeah. I'm gonna go, I'm going to find the manager and Americans with Disabilities Act that fucker.

Hang on, I'm on my way.

I can handle it, I said. It would take you twenty minutes to get here.

You need oxygen first anyway, Brian said, and he hung up before I could stop him.

The EMTs came over and manhandled me and talked at me which I didn't enjoy, but it turned out once the adrenaline wore off of the whole situation I really could use some oxygen, so I was still sitting down in the back of the ambulance and hadn't had a chance to yell at anyone when Brian jogged up. He pulled me up and into a hug, looking at the burnt-out cafe. Jesus, setting yourself on fire wasn't enough, now you have to do whole buildings?

Working my way up to wiping out city blocks.

I swear, your mother must have made some deal with a witch when you were a baby. No one has this much bad luck. You really can't hear that alarm at all? Nothing?

No, it's still going? He nodded. I couldn't hear the sirens either.

He studied me. I thought you had a little more hearing left than that. You heard that lamp break last year.

Must have lost it. Or this was just too high-pitched.

He put his hand on my chest, right over the scars from my last near-frying experience. Deep breath, let me...

I did. I'm okay.

All right. He looked around. Now who the fuck do I yell at?

I can do it.

They need to be yelled at about the fucking alarm not having lights and they need to be yelled at for the fact that they didn't fucking remember that they'd just taking an order from a fucking Deaf guy a minute before the goddamn alarm went off that doesn't have lights—

I can do it, I said.

He kissed my forehead. Let me do it.

I shoved him off. What the fuck? No. I said I would do it.

Put the oxygen back on.

I'm fine, I said.

He planted his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back down into the ambulance and marched towards the closest person wearing an apron.

“Brian!” I yelled, but goddamn it, it made me start coughing and the EMT was all over me with the mask again. By the time he let me go free, Brian was well into a heated, no pun-intended, discussion with a fireman and a few employees.

I touched his arm and he barely glanced at me. Hey, one second.

Don't bother. I just wanted to tell you I'm leaving.

He turned to me this time. You're what? he said, like I was the most exasperating thing in existence.

I'm going back to work.

He pinched his nose. What the fuck is this, what are you trying to tell me?

I'm telling you I'm going to work, asshole.

He glared at me. You're not going back to work. Don't be a fucking child.

That's ironic.

He sighed and rolled his neck.

I have a show to plan, I said. You have a company to run. I'll see you tonight.

**

Turns out, I saw him less than hour later when he stalked into my office. I gave him a look from my desk and didn't get up.

He said, Everyone out there is asking what smells like burned toast.

They'll survive.

Yeah, like you did. He came over and perched on my desk in front of me. You're mad at me.

I gave him my best no shit look.

Brian groaned. I was just trying to help.

You know when I could have used your help? I said, because I'd had almost an hour to stew at this point so I was prepared.

Oh, here we go.

Yeah, three fucking months ago when I was begging you to help me decide if I should get that surgery, then I could have used your help. But now, when I fucking explicitly tell you that I want to handle something myself, you won't butt the fuck out.

That was different, he said. You were perfectly capable of making that decision on your own.

I crossed my arms.

It would be one thing if you'd had an interpreter, of course I would have let you handle it. But you didn't have one there. I asked you if you wanted me to bring one. It was just easier for me to—

That's the point! The point is that they're supposed to stand there and work to communicate with me and get it through their heads that they have a communication problem! That was the fucking point! I got up and pinned some shit to my bulletin board. You know, I get through all fucking day talking to hearing people, without an interpreter, certainly without you.

I know you do.

If I need your help, I will ask you for it, I said. Like I did when I was trying to make a decision about the surgery, I almost said, but...despite what Brian might say about me, I actually don't love beating dead horses, and I'd eventually decided on my own the same thing that he wanted in the first place so all's well that end's well, I guess.

I've got to get back to work, Brian said.

Good.

He rolled his eyes and got off the desk and was on his way out when Abigail walked in. “What's up?” I said to her, and she said something I got a few words of, and I nodded and handed her a piece of paper and a pen.

Brian lingered by the door. Do you want me to—

Oh, you have got to be kidding me, I said, and Brian threw up his hands and left.

**

I had to stay late at the gallery to take care of the work that had piled up when I was not catching on fire, and I didn't get back to the apartment until after eight. I expected Brian to be pouting, drinking, if he was even in the apartment at all, but instead he was sitting at our table, where we hardly ever eat—usually we just sit in front of the TV or sit on the cushions at the coffee table—and he got up when I came in and took my bag from me. You still smell like smoke, he said.

Yeah, I should go shower.

After you eat. I made dinner.

You made dinner?

He ducked his head and looked really young, for a moment. Okay, I warmed up the leftovers from when you made dinner. Still counts.

Does it? I said, but I was smiling. I'm the fucking worst at staying pissed at Brian.

