Aaron (19 page)

It took a few minutes, which meant that Spencer too was trying to decide how much of his story to tell. Aaron couldn’t blame him; that’s exactly what Aaron had done when editing his own gruesome tale.

SPENCER: My mom was mugged and then died while giving birth to me about 3 months too early.

 

AARON: I’m sorry.

SPENCER: Me too. Not so much about the deafness, because I don’t really know what I’m missing since I was born deaf, but because I never got to meet my mom. I have pictures, and Aunt Nelle tells me stories about her, but I really wish I’d known her.

The chat window was quiet for a while as Aaron tried to take in what Spencer had told him, probably just like Spencer was trying to digest what Aaron had told him. Finally, a message popped up asking Aaron if he needed the notes from that day’s lecture he’d missed, and the awkward silence was over. Aaron and Spencer talked for a few more minutes about class and their projects, but after the emotionally draining, edited baring of their souls, it just didn’t seem like the time to get into their project.

Aaron set his chat client to away, tossed his laptop to the foot of the bed, and sat back against the headboard. As he relaxed, he noticed the faint smell of garlic and something tomato based. It took him a minute, but then he placed the robust smell of his mother’s homemade spaghetti sauce. Her spaghetti had always been his favorite, ever since he’d been a toddler and begged her to make him “bisketti.” For the first time in years, he felt a burning in his throat and a tightening in his chest. He didn’t cry, but he sat there, on the very edge of tears, for a long time, thinking about what it would be like for him to lose his mother. After everything he’d gone through over the last few years, that would have killed him; there was no doubt in his mind.

Spencer had never even known his mother, never felt her arms around him when he woke from a bad dream, never had her blow on his scraped knee, never even brought her dandelions from the yard, totally unaware they were weeds because she treated them like prized roses. Aaron got up off the bed, rubbing his face with his hands before grabbing the now empty plate his mother had brought up earlier. Carrying it down the stairs into the kitchen, he set it down on the large island in the middle

of the room. He watched his mother’s back for a few minutes while she stirred the contents of a large pot on the stove. Then she used a wooden spoon to take a taste.

“Mom, can I have a taste?” Aaron asked quietly, and his mother turned to smile at him before dipping the spoon into the sauce. She held it aloft with one hand, her other hand underneath to prevent it from dripping onto her clean floor. Leaning forward, Aaron opened his mouth, allowing his mother to feed him from the old, worn wooden spoon.

“Man, that is really good,” Aaron said, and took pleasure in her beaming smile at the compliment from her usually stoic son. “Thanks, it will be even better later.” She chuckled and tossed the spoon into the sink behind her.

“I love you, Mom,” Aaron admitted quietly. He was sure the sentiment had come from the pain in his chest at the thought of what it would mean to lose her. His mother froze at the sink for several seconds and then turned to face her son. Aaron saw her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I love you too, Aaron, so much.”

 

Chapter Eleven

 

S
PENCERwatched the interpreter relaying the content of Dr. Mayer’s lecture without really seeing her. He registered that her hands were moving, caught a few of the signs, but mostly he sat and wondered how to ask Aaron to come to his house to work on their project. His father had asked about Aaron again over dinner the night before, verifying his last name and asking strangely detailed questions about Aaron’s behavior at school. He could tell his father was interested, but had no idea what would happen if he brought his friend home.

His heart raced as he drummed out a tuneless song on the desk in front of the lab computer’s keyboard. He concentrated hard on not tapping too hard so he didn’t disrupt class. Mr. McCluskey had taught him that hard lesson in his freshman year of high school by making him sit in detention, bored senseless, until he learned to stop fidgeting. It took many, many long hours to break him of the habit.

God, he hadn’t thought about that in years.
AARON: You look bored.

It took him a minute to look over at the computer and away from the interpreter, but when he did he shrugged at Aaron. Well, he had his friend’s attention, so that seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask the question, only he couldn’t force his fingers to type it out. He drummed for a minute more before deciding this nervous shit was for chicks, and hit send before he could change his mind.

SPENCER: Not bored, just thinking. Want to come over to my house today and work on the project?

There, he’d done it; he’d gotten the words out. Aaron took his hands off the keyboard and stared in the opposite direction from Spencer, apparently trying to work out his feelings on the invitation. As Spencer watched, he put his hands on the keyboard and then took them off again and sat back, still never looking to his left, at Spencer. Crossing his arms, Aaron balled his hands tightly into fists. Spencer considered rescinding the invitation, but just sat still and waited to see what Aaron would do. Finally, he put his hands up to the keyboard again and started to type.

Spencer looked back at the interpreter so he could delay the rejection.

 

AARON: I can’t. I can’t do that.

Shit.
He knew the answer was coming, but it still stung. Aaron didn’t trust him. After the hours of talking, after telling each other their horror stories, after all the code they’d written during late night chats, Aaron still didn’t feel comfortable being with him. It hurt more than he could readily define to himself, and he couldn’t really figure out why. Aaron was the first person in a long time to look past his hearing impairment and actually see
him
. That meant more to him than he could ever articulate. He wanted Aaron to know he saw
him
too, not just the scars or the anxiety.

