Chapter Ten
Caleb
When I come down for my usual caffeine shot around ten o’clock, I notice Kayden still hasn’t come in.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned that he’s usually an early bird, just like me, and one of the first to come in a little before eight.
The door to his office, which is usually open when he’s working, is closed, and through the window in the door, I can tell the lights are off.
After grabbing two cups of pitch-black coffee, one for me and one for Sal, I head back upstairs.
I’ve been working on a sales pitch all morning for a big company in California that rents out sailboats for weddings and other special occasions.
While I’m great face-to-face, I always struggle a little when it comes to putting down the right words in writing, and I think I must’ve started over at least four or five times.
I browsed through my old proposals, reusing a sentence here and there, but it still sounded like crap.
No wonder I got a D on my written English exam in high school.
I swing by Sal’s office, and he’s on the phone when I enter, an intense frown between his eyebrows.
I hold up the cup of coffee, and he waves me in.
I push the door carefully shut behind me with my foot.
I place Sal’s coffee next to him, and he offers me a forced half smile, then gestures at the chair opposite his desk.
Sal nods his head a couple of times as he listens intently, biting his lip in evident frustration.
I rarely see Sal like this, so something must clearly have happened.
Not even a difficult client or a late provider can rile my friend up like this.
I sit down and take a sip of my coffee. Sal offers me another strained smile, mouthing sorry, before he speaks.
“So, please explain to me then how something like this can happen? Because that shouldn’t be possible, should it?
” He leans back in his chair with an outdrawn sigh.
He briefly closes his eyes, and I can tell he’s struggling not to lose it.
This is clearly not about work. This can only be about one thing, and my heart immediately starts racing in my chest. Kayden.
My stomach sinks at the idea of something happening to him, but surely, if it were an accident, Sal wouldn’t be on the phone right now, but instead racing out of his office to get to him.
Sal flies back up in his seat. “A system error?!” He booms. “A system error? Really?” He reaches for a pen on the desk, which he starts stabbing into the notepad in front of him.
“I want to speak to your supervisor,” he bites out, clearly at the end of his rope.
“Well, then I expect her to call me back as soon as she’s out of her meeting!
” He ends the call by slamming the receiver against his office phone.
“Fuck!” he yells, then wipes his hands across his face a couple of times, mumbling something I can’t make out.
I lean over the desk and reach for his elbow, wrapping my hand around his arm.
“Sal? What happened? Is it Kayden? Is he okay?”
His gaze softens at the mention of his son’s name, but his voice is pained when he speaks. “No.”
I nearly bolt from the chair, the coffee slouching from my cup, but Sal holds up a hand. “He is, and he isn’t. I mean, physically he’s fine, but mentally he’s not. Far from.”
His cell phone rings, and he picks it up, a raspy “Viv?” spilling from his lips.
He nods a couple of times, a string of uh-huhs and okays filling the room, his eyes welling with tears.
“Tell him I love him,” he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with the kind of love I can only imagine one can have for someone they love more than they love themselves.
“Okay. I’ll stop by on my way home then.
I’ll leave early.” He offers me a weak smile.
“Yeah, I know. Love you too, darling.” He puts down his phone and stares blankly in front of him.
I squeeze his elbow. “Sal. What’s going on?”
“A system error, apparently. At the Department of Revenue. They sent Kayden his new tax papers, addressed to—” his voice breaks. “Fuck. Addressed to Ms. Kaitlyn Somner.”
My heart sinks. I know Kayden had the name and gender marker changed on his birth certificate shortly after he turned eighteen. It was a huge fucking deal, and he proudly showed me the papers when they arrived in the mail, pointing at his name.
‘See Caleb? Kayden Somner.’ He traced the letters with his fingers, smiling broadly. ‘That’s me.’
‘It is,’ I told him, my heart spilling over with affection. ‘It’s always been you.’
He nodded at me, all giddy, unable to contain his joy. ‘And look?’ He pointed to the line just below his name, where it said Sex. ‘What does it say, Caleb?’ He whispered, his cheeks flushed pink with excitement, his eyes a piercing blue.
‘It says Male,’ I told him, and he nodded quietly, almost reverently.
‘It does, doesn’t it?’
‘It sure does, sweetheart.’