He poured me a glass of wine—I'm not supposed to drink, but one glass is usually fine—and I took the pasta out of the oven and brought it to the table. We ate in companionable quiet for a while. He'd changed into his lounging around clothes, and I couldn't stop looking at the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. Sometimes I still can't believe a guy who looks like that decided to throw it all in with me.

He set down his fork, eventually. It's not because you're Deaf and I'm hearing, he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

It's not, he said. I just... He shrugged. Some may say I have a protectiveness streak.

I grinned despite myself and shook my head.

What's so funny?

That no one but me would ever say that.

He smiled and stuck his tongue in his cheek. That's true. But they're idiots.

Yeah.

I hulk out a little bit when you almost die, he said.

I didn't almost die.

He looked at me incredulously. The building went up in flames less than a minute after you got out of it. Christ, you've almost died so many times, you don't even notice it anymore.

I rolled my eyes, because to be honest I didn't have much of a comeback to that one.

He shrugged at his plate and ate a bite. Regardless. It's not because you're Deaf and I'm hearing. It's just because you're...you. To me.

Are you looking for the sign for 'partner?' It's like this.

You're so goddamn irritating.

You're my partner too, I said.

He widened his eyes. Really?

Who's irritating? I said, and he snickered. You'd never let me take charge in some situation like that, I said. You'd die before you played the demure little lamb while I went in and did the screaming.

He considered this. That's not because of the Deaf/hearing thing, though.

But today was, I said.

No, it wasn't. That's what I'm telling you.

That's never going to not be a factor, I said. Stuff is going to be about that even if you don't want it to be about that.

I'm not just some hearing asshole walking over you, Brian insisted. I'm your hearing partner walking over you.

I laughed. You're impossible.

Yeah, I know. He touched my plate. You done here?

Yeah. Thanks.

We took a shower, and fucked kind of languidly, and after that they day caught up with me and I ended up falling asleep early while he went out. He came to bed around one and curled up really carefully around me, like he was afraid I was going to push him away. After a few hours he probably wished I would, because I was still coughing a lot, and neither of us could get any sleep.

He switched on the light eventually. I've figured out a solution to our Deaf/hearing problems, he said, all squinty and pissed-off. Just gouge my ears out.

I smiled at him and rubbed my chest. Can you find my inhaler? I could have done it myself, obviously, but I figured it was probably in my best interest to ask him to take care of something right now. Plus I didn't feel like getting up, so, win-win.

Yeah. He got up and turned on the light in the bathroom and started hunting around the medicine cabinet. It's just not our dynamic, he said after a minute. We do this, sometimes, just pick up conversations from earlier. Somehow we never get lost.

Yeah, but why not?

I take care of things. It's how it's always been.

Yeah, and historically only one of us has really been in love with that arrangement.

He said, Really?...oh, because it's me.

There you go.

You know, you could always do us both a favor and get in fewer dire situations. Or you could, you know, fucking pay attention to your surroundings sometimes.

You're right. I should have paid more attention and heard that fire alarm.

When's the last time you used this? I can't find it.

I don't know, last time my allergies were fucked.

They should have had lights on the fire alarm, he said. And a barista should have grabbed you. But there's always the option for you to, you know, look up every once a while and take stock of what's going on around you. You disappear into your head...you can't afford to do that.

This lecturing thing is nice, is this how you're proving that you respect me as an adult capable of taking care of himself?

He held up the inhaler.

Score.

He came back to bed and handed it to me, then settled on his back with my head on my lap. What if we make a deal? he said, nuzzling my stomach.

Is this about you gouging your ears out? Because I'm on board with that.

He flicked me. You fucking look up sometimes and check if things are on fire, and I'll let you come in and do the yelling next time something almost kills me. Which might take years. Nothing's almost killed me since your father.

Cancer...?

He rolled his eyes. I had a ninety-nine percent survival rate. I had a better chance of dying in a car wreck on the way to radiation. I had a two-month-long stomach flu and you know it.

I kissed his forehead.

I know I'm not perfect with this Deaf stuff, Brian said, looking right into my eyes.

You're perfect enough of the time that I expect you to be all of the time. It's frustrating.

I'm sorry. I'll be worse most of the time so you know to expect it.

Thank you.

Breathing okay? he asked, with a yawn.

Yeah. I played with his hair. Go to sleep.

**

Two years later, I was painting in the studio when he called me from work, looking harried as hell.

Our hot water heater exploded, he said.

Holy shit. Is everyone okay?

Miraculously, yes. The building manager said it wasn't connected properly when they repaired it two weeks ago.

Jesus.

The plumbing guys are on their way, he said.

Okay.

He gave me a look. So...? I could have been gravely dismembered. I don't know if you know this, but burns can be really serious.

Can they?

So...are you coming to yell at the plumping people, or...?

Oh. Oh! Yeah, I'm on my way!

He rolled his eyes and hung up, and I hightailed it to Queens. Heads were gonna goddamn roll.