SPENCER: Okay, how about if I come to your house?

He had to build up Aaron’s trust; he knew that. By going to Aaron’s house, at least a few times in the beginning, maybe he could get his friend to come over and visit. The logistics of getting his father and Aaron together were just boggling. It shouldn’t have to be that hard.

AARON: I think I could do that. Right after class, or?

SPENCER: I have another class after this one today. I can be there by 4:00.
Aaron pulled out his cell phone, completely ignoring Dr. Mayer’s ban on them in the classroom, and sent a message to someone, probably his mother. A minute later, he saw Aaron look at the phone again and smile.

AARON: I’ll send you my address. My mom invited you to stay for dinner too.
SPENCER: I’d love to.
Spencer smiled, and the expression felt tight, almost foreign on his face. After months of worrying about his father, it was weird to be happy. He liked Aaron, though, so being with him did make him feel better. Minimizing the chat window, he turned his attention back to the interpreter, who looked irritated that he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to focus on the lecture, but his mind drifted to a half daydream of what would happen later at Aaron’s house.

“
M
OM, what if I freak out while he’s here?” Aaron asked his mother as they stood at the kitchen counter making a salad. His mother chopped up the vegetables and put them in the salad bowl while Aaron tore up lettuce and spinach leaves and tossed them in with the radishes and cucumbers she’d already done. He couldn’t admit it aloud, but Aaron didn’t like knives. He didn’t like them at all.

“You said you told him a bit about what happened, right?” she asked as she dumped a cutting board full of diced tomatoes into the bowl and mixed up the salad with two huge salad tongs.

“I told him the generic version, yeah.” Aaron threw more lettuce leaves into the bowl, almost halfheartedly.

 

“Then if he’s really your friend, honey, he’ll understand.”

“And if he isn’t?” Aaron asked as he reached for the core of the lettuce and banked it off the wall into the kitchen garbage can in the corner. He grinned sheepishly when his mother looked at him, but then she went back to the salad.

“If he isn’t, then you’ll finish the project and move on to the next class.”

 

“I want him to be,” Aaron said almost too quietly for his mother to hear.

“So do I, honey.”
A
T TENminutes to four, the doorbell rang. Aaron’s head jerked around in the direction of the living room, though he couldn’t see the front door from his seat at the breakfast bar.

“Don’t you move. You keep stirring that cake,” his mother ordered and then added in a louder voice, “Allen, can you answer the door and let Aaron’s friend in?” She wiped her hands on her apron and pulled a glass baking dish from under the cabinet. Aaron watched her as he listened for his brother to open the door. Spencer was his first real friend in so long; his hands shook a little as he waited.

“Hi, Spencer,” Allen shouted, and Aaron cringed. He looked at his mother, pleading silently to take over with the cake. She rolled her eyes, more at his brother’s handling of Spencer’s deafness than Aaron’s nerves, and took the spoon from him. She picked the bowl up and started pouring the batter into the pan just as he rounded the corner out of the kitchen.

“He’s deaf, genius. Talking louder isn’t going to make any difference,” Aaron told Allen as he shuffled into the living room. His courage failed just as the kitchen tile phased into living room carpet, and he stopped behind the couch as Spencer lingered near the front door. Spencer looked almost nervous as he took in the dainty couch and matching wingback chair that stood around spindly little end tables his family had never used. They spent all their time in the family room near the back of the house, where the television hung on the wall. The living room was mainly just for guests.

“Just leave your shoes by the door and come with me,” Aaron said slowly, but more quietly than his brother had. With a glance at Allen, Spencer nodded and toed out of his shoes. He didn’t speak; he just waited silently for Aaron, who wondered if maybe he didn’t want to talk aloud in front of his brother. Aaron made a “come on” gesture, and Spencer followed him into the kitchen.

“Mom, this is my friend Spencer,” he said, making sure he was turned toward Spencer so his friend could see his lips. “Spencer, this is my mom.”

“It. Is. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You.,” Spencer told her in his slow, purposeful cadence, even as he leaned against the doorframe almost out of the room.

“It is very nice to meet you too. Aaron has told me so much about you.” His mom took off her apron and gave Spencer a little wave. He waved back with a quiet smile and looked relieved he didn’t have to talk anymore. “Aaron, why don’t you take Spencer up to your room, and I’ll come get you when dinner is ready?”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Aaron could feel Spencer’s awkward tension and led him up the stairs. He understood exactly how Spencer felt around his family, because strangers were a source of anxiety for Aaron too. In fact, his heart stuttered in his chest as they reached the top. He didn’t like Spencer behind him. He didn’t like everything so close. He thought the air might solidify in his lungs. With the plush carpet of his room under his feet and the open space around him, the feeling dissipated almost as fast as it started. Aaron dropped down into his desk chair and powered on his laptop while Spencer dropped his stuff on the bed but didn’t bring out his computer right away. Instead, he looked around Aaron’s room, lingering at the soccer trophies collecting dust on a high shelf.