14. May #3
“Me too,” he said, giving their fingers a squeeze. “I miss her every day, even after all this time.”
They rubbed the short, downy feathers peppering his wrists, searching for something to say. Weaponized words of destruction were more their bread and butter. But words of comfort? Of healing? They were quite out of their depth.
“I wish that had never happened to you,” they whispered, tracing the hard keratin of his index talon. “I wish I had known about it sooner. I wish I’d cared enough to ask.”
“Cya,” he started, but they cut him off with a hug.
Like the night of Cya’s meltdown, when they’d thrown themself into his arms, Hemersyn was taken aback. A warbling trill sang from his throat, and his arms splayed on either side of their body, like he wasn’t sure if he should return the embrace.
Eventually, he did. He circled their waist and patted their back, and Cya pressed their face into the soft plumage of his neck, smelling of cologne, leather seats, and sun-dried pine needles. He smelled like their childhood, and they sighed into his shoulder.
“You would have made a wonderful father,” they said, hoping it was the right thing, praying they weren’t mucking this up too badly. Choosing bravery, they added, “I would know, after all.”
A wounded noise escaped him, then he was cupping the back of their head and holding them tightly. And Cya was six years old again, having been stung by a vysp in the palm of their hand. They perched in Hemersyn’s lap as he added a cooling salve and a bandage.
“There we go. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
And at nine, sitting in the hospital hallway as their parents screamed at the doctor behind the closed office door to “fix her, godsdammit. What are we paying you for if you can’t fix her?
” But Hemersyn took their hand and led them to the cafeteria where they couldn’t hear their parents’ hate anymore.
They shared an ice cream sundae on the veranda, and they giggled as he let them boop a dollop onto his beaked nose.
They were fourteen, telling their parents they didn’t want hormones or surgeries anymore because maybe they weren’t actually a girl after all. The only reason they’d found the courage was knowing Hemersyn stood behind them, a quiet but steady foundation for them to lean on.
“It has been my honor and privilege,” he said softly, brokenly, as he smoothed his hand over their hair.
“I’m sorry I’m not more… just more,” they confessed.
“That’s your parents’ vitriol, and I won’t hear it, not from you.” His voice was flinty, but it warmed as he said, “You have always been enough, just as you are, and I’m so proud of you.”
They shook their head, sniffling into his pressed blouse. “I’m not much to be proud of, I’m afraid. I don’t think I’m a very good person.”
Directing them out of the embrace, he cupped their face, expression stern. “I don’t believe that for one moment.”
“I’m selfish, and I’m spoiled. I’m not particularly kind or considerate or even pleasant to be around. And I’m not saying this to make you feel sorry for me or make me feel better.” They shrugged as a tear trickled down their cheek. “I think it’s just true.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly, and Cya’s breath caught on a sob.
“Oh, come on! I didn’t mean that. Of course, I want you to feel sorry for me and make me feel better,” they whined, and Hemersyn chuckled, grinning down at them so fondly.
“My dear, my dear, what am I to do with you?”
Wiping their nose on the handkerchief he offered them, they shrugged again.
“People aren’t just one thing, Cya. Yes, you are spoiled, and you can be a bit selfish, at times.
But you’re also fierce and strong. You’re creative and smart.
You have deep convictions, and by gods, you stick by them.
You face adversity with your head held high, and when a challenge comes your way, you tackle it with tenacity.
“You have a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue, and, when properly honed, I know you can use it for what’s right and just.” He swiped away the singular tear that had escaped. “And you are kind. It may be buried, it may be a little rusty, but it’s there. I know it is, because I’ve seen it.
“But kindness has a cost, especially in your world.” Cradling their cheek in one hand, he took the handkerchief from them and rubbed under their eyes where their makeup had probably smeared. “So the question is: are you willing to pay it? Because you’re the only one who can.”
They nodded, not because they were willing to pay the price, but because they wanted to be willing. It wasn’t enough, but it had to be a start.
“I want to be someone you can be proud of,” they said, gasping when Hemersyn leaned in and placed a paternal kiss to their forehead.
“I am proud of you, but you know what’s more important than that?” he asked against their skin, and they shook their head slowly, not wanting to brush off his affection. “Being someone you’re proud of.”
Squeezing their eyes shut, they choked on a sob and nodded.
“And Cya, you already are,” he said with so much conviction it burned right through them. “Now, it’s just time you prove it.”