Free Hard Choices by Ashe Barker

am.”
    “I’ll be wanting a DNA test…”
    I rap the table again. Nick turns to me, one eyebrow raised.
    “You really don’t need that. Look at him. He’s exactly like you. DNA testing won’t tell you anything that’s not already perfectly obvious.”
    Nick stares at me, and paces some more. Then, “You believe him?” Unusually for Nick, he signs the question rather than verbalising it. It strikes me that he wants this part of our conversation to be private.
    I nod. “I do.”
    “What’s with all this hand waving? She dumb or what?” Callum’s ill-mannered and very indelicately phrased question hangs in the air.
    Nick turns to him slowly, and I have an awful suspicion that he might be about to deliver that punch after all. This has to stop. I stand, rapping the table hard and moving round to position myself in front of Callum.
    “He’s young, he doesn’t know what’s going on. He didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Don’t do something in anger that you’ll surely regret later.”
    Nick stares at me, visibly reining in his temper. At last, “Okay, you’re right.” He lifts his hand, places his palm against my cheek. “Thank you, Freya. Now, sit down, please.”
    I stand my ground a few moments longer. “I will if you will. We need to talk, all of us. And probably this Astrid, too. Work out what’s going on here and why Callum’s turned up out of the blue like this.”
    With a last glower in the direction of his new-found offspring Nick subsides into a chair. He’s not quite done, though. He places his elbows on the table and fixes Callum with a glare I recognise, one that says do not provoke me further.
    “Freya can’t speak. She uses sign language to communicate, and I understand it.” This is Nick in his sternest, ‘for the avoidance of doubt’ Dom mode, and Callum is getting both barrels. Nick continues, “So here’s the thing—Freya’s my girlfriend. She lives here with me, and I love her. And while you’re here you need to treat her with absolute respect. Is that clear? Is that absolutely clear? Because this is not negotiable.”
    Wow. I’m stunned. Did I hear that right? The L word from Nick? Where was that lurking? I don’t have time to ponder it, though. Callum turns to me, his expression one of admiration now, tinged with perhaps a dash of curiosity.
    “Hey, cool. Can you teach me that sign language stuff? And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I didn’t mean you were stupid or nothing.”
    I smile and hold out my hand by way of accepting his apology. He takes it, and we’re friends.
     
    * * * *
     
    Later that night, after wolfing down a mountain of ham sandwiches and four chocolate muffins—the best we could dredge up at a moment’s notice—Callum is safely installed in the spare bedroom down the hall. It’s the same room I vacated a few nights ago, though now my gear has been hastily and not so neatly stuffed into two drawers in Nick’s room—the best I could manage at such short notice. It’s been a long night and Nick and I are, at last, undressing for bed.
    “So, what do you think?” Nick is sitting on the edge of the bed, in just his boxer shorts, as I take my time over removing my eye makeup at his dressing table. Our eyes meet, reflected in the mirror, and I shrug. Until we hear more, especially from the mysterious Astrid, I really don’t know what to make of any of this. Nick’s in the same boat, but despite our near total ignorance of all relevant facts he seems inclined to discuss the matter further.
    “What the fuck’s he doing here? And do you suppose he’ll want to stay?”
    Ah, the killer questions. Again I shrug, but I have a feeling he probably will. For a while, at least. I turn to Nick and sign that much. My signing is nowhere near as fast or as accurate as usual because the plaster cast hampers my movements, but Nick seems to get my gist perfectly well.
    In the hour or so we spent together in the kitchen, watching