“It has to be good news, right?” the car speakers sound, relaying the message from her phone. She calls it Cordy… because her vocal cords are whack. She finds it ironic. I find it kind of morbid, but whatever.

“I don’t want you getting your hopes up, Becca,” Martin says.

“Hopes up for what?” I chime in.

Becca takes my hand, neither of them answering me. She types on her phone, “Make sure you tell your mom and Tommy about coming over.”

“Over where?” Martin asks.

“I invited them for a late lunch at our house.”

“Oh no,” Martin murmurs. “Tell them to wear something with lots of pockets to hide the inedible scraps Becca calls food.”

* * *

There’s a skip in Becca’s step while we make our way up to a large building. Going by the signs on the door, I assume it’s filled with medical suites. She walks through the foyer, my arm gripped tightly to her chest and when we reach the elevators, she presses the button that has the doors opening. Once inside, she hits the button for the third floor, her smile uncontainable when she looks up at me.

She’s so damn beautiful.

And I’m so damn lucky to have her.

I squeeze her hand. “Olive juice,” I mouth.

Her smile widens. “So much,” she mouths back.

* * *

Becca introduces me to Lexy and I shake her hand, call her ma’am, tell her it’s an absolute pleasure to meet her and that Becca’s told me great things about her, even though I know almost nothing about her besides the fact that she’s her voice therapist. (A voice therapist for someone who has no voice… now that’s ironic.) But, Becca said I had to be on my best behavior, so that’s what I’m doing.

We sit in her office, an office filled with medical degrees and diagrams of mouths and throats and chests and a bunch of other gadgets I also know almost nothing about.

Again, Becca sits in the middle—still bouncing with excitement—her dad on one side and me on the other and we sit in silence, waiting for Lexy to pull out a file and sit behind her desk.

We wait.

And wait some more.

Finally, Lexy looks up from the desk and speaks. “I called you this morning because I didn’t want you waiting any longer and with the news I have, I didn’t want to have to tell you over the phone.” Her demeanor is the opposite of Becca’s from earlier and we must all see that, because the air turns thick and Becca’s no longer bouncing.

“So what does that mean?” Martin says.

My head’s spinning, a million scenarios running through my mind. What the hell does it mean?

Lexy leans on her forearms, the folder now open in front of her. “Doctor Schmidt looked over your file and your medical history. And while I did the same, and thought that you’d be the perfect candidate for the operation,”—what operation?—“he was unable to give us the outcome we all wanted. I’m so sorry, Becca. The operation’s not suitable for someone in your position. There’s just too much damage that’s irreversible.”

Operation.

Damage.

Irreversible.

That’s basically all I got from her speech.

Becca inhales deeply and squares her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she signs, but it’s not.

It’s not okay at all. She’s fighting the disappointment. Fighting the tears. “We all knew that the operation wasn’t a sure thing, right?”

What fucking operation?

Martin clears his throat. “So that’s it? There’s no alternative? No second opinion?”

Oh, we’ll get a second opinion!

Lexy closes the folder and leans back in her chair. “Dr. Schmidt is the most advanced doctor in his field. But I don’t want you to be discouraged, Becca. There can be so many developments. So many things can change and you’re young. That’s a good thing.”

Becca nods and plants the fakest of all fake smiles on her face. Her hands rise, her fingers moving. “It’s not so bad,” she signs. “At least now I can quit my crappy job.”

31

—Becca—

“I’m good,” Cordy says for me.

It’s the third time I’ve tapped the speak button since we got back in the car ten minutes ago. I haven’t needed to change the response once, and I don’t know why Dad keeps asking. I said everything I needed to say in that office.

It was never a sure thing.

I’m not disappointed.

I just am.

Josh blindly reaches for my hand and squeezes it once, but he won’t look at me. Apparently what’s on the other side of his window is more fascinating.

“I’m good,” Cordy says again, the two words echoing through the small, unbreathable space.

I almost push Josh out of the car when we finally pull into the driveway, needing the fresh air in my lungs more than I need Dad’s questions, more than I need Josh’s support. Without a word, Dad goes into the house while Josh and I stand in the driveway.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his eyes holding a tinge of gold against the morning sun.

“There’s nothing to talk about. It is what it is,” I sign.

Josh sighs. “I’m sorry,” he almost hesitates to say. “Your hands were going too fast… I couldn’t…”

“Don’t worry,” I sign.

“No.” He steps forward and tugs on my top. “Just try again. Just go slower this time.”

Shaking my head, I reach in my pocket for my phone, and have Cordy do my talking, “I said, let’s talk about it later. I’ve got a long day ahead and I need to go to the store to get things for lunch. We can meet at Say Something at eleven. Okay?”

“I can go to the store with you,” he says quickly. “We can pick up Mom and Tommy on the way to the center.”

I press my lips tight and wrap my arms around his neck, rising to my toes so I can kiss him. “I’m good,” I mouth.

He grasps my hips and gently creates space between us. “I just feel like we need to talk about this.”

Seriously. What’s there to talk about? He might be disappointed that he’s in love with a girl who can never speak again, but I’d already made terms with my fate long before this stupid operation even came up.

It is what it is.

I am who I am.

And, “I’m good,” I mouth again, peeling his hands off me. I sign, “I’ll see you at eleven. You know where it is?”

He nods.

I kiss him again. “Olive juice,” I mouth.

He sighs. “So damn much, Becs.”

* * *

Josh: Are you here? We just parked.

I leave dad inside, manning the popcorn machine, and meet Josh and his mother in the parking lot. No sign of Tommy. Ella greets me with a hug. “You look adorable,” she says, and I force a smile because I can’t see Tommy. Can’t hear him. And if he’s not here, I don’t know that I could handle it emotionally. My heart’s thumping in my chest, my eyes searching their car—a different car than the one Josh left my house in. I look over at Josh, whose goofy grin makes me smile for real. He points to the back door. “He wanted you to get him out of the car.”