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irresistible.
    How does Grace’s cochlear implant make you feel?
    How did it make me feel? Angry and frustrated, yes, but it was more than that. I felt like I’d been judged and found to be inadequate, a problem beyond remedy. But even that wasn’t the worst thing. “Alone. It makes me feel alone.”
    Mom winced, but she didn’t look surprised. You’re not alone. You know that, right?
    I buried my face in Grace’s soft, wispy hair, felt it tickle my cheeks, nose, lips. I’d forgotten how good it felt to hold her.
    Grace isn’t you, honey. You had six years before your hearing went, but she hasn’t even had a day.
    “I know that.”
    Of course you do. But it changes things. You speak so beautifully, and even now you have some residual hearing—
    “Not as much as you think,” I protested.
    Okay. Maybe not as much as we think, she conceded, her movements fluid and face reassuring. But some. Grace would have heard nothing. She wouldn’t have learned to speak like you. With the cochlear implant she’ll have a chance to do those things.
    “You mean she’ll hear and speak better than me.”
    I don’t know. Would it bother you?
    I shook my head—it was a lie, but I was too ashamed to admit how I really felt. I wondered if Grace would grow up knowing any signs at all, or if that part of our family life would cease the moment I left for college . . . wherever that turned out to be.
    “What happens if I can’t afford to go to Gallaudet?”
    You will. We’ll find the money.
    “How? You’re working so much overtime and it’s still not enough.”
    We’ll find it.
    “And if you don’t?”
    Mom sighed heavily and looked at the open door. I almost got the feeling she’d prefer to leave now than continue having this particular conversation. And I suddenly understood why: Because she felt guilty. I’d blamed Dad for raiding my fund because it was more in character for him, but Mom was equally responsible; it had been her call too. They’d had to make a decision about whether it was more important for Grace to get a cochlear implant or for me to fulfill my dream of attending Gallaudet University, and they chose Grace. My grandparents would never have let that happen.
    “What do you think Oma and Poppy would have said?” I asked finally. I knew it would make Mom uncomfortable, but I needed her to acknowledge there was another side to all this.
    I don’t know. Your grandparents were proud of Deaf culture, but it was difficult for me to be an only child in a house of deaf parents. Sometimes they seemed frustrated at me for being able to hear, like it made things easy for me. Other times they needed me to interpret in situations where I didn’t feel comfortable. thing
    I knew this, of course. She’d been telling me the same thing for years. But surely I was even more demanding than my grandparents had been. Did she see me as a burden too?
    After growing up like that, she continued, I couldn’t allow Grace to be the only profoundly deaf person in a house full of hearing people. She raised her palm to ward off my objection. But what would Oma and Poppy have said? I guess they’d have been disappointed by our decision. Let down.
    I knew she was right. After several years I still missed them terribly. They had been the only family members who signed exclusively, which felt comfortable. But Grace’s cochlear implant would have been so divisive, and “let down” was an understatement. I think they would have been ashamed of Mom, and I think she knew it too.
    “How does that make you feel?” I asked, but then we both cracked up as we realized the conversation had come full circle.
    Is there something I can do? Some way I can help? signed Mom, becoming serious again.
    “I don’t know,” I said honestly. At least, I was sure that removing the cochlear implant was a little unrealistic at this stage. But there was one thing. “Is a paralegal qualified to make a contract?”
    Mom smiled. Yes, I am qualified to draw