We are very pleased to announce the winner of our inaugural New Voices Short Fiction contest.

“Deaf Dog Book Club” by Yilong Liu follows a newly widowed woman whose quiet afternoon at a coffee shop takes an unexpected turn. Funny, tender, and sharply observed, it’s a story about grief, language, connection, and finding your way back into the world. This is a beautiful story and we hope you enjoy it.

“Deaf Dog Book Club” by Yilong Liu

The first thing Margaret noticed after Arthur died was that no one needed her hands anymore. For forty-one years, her hands had been employed full-time. They translated doctors, waiters, nephews, plumbers, bank tellers, hospice nurses, and one extremely confused man from Verizon. They told Arthur his soup was too hot, his sister was on FaceTime, the upstairs neighbors were fighting again, and no, he could not fix the toaster with a butter knife because that was how widows were made. Then Arthur died anyway, without the toaster’s help.

Now Margaret’s hands sat in her lap like two retired performers waiting for applause that would never come. Sometimes, in the grocery store, she’d see avocados and almost sign to Arthur. Too expensive, are they filled with diamonds? Then she would remember there was no one beside her, and her hands would drop like embarrassed birds. On Tuesday, because the house smelled like lilies and pity, Margaret went to Starbucks. She ordered a medium coffee. The young woman behind the counter smiled.

“Grande?”

“Medium,” Margaret said. “Grande? I’m seventy-two.”

The girl blinked.

Margaret took her coffee and sat by the window, where she could watch people crossing the street with the urgency of someone who still believed they had a life to live. Outside, an older couple crossed the street under one umbrella, the woman tugging the man’s sleeve with the exact irritation Margaret used to reserve for Arthur in parking lots. She had not planned to cry. Crying in public was dramatic, and Margaret disliked drama unless she was watching it happen to someone else.

Then the door opened, and four deaf people came in. Margaret knew immediately. Not because of silence. Deaf people, in her experience, were rarely silent. She knew because the air around them changed. Their hands were moving before their coats were even off. A woman in a green scarf rolled her eyes with her whole body. A bald man laughed so hard he slapped his own chest. A young person with silver nails signed something so filthy that everyone groaned and clearly liked them more for it.

Margaret looked away. She did not want to understand them. Her hands twitched once in her lap. She folded them under the table. Since Arthur died, signing had become a room in the house she no longer entered. His chair was still in there. His jokes. His complaints. The way he used to call her beautiful only after she had already taken off her bra.

The group took the big table by the condiment bar. For a while, they discussed ordinary things. A niece’s wedding. A dentist who had “forgotten” to book an interpreter. Someone named Trevor who had become vegan and unbearable. Arthur would have liked them, Margaret thought. He enjoyed anyone who complained with rhythm.

Green Scarf leaned in and signed, Tonight still works? The bald man nodded. Silver Nails signed, Back door is broken.

Another woman, wearing a hat shaped like a depressed mushroom, signed, We go in after closing. We take him and we run.

Margaret gripped her cup.

Green Scarf: What if someone sees us? Bald Man: We wear masks.

Mushroom Hat: You bring the bag?

Silver Nails: A suitcase. In case he makes noise. Green Scarf: If anyone asks, book club.

Margaret hid her face behind her coffee. Book club. Of course. The oldest criminal disguise in the world. She should call someone. But whom?? The police?? Hello, officer, I have witnessed a possible kidnapping in American Sign Language while drinking a medium coffee I was forced to call grande?? Arthur would have loved this. He would have said, ask if they need a driver. The thought arrived so clearly she almost turned to answer him.

The group kept signing.

Mushroom Hat: Security Cameras? Silver Nails: Front door only. Bald Man: What if the cops come? Silver Nails: We’re a book club!

Bald Man: What are we reading? Green Scarf: Improvise!

Margaret glanced at the barista, who was making foam art, unaware that a felony was blooming eighteen feet away. Suddenly, Silver Nails signed, Old woman staring.

Mushroom Hat: Maybe she thinks you’re handsome. Bald Man: She has eyes, so no.

Margaret laughed. The table froze. Ah, she thought. Damn. Green Scarf slowly turned. You sign? Margaret lifted her hands before she could stop herself. A little.

This was a lie. Arthur used to say her signing was bossy and faster than weather. The bald man’s eyebrows rose. How much little?

