Let’s eat first, said Austin’s mother.
Austin’s father carried in a heaping plate of fried chicken, the crust still glistening with oil in spots. They took their seats, passed side dishes to one another. Sky smacked a light-up rattle against the side of her bouncer, then bit the handle with fervor.
Cute hearing aids, said Grandpa Willis. Not like when we were in school.
His grandpa described the hearing aids Austin had seen in old photos: a big electronic microphone box strapped to the chest, two wires snaking up to his ears.
Not even like when we were adults! said his grandma.
Neither of his parents responded.
O-k, what’s wrong? said Austin, looking pointedly at his father.
Nothing.
You don’t like the pink hearing aids?
I like them fine. They just don’t work.
They’re broken? I thought she just needed new earmolds. What’d the doctor say?
His father shook his head and took a bite of chicken, big enough that Austin knew he had been trying to buy himself some time. But that was the thing about ASL—you could talk with your mouth full.
Threshold for her left ear has declined, said his mother. She’s no longer benefiting from the aid on that side.
Doctor thinks it’s reasonable to expect the same in the other ear over time, said his father.
S-o. She’s deaf?
Officially.
Strong genes, his grandfather.
His grandma patted Grandpa Willis on the arm as if to shush him, but it was clear she took some pride in the news, too.
Well, maybe it’s good, said Austin.
He thought of Charlie, the way she was always upset with her parents, how she had to take all remedial classes even though she was obviously smart. He felt relieved for Sky, who would be sure who she was from the onset.
Better to be full deaf than stuck in the middle.
Austin’s grandparents nodded with approval, but he noticed right away that his parents were both staring hard at their plates.
Things are different now, said his father, nodding at Austin across the table. Even from when you were little.
And it can be different for girls, said his mother.
What’s different? said his grandma. What happened?
Nothing happened. I just mean people can take advantage.
What are you talking about? said Austin.
The community is shrinking, said his father. There are budget cuts in the district—
Hey, wait a minute! We’re not that old! said Grandpa Willis, still in his easy, joking way. Don’t rush the funeral over here.
She’s a good candidate for a cochlear implant, his father blurted.
Austin dropped his fork, the mashed potatoes in his mouth now gluey and hard to swallow.
What? I don’t understand.
We think it’s what’s best, said his father. She’s heard speech naturally for a few months, she has a good foundation. The less gap in sound input, the better.
His father paused to take another bite of chicken, as if they were having a completely normal conversation. Austin couldn’t think straight; he was suddenly overcome by the thick smell of the grease. Grandma Lorna looked right past his father and turned her attention to her daughter.
How could you allow this?
Austin’s mother, who’d eaten nothing, straightened the cutlery on the table beside her plate.
Safety concerns? School budgets? Deaf people have been under attack for centuries. Who are you trying to fool? said Grandma Lorna.
I want to give her as many opportunities as I can.
I knew this would happen, said Grandpa Willis, now scowling openly at Austin’s father. We raised you better than this.
Better than trying to get the best for my child?
Better than letting some hearing man step on your neck!
Austin’s mind, which had gone blank after the mention of the implant, was now full of thoughts, only they were moving much too fast.
You’re going against everything you taught me, he said. What about Deaf pride? Deaf gain? You’re just giving up?
His mother looked hurt, but did she expect him to be diplomatic? Pragmatic? She’d made him this way.
Skylar will still be Deaf, said his father. She’ll still sign. And implants have changed so much since you were a kid. They’re really powerful tools.
Why don’t you love her the way she is? Why do you have to drill a fucking hole in her head?
Of course we love her, said his mother. We want to give her the best life we can. The best education.
What are you TALKING about? River Valley is a great school.
Austin burst up from his chair, his body apparently planning to flee this conversation. But at the mention of River Valley, his parents exchanged a look that froze him in place. Clearly they had not meant for the conversation to go there. His father tried to look away, but his mother held his gaze, her eyes slicing through the room’s stillness.
What? said Austin.
Again, his mother’s stare.
I can’t! said his father in close, restrained sign. It violates the code of ethics.
What, said Austin with his mouth, is going on?
His father, who’d been in the midst of offering up another excuse, was halted by the sound of Austin’s voice. He dropped his hands into his lap and looked to Austin’s mother.
Your father was interpreting an administrative meeting. They’re closing River Valley.
What?
He looked to his father, who only gave a small nod. Grandpa Willis had also pushed himself back from the table and was now rooting around the kitchen junk drawer, for a lighter, Austin guessed.
Closing down? Permanently?
This is not public information. You CAN’T TELL ANYONE.
We don’t want to create a panic.
You really think the community will keep it a secret? said Grandma Lorna.
No one else knows yet. Only February and Phil were at the meeting.
Austin felt his dinner churning inside him and thought he might throw up, so he ran down the hall into the bathroom and stood with his face over the toilet. Nothing happened, and his parents didn’t come after him. He fled to his room but only felt caged. Were they even planning to tell him, or just leave it as a surprise for next school year? What would happen to his classmates? And why the hell did he always lose his goddamn sneakers? He finally found them beneath his desk and pulled them on, thought of running into the dining room, grabbing Sky, and making a break for it, but even in his mind’s eye he knew that was ridiculous. Instead he slunk back down the hall—a slow and ragged route avoiding the loose floorboards. But his father was there anyway, blocking the front door.
Where are you going?
Out.
Austin had never missed a New Year’s party and was expecting to meet with more of a fight, or at least to have to put forth an explanation of where, exactly, he was going, but his father didn’t press further.
I’m serious about the River Valley stuff. It can’t get out.
What do you care?
This isn’t about me, or you, or Sky. Let Headmistress bring it to the community in due time. Not ours to tell.
Whatever.
Austin tried to reach around his father for the doorknob, but his dad wouldn’t budge.
O-k. FINE, he said.
His father moved, and Austin opened the door. There on his doorstep, face cast blue in the light of her phone screen, was Charlie.
Hey, she said. Was just texting you.
Austin only shook his head and took her hand, leading her away from the house.