Set the World to Mute

God, I wonder if Ben is British.

I wonder what he sounds like, what his voice is like. How he laughs, how he sounds like when he’s mad. How he sounds like when he whispers sweet nothings. Would I be put off if he had a really squeaky voice? Nasal voice? Light and feminine? Wouldn’t I want him anymore?

I can’t even imagine that.

I imagine a soft, velvety voice. Manly and deep, quiet.

I wonder if I’ll ever know.

*

Today, Tuesday, I’m hovering in the hallway, reluctant to walk in.

Last night I left after those two kisses. He didn’t walk me to the door, but he held my hand until I had to slide away from his grip, and leave. Thoughts about his thoughts have driven me crazy all night. I was on cloud nine when I walked home, not even able to call Jackie and tell her everything. She texted, lots of question marks. I stared at the text, but found no words.

She would ask, ‘now what?’, and I wouldn’t be able to answer.

Time to find out.

I hang up my coat and brush non-existent dust off my sundress. Timidly enter the living room. Ben on by the counter, drawing with Sophie. Emma on the counter top, using the crayons as much on the smooth surface she sits on as the paper in front of her.

They all look up when I appear in front of them. I can’t seem to make eye-contact with him. Emma grins when I slink over, and reaches her little arms out for me to pick her up. I willingly do so, my heart swelling. He plunders with unknown words as she looks up at me, her little fingers ctching a lock of my hair and pulling it. “Hello there,” I smile at her and she guffaws.

I send Ben a tiny glance and focus on Sophie. “Hello princess.”

“Hi!” She looks shy for a moment, and after receiving a little nudge from Ben, she hands me her paper. It has a blonde woman with a white dress with a red cross in the front. In shaky letters next to it, it says ‘Nanny Alice’. “It’s you!” she grins as I accept the drawing, smiling. The N in nanny is written backwards.

“I see,” I smile, “How lovely I look.”

“You’re a nurse.” She points to the cross and grins at me.

“That’s right! Did you write it all by yourself?” I rearrange my face in impressed folds.

She smiles coyly and glances at her father who gives her a little nod. “M-hm, daddy helped with the difficult letters, but I did it.”

“You’re very good. I really like it. Can I keep it and hang it in my house?”

“Sure!” Sophie smiles happily, and grabs another crayon, putting it to a fresh piece of paper, starting another drawing.

I can feel Ben looking at me, and finally gather the nerves to peak at him. He’s leaning into the counter, watching me, looking very calm and serene – in short, the exact opposite of what I’m feeling. When our eyes meet I notice they’re laughing, and I blush, almost breaking a sweat from the heat finding my face.

I give a little breath of exasperation mixed with mirth, and try to focus on what Emma is blubbering about. Ben breaths a laugh as well, and pushes away from the counter, heading for the workshop. Disappointment stings in my heart. That’s right, I’m here to look after the kids while you work.

But then he halts by my side, butterfly touch of his fingers against my lower back, and kisses Emma’s head. She smiles, and he stays there, his head right next to mine, his smell coming off him making me smile and blush and lose my train of thoughts, and, as he pulls back, he coincidentally brushes his lips against my cheek, sending a brush of air down my neck.

The rest of the day I’m all smiles and I play for hours with the girls, pushing my studies aside. It’s such a fine day, why ruin it? We watch TV, and play with dolls, and hide and seek, and then we make dinner. Sophie requests spaghetti, like we made that one time, and I am more than happy to make it.

She sweetly sets the table, and then settles on a stool next to me against the kitchen island which now has red and green lines all over from Emma’s art, watching me cook. “Can I taste?” She asks, and looks up at me with big eyes.

“It’s very hot.”

“Please?”

“You’ll have to wait, honey.” She pouts, and I sigh, smiling. “Okay,” I say, pulling out a long straw of spaghetti from its pan next to the pan of sauce, letting it cool off before I hand it to her. She grins as she sucks it into her mouth and chews. “Good?”

She nods seriously, “But it needs more sauce.”

I raise my brows and laugh loudly at the statement, and she looks very pleased. “You’re right, Sophie,” I say once I’ve laughed it out, “It sure does…” Emma giggled at us, and Sophie rolled her eyes at the baby, picking her off the counter.