Margaret looked at them. Not enough to know you’re planning something illegal. Silver Nails spit coffee directly onto the table. Mushroom Hat began laughing so hard she had to remove the hat. Green Scarf covered her face.

Bald Man signed, I told you. Never discuss crime near old people. They know everything.

I am not old, Margaret signed. How old? Seventy-two.

Old.

Rude. Correct.

Green Scarf wiped her eyes. We are not hurting anyone. Margaret waited. We are stealing a dog.

A what?

A dog!

Not stealing, Mushroom Hat added. Rescuing. Bald Man lifted one finger. Legally, stealing.

The story came out in pieces. The Starbucks shared an alley with a luxury grooming place called Pawfessional. Margaret hated the name, which made her inclined to believe the worst. The owner had been keeping an old deaf terrier in the back room for months. His name was Pickle. He had belonged to a customer who died. The owner used him for “content,” dressing him in seasonal sweaters and posting videos captioned: Deaf Dog Learns Self-Care.

Pickle had arthritis. Pickle hated sweaters. Pickle needed medication the owner kept forgetting. Tonight, while the owner was at a “brand retreat,” they were going to take him. Margaret absorbed this. That is not a crime, she signed.

Bald Man shook his head. Definitely a crime. Green Scarf shook hers. Morally correct. Silver Nails lifted both hands. Also cute.

Mushroom Hat signed, He understands signs. Pickle.

Something moved in Margaret’s chest. Arthur had wanted a dog. Margaret had said no every time. Too much work, she’d said. Fur on everything, barking, vet bills, tragedy on a leash. Arthur had said they could get a deaf dog. She had said, Absolutely not. I already have one deaf creature pretending not to listen. Arthur had laughed for nearly a minute.

The group was watching her.

At 8:47 p.m., Margaret found herself standing in an alley behind Starbucks, holding two dog treats and a tote bag that said READING IS RESISTANCE. This was not how she had imagined widowhood.

Mushroom Hat picked the lock with a hairpin, which Margaret found both impressive and morally flexible. Inside, Pawfessional smelled of lavender, wet fur, and capitalism. From the back room came a small scrape, then a bark so rusty it sounded antique. Pickle was smaller than expected. White face. Brown ears. One cloudy eye. He wore a sweater that said BOSS BABE. Arthur would have considered this a hate crime. Margaret knelt.

Hello, Pickle, she signed.

The dog stared. She tried again, using Arthur’s gentler rhythm. Come here, sweetheart.

Pickle limped toward her. Just like that. Margaret’s eyes burned. Oh, she thought. There you are. In the alley, Silver Nails signed, You should keep him. No, Margaret signed. Absolutely not.

At 10:16pm, Margaret set Pickle on Arthur’s side of the bed. “This is temporary,” she said aloud.

Pickle, who was deaf, ignored her. Margaret sat beside him. Her hands hovered in the dark. For the first time since Arthur died, she signed without pain arriving first.

Your sweater is ugly, she told Pickle.

Pickle opened one eye. Arthur would have agreed. She waited for grief to punish her. It did not. It simply sat down beside her, tired from the long day, and let the dog fall asleep.

The next morning, Margaret went back to Starbucks. Green Scarf, Bald Man, Mushroom Hat, and Silver Nails were already there. They waved her over like she had always belonged to a criminal book club for elderly dog liberation.

At the counter, the barista smiled. “Medium?” Margaret looked at her. “Grande.”

Then she turned around, lifted one hand and signed, firmly, beautifully: What are we reading today?

“Deaf Dog Book Club” by Yilong Liu

Yilong Lu will receive $200 for finishing first in our contest.

Yilong Liu Bio

Yilong Liu is an award-winning playwright and screenwriter based in New York. His play The Book of Mountains and Seas received the Lambda Literary Award for Drama and was recognized at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival with the BBC Popcorn Writing Award. His play Good Enemy premiered Off-Broadway at Audible Theater’s Minetta Lane Theatre.

Yilong is a graduate of The Juilliard School and is currently under commission from Audible Theater and Manhattan Theatre Club.

The 2nd New Voices Fiction Award

Our inaugural contest is now biannual. We are running it back and the contest is now open.

Don’t wait and feel free to submit here.