It was shortly before Kayden left for college and another monumental step on his way to becoming to the world what he’d always known to be true inside: Kayden was a man. He is a man. And still, he has to deal with shit like this.
I squeeze the coffee cup. “How’s that even possible?”
“No fucking idea, but now he’s a mess. He hasn’t had a dysphoric incident this bad since before his surgery.” Sal wipes at his eyes. “I can’t fucking believe he has to go through this shit. It’s never-ending.” There’s an edge of resignation in his voice.
“Where is he now?”
“At his apartment. Viv gave him something to calm him down and is trying to get him to sleep a little. That usually helps. She’ll stay with him until her shift starts at the hospital at 11:30.” He winces. “Fuck, that new contractor is coming by around three. I already had to reschedule once.”
Since our business continues to grow, we’ve decided to put in an offer on an old warehouse next door that was put on the market a few weeks ago.
It would make an excellent space for a second shipyard, but we need to get a local contractor to come up with a quote for a renovation before we present it to our bank and put in an offer.
Sal always takes care of this side of the business since he’s the one who’s hands on with our production and the specific requirements.
“But I need to be there when Kayden wakes up. Fuck!”
“Stay.” I squeeze his arm. “Stay, and I’ll go check on him. I have nothing important today.”
Sal stares at me, his eyes wet. “Caleb, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. I’m offering.”
“It’s just… It’s not easy to be around Kayden when he’s like this. Not even if you’re prepared. It never gets easy.” He shrugs apologetically. “I know you’ve been there for him all his life, but it’s not like a scraped knee or a chipped tooth.”
“I know. I know it’s not, Sal, but I want to. I promise you it’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I’m there so you know he’s okay.”
Sal nods, then exhales shakily. “Okay. Okay. Thank you, Caleb.”
“Of course.”
I let myself into Kayden’s apartment with Sal’s key.
In the kitchen, I place a container with clam chowder, which is Kayden’s favorite soup, on the kitchen counter.
It’s not like he’s sick or anything, but maybe he doesn’t want to leave his apartment later if he gets hungry.
To be honest, I have no idea what to expect.
Although I’ve heard of body dysphoria, I don’t actually know what it means to have an episode like Kayden’s had today.
I assume it’s like a panic attack, but I’m not sure.
I make a mental note to read up on it later when I’m home.
I need to make sure I don’t unintentionally trigger an episode when I’m around him.
Kayden’s place is quiet, and the living room is bathed in golden sunlight as I move through it toward his bedroom.
Everything is tidy: pillows carefully arranged on the couch, a couple of new plants placed around the spacious room, and a few paintings of the ocean now brightening up the light gray walls.
The door is slightly ajar when I reach his bedroom. I knock carefully twice. I hear him stirring inside, like he’s sitting up, before he speaks a muffled “Dad?”
I open the door and step inside. “No, K. It’s me, Caleb.”
“Oh,” he says, and a few seconds later, he flicks on a lamp on his bedside table, then blinks at me sleepily. “Come in.”
I step in tentatively. “Hey, how are you?”
He cards a hand through his unruly hair, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “I’ve been better.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. I… uhm…” I swallow, and Kayden tilts his head in that way he always does when he’s listening. “I hope it’s okay I came by. Your dad said it should be okay, but if you’d ra—”
“No, it’s fine.” He rubs his eyes, then smooths down his wavy hair. He looks paler than usual. Exhausted.
I nod, then move closer to the bed, and he pulls his legs up against his chest to make room for me.
He’s wrapped in a blanket, his body almost disappearing in an oversized gray hoodie.
He wraps his arms around his calves and rests his chin on his knees.
He looks so small, so frail, his eyes swimming with defeat.
An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness mixed with anger courses through me.
I want to reach for him and pull him against me and keep him safe from all the shittiness in the world, but I don’t want to overstep either.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, sitting down on the bed.
He shakes his head, then peeks at me through his thick lashes. “Not really. I tried, but… I couldn’t.”
“Are you hungry?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay. But if you get hungry later, I brought you some soup. It’s in the kitchen.”
He lifts his head, licking his lips. “What kind?”
I chuckle. “Clam chowder.”
His face brightens slightly. “Cynthia’s?”
I clutch my chest in mock horror. “Of course! What do you take me for? Anything else would be blasphemy.”