“I’ll go get daddy so we can eat.”

“Do that,” I said, feeling a soar go through my chest. As Sophie walks away with Emma, I bitch slap myself internally.

‘Suck it up, Ali. Chill out.’

When they come to sit, I am calm, composed and ready to go. I offer my man a little smile, which he returns, and then we quite simply sit down and eat. Sophie is as always loud and talkative, her father nodding and shaking his head, giving her looks now and then, and the two of them are having quite the conversations of sorts, while Emma and I watch.

It’s interesting to see how Sophie had adapted to her father’s silence, interoperating all of his little signs and wordless comments without difficulty, signs and comments that go straight over my head. They seem to be using a sign language of sorts, to help understand each other. I recognize some of them from studying, as I’ll have to deal with children who are mute and children who are deaf when I’m finished. She is quite the little translator, and while the whole situation is quite depressing, it also sparks a tiny hope of understanding him like she does one day.

And he is so pretty, as he sits with his toned arms resting on the table, his attention fully directed towards his child, smiling, frowning, silently giggling. Button up shirt with rolled up sleeves. Now and then he reaches out to touch her cheek, and she smiles coyly, going quiet for a bit. Then he looks at me, lines around his warm eyes, and I feel so content I could sit there all day.

*

We take the girls to bed together that night. Emma first, then Sophie a little bit later. As he closes the door to her room quietly, I feel my heart racing, and a feeling like being in vertigo invades my chest. My hands shake, my pulse bangs on my neck, my breathing accelerates.

He turns and look down at me, standing there waiting for him to finish. Smiles as I bite my lip, and brings his hand to brush hair away from my neck, making my heart jump. I step closer, closing the gap between us, and he puts his hand on my lower back, pulling me in. I smile as he leans down, placing a tiny kiss on my neck before finding my lips in a hesitant, sweet kiss, testing me. Is this what I want?

Yes, yes it is. I respond by letting my hands find his warm neck, and he deepens the kiss, wrapping both his arms around my frame, hugging me tight. My heart beats so forcefully it can’t be healthy, and I feel dizzy and lightheaded and so incredibly lucky. Ben, Ben here, kissing me.

He lightly leads me backwards toward the sofa, turning his back to it so he sits down first, breaking the kiss for a second before I slide down sideways on his lap, meeting him again. He wraps his arms around me again, and I melt into his hard body, feeling his chest against the palm of my hand.

After what seems like a little, blissful eternity, he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against my shoulder, his warm breath making goose bumps appear on my chest, my neck, and all the way down my arm. I try not to breathe too loudly, and slowly let my fingers slide up and down the back of his neck, drawing circles against his skin. To my delight, I see the little hairs at the bottom standing up, and I smile.

“This is good,” I mumble into his ear, and he shifts to look at me, slowly nodding, placing a tender kiss at the side of my mouth. “Very good.” More nodding. Another kiss. He smiles and rests his hands on my hips. He’s careful not to let his hands wander, and seems quite content just to hold me for the time being. I bite my lip, seeing his five o’clock shadow, stroking my finger over his eyebrow, his cheek, his mouth. He smiles and kisses my finger. My lips.

“I thought maybe, since I have the week off, I could come in the morning? So you have the evening off?” He nods and smiles, looking happy. “I get up real early, anyway. Nine?” He nods, and kisses my cheek. “Is nine good?” He gives me a thumb up, then leans over, grabbing his pen and pad. I stroke his neck as he writes.

‘It’s late.’

He looks at me as I read, and when I meet his eyes they say little, but I can trace a small hint of guilty there, embarrassment even.

“And I should probably go,” I finish for him, and he bites his lip, searching my face for offence. I display no such thing. “You’re right,” I agree, placing a last tender kiss on his lips, before I get up.

He follows me to the door. Watches me pull on my coat, shifting his weight. I button it up, and smile, letting him pull me towards him in a kiss. It’s brief, but sweet, and when he pulls back, he mouths ‘tomorrow’, and I nod.

“Tomorrow.”

Then he opens the door for me, giving me a light smack on the bum to get me going. When I turn back after a couple of steps, he’s watching me leave, a little and very Ben smile on his face. I bite my lip and smile all the way home. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t quite trust himself around me in my life again.