My Life, My Truth #3
I clear my throat and sit back down; palms pressed to my thighs like I’m about to confess to a crime.
“There’s… something else,” I say.
Mama tilts her head. Daddy leans back in his chair, patiently waiting to hear what I have to say.
I don’t ease into it.
“I’m in love with Zaria,” I blurt. “And we’re together.”
Both of them blink.
Then, in unison—
“We know.”
I stare at them.
“You… what?”
Mama smiles gently. “Baby, we have eyes.”
Daddy nods. “And discernment.”
I let out a half-laugh mixed with a half-groan. “Okay. Well. She’s trans.”
“We know,” they repeat.
I throw my hands up. “What is happening?”
Mama laughs softly. “You think we didn’t notice? Or that it changed how we see her?”
Daddy folds his hands together on the desk. “Zaria is a beautiful woman with a kind heart. That’s what matters.”
My body slouched as I declare quickly before I lose my nerve, “I’m also in love with Calil.”
Saying it aloud feels different.
Mama’s eyebrows lift slightly. Daddy’s head tilts to the side as if he’s in deep thought.
“We’re deciding to be in a polyamorous relationship,” I finish in one breath as if I was ripping off a bandage.
Silence.
Not heavy. Just processing.
Daddy exhales slowly, then looks at me in a way that makes my chest ache.
“If anyone deserves love and happiness without limits,” he says carefully, “it is you.”
Mama nods with her eyes shining bright with joy.
“The little girl turned fierce woman who has spent her entire life fighting her own body,” Daddy continues, voice thickening, “and still made space to love with her whole heart.”
My vision blurs.
“Despite everything,” he says, “your illness has never claimed your ability to love or to be loved. That is a testament to your spirit.”
Mama reaches across the desk again. “You love deeply. That is a gift, not a flaw.”
I swallow hard. “You’re not… disappointed?”
Daddy shakes his head firmly. “Love forged in truth. Love built on consent. Love rooted in care is not something I find worthy of condemnation.”
Mama smiles softly. “It may not look like what we imagined years ago. But neither did half the things in our own lives.”
A tear escapes before I can stop it.
“I just didn’t want to fail you,” I whisper again.
Daddy stands and walks around the desk, pulling me into a hug that feels solid and unwavering.
“You and failure don’t belong in the same sentence. You’re not failing,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re living.”
Mama wraps her arms around both of us.
“You’re choosing joy,” she says. “And after everything you’ve endured—you deserve that.”
All this time I’ve been bracing for misunderstanding and rejection that wasn’t there.
All this time I’ve underestimated the people who raised me.
When we finally pull apart, Daddy looks at me with a faint smile.
“Now,” he says lightly, “we will need some practical understanding of what this looks like.”
I laugh through my tears. “I knew that was coming.”
Mama pats my hand. “We may ask questions. But we are not here to shame you.”
The fear I’ve carried for about who I love dissolves into something softer.
Relief.
It really felt amazing to know that my illness has never been able to claim the one thing it tried hardest to exhaust.
My ability to love.
And to be loved back.
My parents headed out. They had some errands to run before heading over to the church. I decided to text my brother.
By the time I get home, my body feels like it’s been wrung out. I’m not in pain. I’m just tired. Exhaustion had settled behind my eyes as it hums through my bones.
I kick off my shoes at the door and drop my bag on the bench. I sink into the couch with a long exhale. The apartment is peaceful. My mind is filled with slight chaos.
I pull out my phone.
There’s one more person I need to talk to.
DJ. Before Ajaih came along it was just me and DJ. My shadow. My ride or die. Our parents never had to say, “Take your brother with you.” Because it was already a given that whatever fun and trouble I was trying to get into DJ was going to.
When I would land in the hospital due to my flares, DJ would cry when he couldn't stay with me and protest until the hospital agreed.
David Barré Jr. was my heart, and I was so proud when he decided to join the Air Force.
When he told me that he wouldn't go if I needed him to stay. I almost told him to stay but that would’ve been selfish.
Now he was stationed in Italy, and I appreciated the fuck out of it because he was always sending me beautiful Italian leather goods.
I stare at his name for a second before texting.
Me: You alive and still pretending to be productive Dick Neck?
It takes less than ten seconds.
DJ: First of all Bare Bones, I’m a busy ass nigga in these Italian streets.
DJ: Second of all, what do you want, Lean Bean? You missed me that bad?
I smile automatically.
Me: Actually—I do loose neck.
DJ: I’m let you make it pole dance Barbie.
I laugh loud at that one because DJ was the only person I trusted to beside Amiyah when I started dancing at Provocateur and when I met Zaria.
