Relationship Status (Ethan & Wyatt) by Mitchell K.A

Author:Mitchell, K.A. [Mitchell, K.A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2017-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Ethan

The morning of the Fourth, I ran over to the Shur-Save and waited in line to grab a pound of pasta salad from the deli so we’d have something to bring to Wyatt’s uncle’s picnic. According to Wyatt, that wasn’t necessary, but it felt weird not to. If I’d trusted the B-bros not to eat it all, I’d have called my aunt Peggy for her German potato salad recipe and made it last night.

I should have listened to Wyatt and slept in. The picnic turned out to be a big party held by his uncle’s union every year. They had a pavilion rented and tons of food. Embarrassed, I slid my plastic tub of pasta salad on the food table when I hoped no one was watching.

Owen fished us out some drinks from a giant ice chest. He brought a wine cooler for Christine and cans of soda for the rest of us, and we found a spot at a picnic table. I ran my thumb down the icy wet side of my can of off-brand lemon-lime soda. If I were home, there’d be A-treat cream sodas in the cooler at Aunt Peggy’s. But since Wyatt wouldn’t be there with me, no trade.

“How are things at the ACLU, Ethan?” Christine’s voice startled me. She and Wyatt and Owen all had been using sign language. I’d only met Christine once before, when she brought Wyatt back with some food right after we moved in. I tended to forget she wasn’t deaf like Owen was.

“Good,” I said aloud along with the sign. I’d learned some basic words, and could read finger spelling if people went slowly, which neither Christine nor Owen did. “I like what I’m doing now.”

“What’s that?” Christine asked.

I looked at Wyatt, hoping he would take over. I had no idea how to get through my job description with the addition of press releases without having to finger-spell everything.

Owen pointed at his lips and at me, so I figured he meant he’d lip-read, and I explained what I was doing.

Owen signed in response and Wyatt translated, “Do you want to be a lawyer?”

It was weird to hear the question in his voice. He’d never asked me directly what I wanted to do. He’d said it off-hand, that I argued to get my way enough to be a lawyer. And he’d laughed at my idea of being an elementary school teacher. Though that was valid. I didn’t like being around kids.

To Owen I said, “I’m not sure. I think I’ll look into Communications as a major when we go back to school.”

Owen nodded.

I wondered if Wyatt would look like his uncle when he got older. His uncle had Waardenburg syndrome too. His hair was completely white instead of the one streak like Wyatt had sprouting from the center of his hairline. On Owen, it looked good, though, thick and wavy, a nice contrast with his wide-set vivid blue eyes. I’d read enough to know there wasn’t such a

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