“Sometimes it’s hard, but sometimes it’s easy,” I say, although it’s rarely difficult to talk to Teagan. “It’s easy talking to you, and that’s not the case with everyone.”
When people find out I know sign language or that my sister can’t hear, they sometimes want to delve too deep, ask all sorts of questions that aren’t their business. How do you feel about that? How was that growing up? What was it like when you were all kids?
What was it like? It was like my life. Her life. Our life. It was all normal to me, plain and simple.
It’s who we are, my family. We laugh and joke and tease and love. My sisters and me, my parents and us.
I like that Teagan isn’t whispering intrusive questions at me, or giving me that I’m so sorry look.
Instead, she asks something simple about my everyday life. “You must use ASL every time you’re with your sister, then. Do you use it elsewhere?”
That’s much easier to answer. “I do volunteer work with some little kids who have hearing loss. I help with reading, but I can sign if they need me to.”
She brings her hand to her heart. “You’re making me melt. That’s amazing. Big, strong hockey player signing to kids. Ransom, that’s incredible.”
I wave a hand, even as my chest warms. “It’s nothing.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not nothing. That’s inspiring. And it’s something unexpected.”
“From an athlete?”
“Well, yeah,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’m sure it means a lot to the kids and their parents.”
“That’s what they tell me, but honestly, that’s not why I do it. And I don’t put it on social media, because I don’t want the focus to be on me. I just want to help the kids. I know from Luna how beneficial it is to talk to others.”
She beams. “I love it. I would love to know some words.”
“Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.”
“I look forward to that.”
My heart glows a little from this conversation, from her interest and her admiration, but I don’t want to linger in this self-congratulatory zone.
We turn down Madison, through Saturday evening crowds, walking past couples dressed up for dates, weaving through throngs of friends decked out for a night on the town, and when I have the chance, I shift the focus back to her.
“Let’s turn the tables,” I say as my opening move.
She nods crisply. “Table turning, I am ready. What have you got?”
“Your parents’ foundation. I know the basics from the website, but I’d like to know more.”
She snaps her gaze toward me as we slow at a light. “You visited the foundation’s page?”
“This surprises you? That I know how to use the internet?”
She shakes her head, then replies, her voice soft, “Not that part, Ransom.”
My heart squeezes, and I fear I’ve said the wrong thing, made light of something at the wrong time. “Sorry, Teagan. I didn’t mean to joke.”
She doesn’t answer right away, just knits her brow. Then she draws a deep breath. “I was just surprised you looked it up. I don’t know why though. I think it caught me off guard.”
“I was honestly just curious about you,” I say, gentling my tone to match her shift in mood. “Trying to understand what makes you tick.”
Her lips relax into a soft smile, and then she shakes her head. “Hey, don’t apologize. I’m actually sort of touched.”
And now I’m surprised too. Seems like we’re both catching each other off guard tonight. “Why are you touched?”
She shrugs lightly. “Just that you made the effort. That means a lot to me, that you took an interest.” She clears her throat, her lips going straight, her eyes more serious. “My mother and little sister died in a car crash when I was twenty. My sister, Millie, was eight.”
Her voice is calm, but almost too perfectly modulated, as if she’s practiced keeping it that way. How else could she get out such horrors? My heart craters for her, at the thought of what she’s gone through.
“And then my father passed away three years ago. Heart disease.” She swallows roughly and then finishes, “Which seemed like exactly what would kill him. A broken heart.”
She wobbles on those last words, and my throat seizes as a tide of emotion wells up, a swell of sympathy. I set a hand on her back, rubbing gently as we walk. “Shit, Teagan. I’m so sorry. I knew your parents were gone. But I didn’t realize you had a little sister and that she died too. That is horrible.”
She nods quickly, screwing up the corner of her lips. “It was pretty terrible.”
We stop where the light is red at the crosswalk, and I don’t think, I just do. I wrap her in a hug. “That’s a lot to go through. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She laughs, trying to make light of it, I suspect. “Oh, stop. No pity hugs.”
