Free St. Nacho's by Z. A. Maxfield Page A

pretty sure he had worked tirelessly for years to be able to speak, I felt it incumbent on me to try signing.
    “Good. Girl,” he said, brushing his cheek. This went on for a while, mother, father, boy, girl, hello. I didn’t see that these would be that useful for me, but I dutifully learned them and got them right when he tested me at intervals. It wasn’t until he came to kiss that I began to see actual possibilities.
    “Kiss,” he said, gesturing to his mouth and then his cheek. I did it. “Kiss me,” he signed, following “kiss” up with a finger on his chest. “Kiss me.”
    “Kiss me,” I signed. He smiled and leaned in, catching my jaw in his hand. I wanted to keep my eyes open. Tried to. But at the last moment something overcame me and they closed. I felt his lips brush mine, the barest whisper of contact, and then I felt them smile a moment before he indicated with his tongue that he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a brush.
    It went on and on. Gentle and undemanding. I reached for his belt buckle but he caught my hand, breaking off the kiss.
    “You sign well,” he said, and took the last bit of apple, biting it and sharing it with me.
    “Gay,” he said, tapping his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “Gay, try it.” I made the sign, “Gay.” I got out my phone and typed. That looks like a beard; do you just use that for men?
    He waited patiently and looked at my text. “Yes, this is G and is for gay. For lesbian, you use the L in front of the chin, like this.” 42 Z. A. Maxfield
    I tried it. It was going to be like learning kanji, which I’d done a bit of in high school, when I’d studied Japanese. There’s a sign for everything. I probably even typed whiny. How am I ever going to learn to do this?
    He gave me an exaggeratedly patient look. “You learned to play the violin. This will be hard; you have to practice. After a while, it becomes second nature.” How do you say lie down
    t
    and shu the fuck up? I typed, a reasonable request, given my relationship skills.
    “You don’t.” He glared at me.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled, looking down.
    “I do,” he said. He proceeded to sign, “Lie down and shut the fuck up.” Or whatever its equivalent was.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t have that yet,” I said, “Do it again slowly, so I can learn it.”
    “You don’t need to learn it.” He pushed me over onto my back. “You just need to do it.” He bit me on the lower lip.
    I fought him a little because I didn’t want sand in those hard-to-reach places, so he and I picked up the blanket and started the walk back to Nacho’s in silence. At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than the easy companionship I’d glimpsed with him and the ability to talk to him freely in whatever language or fashion made the most sense.
    I dropped the lantern and had to backtrack to pick it up. When I looked up, he was still striding away across the beach, his strong legs fighting the sucking of the sand as he moved.
    The breeze whipped his hair around a little; it was long, below his collar, a little wavy, and wild. As I stared at him, he realized I wasn’t with him and turned back to find me. He quirked a finger at me and said, “Come on.” I ran after him like an eager dog. I knew I was getting in deep here in Santo Ignacio, drowning in hope, expectation, safety, and peace. I wondered how long it would be until I realized that drowning was drowning anywhere you did it, and the end result was probably the same.

    * * * * *
    The following morning when I saw Jim I broached the subject of finding a computer to use to study sign language. Shawn wasn’t there at the table -- he was probably at school --
    but I expected he’d hear about this just the same. I took a lot of good-natured teasing.
    “So, I guess we can expect you to be here for a while,” said Jim, smiling. “It’s the cayenne in the cocoa. It’s a known aphrodisiac, of course, but it’s also a powerful romantic love potion.”
    “I