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Wilder laughed and rapped his knuckles on the top of the counter, then backed up and headed for the stairs. When he got to the landing, he saw the door to the main room cracked open, so he knocked and pushed in a little more, poking his head around the side.
He’d never been in Augustin House, except for the shops downstairs, and he was surprised to find the place really did resemble a little apartment. There was a kitchenette, something like a living room, and in the back, a bedroom that he could see through the open door.
Luca was there, bent over at the table tapping on his laptop, and he glanced over his shoulder with a slight flush. ‘One minute,’ he signed with his hand before resuming typing.
Wilder had forgotten the sheer comfort of having someone around him who spoke his language more fluently than Jayden’s fumbling attempts to learn through Wilder, YouTube, and osmosis. Wilder loved it about his friend—the effort he put into it, but Jayden’s brain wasn’t wired for languages that way, and often it was more of a struggle than anything else.
The way Luca’s fingers flicked through the air, the effortless sign like he was just using it, not trying to make it something specifically for Wilder—it left something warm in his chest. He’d avoided the Deaf community for years, still struggling with his right to belong after hearing for most of his life. But he felt a connection now, through Luca who had given space to Adriano in their hearing family to be Deaf. Luca was a reminder that not everyone was like his mother. That there was space for him, even amongst all the hearing people of Savannah.
Wilder breathed through those thoughts, pushing them aside, then his gaze roamed over the kitchen, which was a mess. It smelled a little stale and sour—like old dishes and tomatoes that were starting to rot, and there were sauce stains on the small stove, and a couple of half-eaten plates of dinner shoved to the side.
“You have a maid, don’t you?”
Luca looked up, his eyes wide and startled. ‘No,’ he signed, then flushed and shrugged. “They’re called housekeepers, and yeah, but not here. I know how to clean my own mess.”
Wilder glanced back at the mess, then at him again. “Do you?”
“I’ve been—” Luca started to defend, then he scowled and went back to his work.
“Busy?”
Wilder laughed when Luca glared at his computer screen, and since it looked like this was going to take a minute, he moved to the sink and began to organize the dishes. It was small and cramped, but he made space and got everything rotting shoved into the disposal, flicking it on and feeling as the vibrations under his fingers stuttered, then smoothed out as it all went down the drain. He rinsed everything and stacked it, and when he looked back up, Luca was staring at him with something like mortification on his face.
‘I know how to wash dishes,’ Luca signed.
‘Good.’ Wilder rinsed his hands, then swiped them on a dish towel before approaching the other man. ‘You can wash them when you get home. We should head out, Will’s waiting for us.’ He took a quick look at Luca’s outfit—jeans that probably cost more than his monthly rent, and a t-shirt that was thin enough to show his nipples, but probably on purpose. It wasn’t the best for being outside, but as long as he was wearing sun block, it would do. He led the way to the door, then waited on the top step as Luca locked up.
“What are we doing out there?” he asked aloud as Wilder headed out the front door and to his car.
“I don’t know. I told Will you were looking to get your hands dirty, so he said he had plenty of things that’ll mess up your pretty nails.”
Luca glared again as he got in the passenger seat and slammed the door. “I’m not going to be ashamed for the things I like.”
At that, Wilder flushed, because he hadn’t meant it to be cruel. His friends all had a sharp sense of humor, and nothing was sacred. It was just too easy to forget that Luca hadn’t built up defenses against them. When people attacked Luca—even under the guise of humor, Wilder was pretty sure they meant every word.
“Have you had one of Jayden’s manicures yet?”
Luca glanced at him like he wasn’t sure Wilder was being serious or not, and there was something impossibly young in the line of his face, even if he was older. He wasn’t stunted—at least, Wilder didn’t think he was. More like he’d spent a lot of his life lost in the shadow of siblings, from above and below.
“I haven’t done one in forever,” he went on when it was obvious Luca wasn’t going to answer him. “Last year during a…bad anniversary, he gave me one for free as a way to help me de-stress.”
Luca’s eyes widened. “Bad anniversary?”
Wilder swallowed heavily, speeding up as they hit the open mountain road. “Yeah—it’s not something I like to talk about, and Raphael was really good about it.” Wilder bit his lip, then sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings before. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that type of self-care.”
“Girlie shit, you mean?” Luca shot back.
Wilder blinked. “Did you say girlie shit?”
“I’ve heard it before,” Luca said with a huff.
Wilder shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant. Jesus, you’re defensive.” He felt his own hackles rising, so he fell silent, and out of the corner of his eye, watched Luca wrap his arms around his middle and turn his gaze out the window.
For the first time since seeing the sorry man sitting on that bus bench, he wondered if maybe he should have just let him get the damn ticket and go. There was so much going on in his head, so much he obviously couldn’t explain. Wilder had never considered a life of privilege could be a prison for someone—but clearly Luca had suffered something.
He knew all too well what it was like to feel undervalued in your own world. He was a commodity, a tool to his mother and nothing else. He’d ceased being a child to her and existed as a communication device. He’d seen the horror and pity on other Deaf parents’ faces when he told him what growing up with her was like—but it only served to remind him that he had the short end of the stick. His father loved him, but he never stood up to his wife. His sister loved him, but only quietly where she wouldn’t be encouraged to step on Wilder’s back to achieve her own goals.
His therapist called it abuse, but the word still felt wrong on his tongue. He didn’t know if it was because she was his mother or if it was because he believed he should be stronger than her sharp words, but it was a weak spot he’d probably always have.
