28. Noaz
28
NOAZ
I love lying in bed with my husband. We can and often do stay here for hours. I think we do so partially because we know that these quiet moments just the two of us are going to be few and far between once baby comes.
Although, when I close my eyes, I imagine we’ll still lie like this with our baby, too. Either in the bedside bassinet or in bed with us. Maybe laying across my chest or Briar’s. The thought makes me smile.
Briar’s fingers trace my tattoos. He’s lying on top of me but halfway down my body so he can see my torso that’s spattered with different images. Right now, he’s outlining the polar bear. It’s the only hyper-real design, though it’s still just an outline.
“Do your tattoos have a story?” Briar asks.
I nod. Most tattoos have a story, I think. There must be a reason you have something permanently inked on you. Sure, maybe it’s just because you like the image, but that’s still a reason. Especially when we get to why you like the image.
“Everyone looks at me and sees someone soft and cuddly. Like a polar bear. But there’s a lot more fight underneath the fur than just a cute face.”
The full answer is that polar bears—any bear, really, but a polar bear especially is cute —are also one of the most dangerous animals on Earth. I may look forgettable with nothing remarkable to note, but I’ve killed more people than most people who currently face a death sentence.
I’m not quite up to the most prolific serial killer, though I think Loren’s going to reach those marks before he dies, but my body count isn’t anything to scoff at.
Briar kisses the bear and moves to another tattoo. This one is a set of stars. Five stars. One black. I know exactly where the black one is. So I know when his finger touches it and stays there for a minute.
“What about this one?”
“Five stars are me and my brothers.”
“The black one is Kairo? Black sheep? Black heart?”
I snort. “No. It’s me, actually.”
Briar kisses my navel where the star is. “Why are you the black star, Noaz?” His voice is soft, and the brush of his breath across my skin raises gooseflesh.
“For a long time, I felt out of place. I was different, no matter how much I tried not to be. I didn’t feel right in my skin. Everything felt… off. My brothers always looked like they knew exactly where they were supposed to be in life. They were comfortable with their assignments. I wasn’t even comfortable in my body.”
“I recently learned the term dysphoria,” Briar says .
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Opposite of euphoria. So extreme distress or unhappiness.”
“Mmm,” I agree. “Yes, but I think what you’re thinking about is gender dysphoria, right? When someone feels extreme distress because their body doesn’t match their gender identity.”
“Yes. Sorry. I didn’t realize I got that wrong.”
I nod. “It’s okay. Education involves asking questions and learning. Generally speaking, it’s a condition a lot of trans people experience. I’m not trans. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw, but not because I didn’t match my gender identity. My gender is fluid and while every nonbinary person feels a little differently about what that means to them, to me my body isn’t male or female, regardless of the sex organs I have or lack.”
“I understand,” Briar says.
He’ll never know how much it means to me when he asks questions because he truly wants to understand. Finding a partner who legitimately cares isn’t as easy as it sounds.
“So why didn’t you feel comfortable in your skin?”
“Being assigned a gender at birth means you’re immediately classed into a role with expectations, right? It means I shouldn’t have long hair or like makeup and dresses. It means I should want to roll around in the mud and wrestle. I should want a lifestyle that is considered masculine. While I knew from a very young age that yes, I liked to wrestle, but I also loved to play dress up. I didn’t want my hair short like my brothers, I wanted to feel it down my back and yet, I really wanted to be like my brothers. There was always this push and pull inside me; wanting to be like the people I looked up to the most, but not being happy in that role. ”
“That must have been really difficult. They were supportive?”
“Jalon had me with him most of the time. Mom was really sick after I was born and Dad was getting old and frail. Jalon was starting a family, so… naturally, I was kind of integrated into his life. Yes, he was supportive. Any way I felt or anything I wanted, he made sure I had and that I felt valid.”
“Good.”
