Page 37 of Drawn Together

An incoming Facetime from Sloane pops up immediately, and when I answer it is to her signing so fast, I have to say verbally and sign the words ‘slow down’ over and over until she starts over.

Sharing her good news, I grin from cheek to cheek, because I finally have a date for my little Sloane to come see me.

And it is finally here.

As soon as Mom texted me that their plane had landed, I worked on getting an Uber, which would probably be much easier if I took off my rubber cleaning gloves.

But, every time I tap on the Uber app, it pulls up my texts and tries to message my uncle John, so very little is getting done until Fletcher, my grand cleaning assistant, grabs the phone from my hand.

“I could go pick them up?”

“Oh my gosh, would you? Because my mom is so paranoid about strangers, and even if you’re still a stranger to them, you’re my stranger at least. I mean, not my stranger I just—”

“I will go get them. You stay here and do whatever cleansing rituals you plan on commencing here.”

I know the moment Fletcher picks them up, because Sloane texts me in all caps: HE IS CUTE??

Me: I didn’t mention that?

Sloane : Not even a little bit.

Me : To be honest, it took me a while to notice.

Sloane : How is that possible?

A squeal releases in my throat when Sloane launches herself into the apartment, flinging her skinny arms around my torso. I breathe in her strawberry shampoo, and just like that, my whole world gets a little fuller. A little louder. A little more back to being mine.

I pull back so I can sign as I talk. “Your hair!” I reach a hand up to pull the short bob in my fingers. “Beautiful.”

Thank you. Mom likes your boyfriend very much.

I roll my eyes. Don’t be weird.

She’s being weird.

I look behind her to see Mom trying to feed Fletcher, and he is giving me wide, ‘help me’ eyes.

Dad comes around the corner holding up three suitcases—all belonging to Sloane—and wearing the brightest smile I have seen in months. “There’s my girl!” He struts through the kitchen to the living room and pulls me tight to his chest. “Oh, I missed you.”

He pulls back, and I see the gray in his beard is a little more prominent now than when I left.

“Your friend said you’ve been taking good care of yourself.

” He glances around the apartment. “Did you know there was a gas leak here not long ago? I didn’t pack my CO reader, but I’ll bet there’s a hardware store nearby that has one. Oh, and the water here—”

I don’t think I realized just how home sick I’ve been until I pull back and really take in my view.

Dad looking around my apartment for dips in the floors, weak support beams, and water leaks.

Mom pulling out various snacks from her bag, letting Fletcher know he is ‘too frail’ and could ‘fly away in the wind,’ despite him clearly weighing more than she does.

Sloane is staring in awe as Lennon walks in the kitchen, almost caught in the door’s suctioned draft.

I am more than willing to bet my sister is wondering how she can get the exact pair of shoes Lennon is wearing before she gets back home.

“Oh, wait!” Lennon sets the groceries down on the counter and wipes her hands on her linen pants. “I’ve been practicing.”

She looks at Sloane and to my utter shock begins signing ASL as she speaks aloud. “Hello. My name is L-E-N-N-O-N. My friend F-L-E-T-C-H-E-R taught me some sign.”

Her ASL is robotic, and she gets stuck and accidentally signs an A instead of E in Fletcher's name. It’s messy and slow, and yet the most beautiful sign I have ever seen. Fletcher is blushing against the counter, shrugging to Sloane who is staring at him in shock, too.

“I took an online class when I first found out you were coming.”

That was over a month ago when I first mentioned it. Over a month of Fletcher in his apartment researching, taking a class, watching videos, and practicing without so much as whispering to me about it.

He signs to Sloane, saying he’s not very good, but he would like her help. She looks up at me with this look that I know all too well.

Marry him.

I know, I sign back.

What hope did I ever have in trying to separate myself from this wonderful man?

“Well, now that we’re all here, let’s go eat,” Mom suggests.

We end up going right back where Fletcher, Stephan, Lennon, and I first ate at in September.

The table is covered in antipasto—fig jam, prosciutto di parma, and gorgonzola cheese bruschetta on thin slices of toasted bread. Mom orders a grilled organic polenta that smells like heaven across from me.

Dad orders for him and Fletcher off the domestic beer menu, Mom and Lennon both get a rosé from Sicily, and Sloane and I happily stick with our Dr. Pepper.

When the time comes for our food to arrive, we go from ten conversations all at once to nothing—only the happy sounds of chewing and hums and yummy food noises.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Fletcher looks up from his pappardelle—he has pushed all his mushrooms over to my plate. “Tourist stuff or more local?”

I appreciate him trying to sign as much as he can—he doesn’t know the sign for plans, so he spells it out—it’s so cute, I’m starting to rethink if this crush is ever going to leave, or if it’s like a tattoo permanently etched in my chest.

“I kind of have a whole day planned out.” I turn to my sister and sign while I’m speaking. “Unless there’s anything extra tourist-y you want to do?”

I’m good with anything. She smiles and takes a colossal bite of her strip steak.

“Oh.” Lennon straightens. “You guys should try the row boats near Central Park; Stephan and I have done that a ton. But he’s horrible at it, so don’t let him be in charge. We could take you guys?”

I had plans for the day that consisted of shopping and coffee and books and more shopping, but Sloane's eyes are the size of saucers as she reads my translating sign, and I quickly scrap my original plans, deciding row boats are a fine idea.

When dinner is over and everyone is overstuffed, I walk out as the last of the group beside Fletcher.

I reach out a hand to grab his wrist, and he stops in his tracks.

“You learned sign.” My voice is coated in awe.

“I attempted to, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s harder than I thought. I assumed you kind of signed every word that you say, but then when I watched the videos, the teacher said there’s filler words, I guess? I’ll be honest, I still don’t understand all—”

“Fletcher.”

He turns to me, the shy smile back that I enjoy so much. “Flora.”

“I don’t think you realize how important this is to me.”

Fletcher shakes his head, the lights bouncing off his round glasses. “I don’t think you realize that me wanting to be able to communicate with your family is the bare minimum. I don’t know what you’re used to from everyone else, but start expecting more from me, okay?”