Evan Rourke guided his deaf mother through the café’s narrow aisle, already half-focused on the messages stacking up on his phone. Margot tapped his wrist and signed a question he failed to catch. Before he could ask her to repeat it, someone else responded.
The waitress—small, quiet, seemingly forgettable moments earlier—answered Margot’s sign without hesitation. Her movements were effortless, instinctive, shaped by muscle memory rather than study. Margot brightened at once. Evan froze mid-step, unsure which surprised him more: his mother’s delighted reaction or the waitress’s fluency, slipping out of her like a reflex.
Lena Gray, her name tag read. She blinked, slightly embarrassed by her own instinctive reply, as if she’d spoken out of turn. Evan managed a polite smile, but his mind was already racing. Most hearing people took years to sign with that ease. Lena’s response had been instant, almost intimate.