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Zev waves his hand at me, then taps a Y on his chin. ‘What’s wrong? Tell me?’

I wave him off and roll my shoulders back. I’m not too sore, but I’m on the verge of going too long on weights, which would be a mistake because I can’t afford to take time off work for overdoing it. I do need my arms to communicate.

‘Family stuff?’

For the first time in months, it’s not them, thank God.

For the last little while, my family has been up in arms because my brother decided to move out.He’s in his thirties, so that wouldn’t have been a big deal except for the fact that my brother is Deafblind. He’d been diagnosed with Ushers type 2 when he was seven—I was just old enough to remember my parents coming home from the doctor after Otto had run into the doorframe for the fifth time and given himself another black eye.

I watched as my mom collapsed on herself and wailed and wailed. It had been terrifying. Otto and I were too young to really get it. He understood the concept of blind but didn’t quite understand what was happening to him.

At least, not right away.

But then his vision got really bad. They had him in treatments and genetic testing and stem cell therapy in an attempt to at least stave off the vision loss.

But it hadn’t worked.

Otto was eighteen the day he woke up fully blind. He made his way into my room, crawled next to me on the bed, stuck his hand in mine, and just signed, ‘Gone.’

It was over. His vision was done. The cells were dead, and nothing was ever going to bring them back.

After that, my mom thought wrapping him in a metaphorical cocoon made of feathers and bubble wrap and foam was the only way to protect him. Otto fought back as best he could, but he was a pacifist and always had been.

He got tired though—because of course he got tired. He knew our neighborhood like the back of his hand. He had a system for dealing with people. Oftentimes, it was just them shouting at him until they were in the vocal range and decibel he could hear, but hey, it was something. He learned that he loved plants, and more than that, he learned he was good at growing them.

He also learned he was freakishly good at landscaping, and eventually, two of the guys in our group of friends offered him a job. My mom flipped. My older brothers attempted to stage an intervention.

In the end, we showed up with a moving van while everyone was at work and dropped Otto off at his new place.

It took three months for my mom to believe Otto wasn’t going to spontaneously die in a lawn mower accident or whatever she was afraid of. Then, it was another two months before she realized he was doing just fine with his disability funds and getting paid under the table from Max, so she was able to unclench.

A little.

She still made me vow on my grandfather’s grave that I would be there to look out for him. I agreed only to shut her up. Frankly, Otto is doing better than I am. Maybe not when it comes to dating and falling in love, but he’s just started taking care of bees, damn it. It’s like having thousands of little buzzing children, and what do I have besides bread loaves and tax bills?

Zev taps me on the temple, and I realize I’ve zoned out again. I should probably go visit Otto. He’ll talk some sense into me. Or, at the very least, drag me to see his bees, where I’ll get stung to deathMy Girlstyle, and then at least I’ll be out of my misery. Everyone else can deal with the trauma.

‘I need to take off.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Zev swings his leg over me and sits on my thighs. ‘What’s up?’

I roll my eyes and attempt to shove him, but he’s like a goddamn mountain. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Liar.’

I flop backward and throw my hands up. ‘Fine. I think I wanted to have sex with a hearing guy this afternoon.’

Zev stays frozen for a beat, then bursts into laughter as he rolls away. He curls his body into it, shaking until he finally sits up, and I flip him the bird. He grins. He really is a pretty guy. It’s too damn bad he’s not my type.

It’s too damn bad that hot terpis.

‘That’syour crisis? I thought someone died!’

‘Someonediddie. It was me. I’m dead inside,’ I retort.

Zev keeps laughing as he asks, ‘Who is he?’

‘Robbie’s terp. Rhett.’