Me: You win this round .
DJ: Don’t I always .
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me.
DJ: And stop rolling your eyes before they get stuck.
I giggle because he literally knows me like the back of his hand.
Me: Mama and Daddy came by the academy today.
DJ: With food?
Me: Of course.
DJ: Did she pack enough to feed a small country?
Me: Is a pig’s pussy pork?
Three dots pop up.
DJ: How’d the lunch date go? What y’all talk about? You finally told em when you feeling good you down to the shake shack throwing ass in a rhombus?
I hesitate.
Then I let out the loudest laugh ever.
Me: DJ?
DJ: Hmm?
Me: Fuck ya! Word to Jahquel J.
DJ and I both loved to read Black Romance and its sub genres so I knew he would get the reference.
DJ: You only text me at 6:42 PM on a Monday if something is wrong or you need money.
I snort.
Me: I have never asked you for money.
DJ: That’s because I’m your younger brother and you have pride issues.
He’s not wrong. I stare at the screen again, thumbs hovering.
The banter is easy. Safe. Comfortable.
But I can’t hide behind it forever.
Me: I told Mama and Daddy about Zaria.
Pause.
DJ: Oh, you finally did it?
DJ: And?
Me: They already knew.
A second later—
DJ: Of course they did. Y’all was never subtle.
I laugh again.
Me: Apparently we “vibrate” when we’re in the same room.
DJ: That is disgusting and I don’t even know what it means. But I still don't want to picture it.
Me: Grow up.
DJ: Absolutely not. You’re my big sister. You supposed to be wholesome except for the whole lap dance shit you got going.
Me: Says the man with three situationships at once.
DJ: Those are diversified emotional investments.
I shake my head. The smile fades a little as the weight creeps back in. He senses it again.
DJ: Okay. What’s the other thing?
I swallow.
My thumbs feel heavy now.
Me: After the last flare, the doctors ran some tests.
Three dots appear instantly.
Disappear.
Reappear.
DJ: Lena.
I inhale slowly.
Me: Years of flares and pain have compromised my kidneys and spleen.
Me: They’re functioning. Just not like they used to.
The typing bubble appears immediately this time.
DJ: What does that mean?
There it is.
The question I’ve been answering all day.
And I realize that telling my brother might be harder than telling anyone else. I rest my head back against the couch and type slowly.
Me: It means I’m still fighting.
Me: It just takes more out of me now. The risks are higher when the flares happen because there’s damage to my organs.
The three dots come back.
Stay.
Then finally—
DJ: Okay.
That’s it.
Just okay. And somehow that’s worse. I know him. He’s holding it together. I brace myself. Because the banter is over now. This part isn’t funny.
The three dots sit there for a long time.
Long enough that I start imagining worst-case scenarios. Long enough that I almost typed, “ I’m fine, forget it.”
Then my phone buzzes.
DJ: I’m coming home.
I blink.
Me: Home where?
DJ: To you…duh
My throat tightens.
Me: You don’t have to—
DJ: I didn’t ask.
There’s a pause.
Then another message.
DJ: You better keep fighting until I get there.
The tears come before I can stop them.
Me: DJ…
DJ: I’m serious, Lena.
DJ: We still got stuff to do.
I try to laugh through the ache building in my chest.
Me: Like what?
DJ: I haven’t beat you in bowling yet.
DJ: And you still owe me for eating my fries in 2007.
A watery smile spreads across my face.
Me: I did not eat your fries.
DJ: You absolutely did. And you blamed Mama.
I shake my head, tears sliding freely now.
Me: You’re ridiculous.
DJ: And you’re not allowed to be tired enough to quit. Not yet.
DJ: Fight until I get there. Then we’ll fight together.
The weight of the world and the weight of my pain is sitting on more than my shoulders. It’s sitting on my chest.
All day I’ve been strong. I’ve tried to stay measured. Tried to maintain my calmness.
But this—
This is my baby brother telling me I’m not allowed to give up on him.
Me: I’m not quitting.
DJ: Good.
DJ: Because I’m not ready to live in a world without my sister bossing me around.
I laugh, the sound shaky but real.
Me: You love it.
DJ: Only for you
Another pause.
DJ: I love you, Lean Bean.
I press my phone to my chest like I press Ajaih’s notes there.
Me: I love you too.
DJ: Keep fighting until I get home.
I stare at that message for a long time.
My body may be tired.
My organs may be struggling.
My strength may fluctuate.
But love?
Love keeps showing up and wrapping itself around me.
And as I sit there on my couch, wiping tears from my cheeks, I realize something simple and steady. I will keep fighting. At least until my brother walks through that door.