“It wasn’t until about eight years ago that I was finally able to shed the expectations and put boundaries in place with everyone around me. Some things aren’t super important to me, and again, this is me and not a rule for every genderfluid person. For me, my pronouns are fluid, too. I’m cool with them since it might best describe how I feel about my own gender as being neutral. But I also like he and she, mostly equally, but sometimes one more than the other. You know?”
Briar nods.
“Once I stopped trying to fit into a mold that had too many straight lines and embraced being me and not who the world said I needed to be, everything changed. Now when I look in the mirror, I love what I see. I love my height and my long hair. I love the lean contours of my body, my dick, and my body hair. I love my pretty eyes and my smile and my deep voice.”
“You’re comfortable in your skin now,” Briar says.
I nod. “I am. I’m happy with myself. I’m happy with my role in life.” I’m also happy to kill anyone who is cruel to people like me. I don’t say that, though.
“Is that what this mirror is?”
Grinning, I nod as his finger traces the hand mirror just over my heart. “Yes. It represents self-acceptance. ”
Briar crawls up my body to hover over me. “I love that. I’m relieved that you found your self-love. You’re my favorite person in the entire world and I’d hate for you not to see how truly incredible you are.”
“You need to stop trying to make me cry,” I grumble and wipe away my tears.
He grins, leaning down to kiss my lips. “You haven’t been treated right in the past, Noaz. That’s why you feel teary when I tell you how I feel about you.” His lips brush mine tenderly again. “Get used to it, beautiful,” he murmurs.
That’s far easier said than done. I have a feeling I’m going to spend the rest of our lives together teary. For good reasons. Not the bad kind of sappy.
Briar kisses down my chest, layering soft, sensual kisses as he goes. He pauses again and this time, it’s at the machete. Admittedly, that one is a little more complicated to explain. Every killer has their favorite weapon.
“This one?” Briar asks.
I take a minute to really think about it. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t know that he’s going to accept that I’ve spent the last decade or more killing people. Even if it’s for a just cause.
Chewing my lip, I stare at the ceiling, weighing my options here. What other reasons do people tattoo a machete on their body?
His head pops up over mine. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “Someday I will,” I promise. “Maybe not right now, though. I like how you look at me.”
Briar’s amused.
My phone pings and I reach for it, thankful for the distraction from my machete. I don’t exactly regret it because it’s important to me, but… yeah, I kind of regret putting it somewhere so easy to examine. If it were on my ass cheek, we wouldn’t have it hanging in the air between us right this minute.
The text is from my brother and I read it out loud. “We’re having a late lunch at 2.” Briar nods so I text back “Okay.” Jalon immediately responds. “Is that confirmation?” Briar grins. “So impatient,” I murmur as I reply that we’ll be there for two.
Jalon
Don’t eat. We’re having a feast.
Me
When he doesn’t respond after a minute, I set the phone on the bed beside us. “Why are we having a feast?”
Briar shrugs. “He’s your brother. You tell me.”
If I knew the reason behind half the shit Jalon does, I think I’d be in even more awe of him. As it is, he’s my childhood hero. We’ll just leave it at that. Big brother doesn’t need a big head.
We continue to lounge in bed for another couple hours, but when Briar’s stomach starts growling, we get up and ready. We take the side-by-side today since it feels like we’re driving faster with the wind blowing in our hair and the roar of the aggressively loud engine.
I let us into the side door where there’s someone waiting. “Your family is in the big dining room, Mz. Van Doren,” the man says.
Inclining my head, I thank them and lead Briar down the hall. “I’m not sure which question to ask first. Mz? Big dining room?” he asks.
Grinning, I explain, “Jalon tried to find a salutation for me because the staff prefers to use one. I’ve said I’m comfortable with whatever, but they wanted to make sure I understood they respected me, so we settled on Mz. M Z. Mizz. But yeah, the dining room… that’s weird. It fits like fifty people. You can’t even talk to the person at the other end of the table. I’m questioning this feast.”
“Are we celebrating a birthday?”
I think about this as we meander down the hall. I don’t think I’ve missed a birthday, but who the fuck knows? This family gets bigger and bigger all the time.
