Page 41 of Interpreter

Milah: And they will live happily ever after. That’s how the movie ends. Wake me when it’s over. All that pole work last night wore me out.

At her text, I laugh deep, one that starts in the gut and finishes in my chest. Milah Iglesias just tore a page out of my own handbook. She’s avoiding the question by distraction. And she’s being a smart-ass by throwing that pole comment back in my face. Whatever went down between her and the other teacher, she’s not going to say. And after the day we’ve both had, I think we deserve a few secrets.

Tim: I’m sorry for earlier.

You know, when I sprinted away from you and hid in the music room. For being attracted to you when I shouldn’t be. I have nothing to offer someone like Milah, a woman who has her entire future set out before her. She’s smart. She’s multitalented and exquisite. Caramel skin and eyes that turn into liquid amber when she’s angry. Dark hair that blows in the wind, soft and touchable. And right now, even if I can’t see much of her in the dark, just knowing she is wearing my shirt, drives me fucking wild.

You have nothing to offer, Tim.

Women like Milah need men like the guy across the hall. I see him watching her. He’s perfect for her. They have things in common, like teaching, and they seem friendly with each other. Too much for my liking, but again, it’s none of my business.

My phone buzzes again, and I take a deep breath before I pick it back up.

Milah: Will you answer one question honestly?

I’m not sure how long I stare at the screen, but it must be a while since another text pops up.

Milah: Is that a no?

It doesn’t matter what she asks, I can answer. What do I have to lose at this point? She’s seen me at my worst. I can’t possibly scare her off any more than I already have.

Tim: I’ll answer one question.

I swallow harshly and reach out for Aspen at my side, and yep, she’s asleep like I knew she would be. Ugh, I should have went home when I had the chance. Now, I’m about to answer a question that I know will not be one that I want to answer. Probably ever.

The chat bubble pops up and disappears several times as I imagine she’s not sure what question she really wants to ask. But then it stays, and I wish she would have gone with something else.

Milah: Why do you hate sign language?

It’s not that hard of a question to answer. She could have gone with any number of them to get a juicier answer, but I guess she deserves the truth. The school put us together because she can interpret for me, and yet, every time she does, I wish she wouldn’t.

Tim: Because the people around me shouldn’t have to change who they are just to communicate with me.

Her response is almost immediate.

Milah: What if they want to?

Tim: It’s not their decision.

And sharing time is over. I pocket my phone and lie back against the blanket, watching the movie play across the screen. I’m completely lost as to what is going on, but I don’t care. All I can think about is getting out of here. I’ve had enough of today. Enough of sharing and enough talking.

The movie is over about an hour later. I mumble out a thank you to Milah with a limp Aspen hanging over one shoulder and Oliver on the other.

“I’ll take him,”she signs.

“I can take him to your car,” I mumble.

Milah shakes her head. “That’s okay, I can get him.”

I nod and watch as she stands on her tiptoes and tries to maneuver her hands under him. She’s not tall enough to reach my shoulder. After a moment of failing to reach Oliver’s chest, she steps back and signs, “Are you still offering to put him in the car?”

I smirk, adjusting the two kids higher on my shoulder. “Lead the way.”

We walk in silence with Milah just a few steps ahead of me. She turns back every so often, checking on me just before she holds her side.

“Are you hurt?” I call out.

She doesn’t look back, only shakes her head.

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