The first door that goes into the dining room is locked. My fob won’t open it either.
“This door, Uncle,” Imry calls from the massive center doors further down the hall.
It’s at this point that I’m officially suspicious. “It’s not your birthday, is it?” I ask Briar, knowing full well it’s not.
He laughs. “Nope. Yours?”
I shake my head. The door is still cracked when we get there, so I push it open and nearly fall over. It’s not just our family and Briar’s friends. It’s our extended family and lots of other friends. Including Lorissa.
Briar laughs quietly and moves behind me, for which I’m thankful. I seriously might have just fallen over. His hands rest on my hips, his lips on my shoulder as he looks in from behind me.
There’s a large banner that reads ‘WELCOME, BABY VAN DOREN.’ But what truly makes me catch my breath is that the entire room is white on white with just little pops of color—not traditional blue or pink, but lavender and mint and gray.
We receive the appropriate shouting of surprise as I stare all around at the elegant, festive decorations. I don’t need to ask to know this was Honey Bee. I wonder whose credit card she’s giving a workout.
Speaking of. Honey Bee bounds up in front of me, her hair dancing behind her. She’s grinning widely, but when she takes my hands, her beaming smile softens.
“I know I kind of harassed you two for a gender reveal and was maybe a little irritated when you refused. It was really inappropriate of me, and if I’d taken half a minute to think about it, I’d have understood why. I do understand and I’m really sorry I was a jerk about it initially. I hope you forgive me.”
Okay, I knew Briar was the best human in the world, but maybe he befriended some amazing humans as well. I’m still choked up from the surprise, so all I can do is nod. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly.
“I’m super excited, Uncle Noaz.”
I close my eyes and squeeze her tightly. Then she hugs Briar and I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d had friends like that?
“Did you do all this yourself?” Briar asks as Honey Bee ushers us into the room. Everywhere I look, there’s more to see. Including a mountain of gifts at one end of the room that looks a bit intimidating.
“Yes. For so many people, they’re rather useless when it comes to planning events.” She gives my nephews and brothers glares. Individually .
Jalon raises his hands. “I made sure they were here on time, didn’t I?”
“You have my credit card,” Myro says. “I think that’s support enough.”
“I gave her mine, too,” Ellory adds, raising a brow .
Arath chuckles. “She has mine and Jalon’s as well.”
“I thought it only reasonable that you shared the expense,” Honey Bee says unapologetically. She turns and drapes ribbons around us. Mine says Daddy-to-be and Briar’s says Papi-to-be.
“How did you know that?” I ask, resting my hand over Papi on Briar’s chest.
Honey Bee gives me a wicked grin. “He mentioned it a few weeks ago.”
We end up eating several times throughout the afternoon, breaking up opening the mountain of presents with different courses of food and games. I’ve always known I was surrounded by people who love me, but the number of people who showed up for this leaves me speechless.
Perhaps the most curious is Kairo. Considering he doesn’t speak at all and rarely looks at anyone, I’m convinced that Jalon forced him to attend.
That is, right up until we’re handed the gift from him. I’m expecting something from our registry. Something easy and thoughtless.
What I open is a blanket. A quilt. It’s handmade with different types of fabric and beautiful. A sensory experience for baby. However, it isn’t until I start to recognize a few of the mismatched panels that I realize the thought that went into this. Then I recognize more panels.
They’re squares of blankets and pillows from our childhood. Not just mine, but from my brothers and nephews, too. This wasn’t something he could just pick up and throw together. This took time, thought, and effort.
I look up, searching the crowd for Kairo. Part of me expects that he’s left, but I finally find him leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest. He’s watching me absently, though I don’t think he’s actually seeing. It looks like he’s lost in thought. And frowning, though I expect nothing less.
It’s difficult to keep the emotion from my voice when I call out, “Thank you, Kairo. It’s… amazing.”
His frown deepens, and he gives me a single curt nod of acknowledgment while I hug it to my chest.