Chapter 6
Author’s note:
While writing this book, my mom received a terminal cancer diagnosis. I figured the grief Milo was experiencing wouldn’t be the same as mine but might be cathartic to write given everything happening in my life.
It wasn’t until halfway through this chapter, when Milo stares up at the sky, that I realized I’m still processing my dad’s death from almost three years ago.
His death also kicked off a gender journey for me.
It wasn’t the same as Milo’s, but it’s where this idea that grief can do wild things to our identity comes from.
Milo
“So did you kiss the very handsome, large, ginger man, or just stuff your face with muffins?” Ethel asked as she ran a brush through Milo’s mane.
“I’m pretty sure he just stuffed his face with muffins,” Ray said, from where he was sitting on the ground, polishing one of Milo’s hoofs.
From the outside looking in, it would seem like Milo had asked them to pamper him in his shifted pony form, but it had actually been Ethel and Ray’s idea.
Earlier that year, the retirement community had scheduled a field trip for the residents to visit a local farm to meet some of the horses.
Apparently, performing basic grooming tasks was good for dexterity and mental acuity.
Ethel had complained until she was blue in the face about what a waste of money and energy it would be for her to go all the way out of town and pay an entrance fee for the farm, just so she could “do what Anabelle’s kid will let me do for free. ”
Milo had told Ray the story as a joke, but the following week, Ray had shyly explained that he’d mentioned it to the therapist he’d been seeing since everything went down with Andrew.
“I guess having something to do with your hands can let your brain process things you may not want to think about or deal with otherwise?” Ray said, his cute little nose scrunched up the way it got when he would try to convince Milo that this time, the guy he was seeing was definitely different.
Milo wasn’t sure how much he believed Ray’s therapist or Ethel’s activity coordinator about the benefits of grooming his pony, but his pony was always on board to help his two most important people.
Thus began their monthly tradition of gathering in the large yard behind the retirement home for some supposedly therapeutic grooming.
“Really, Milo?” Ethel said, tapping Milo’s flank with the back of the large brush she was holding.
Milo knew for a fact Ethel could put some real power behind her smacks, because he’d seen the way she went after a pickleball when given the opportunity. She always handled Milo and his pony with the utmost care and gentleness, though, never even accidentally pulling a hair in his mane or tail.
Milo’s pony flicked his head, making the fringe of hair on his forehead flop in and out of his eyes.
“You’re hopeless,” Ethel said, switching to running her fingers through Milo’s mane. “That man was staring at you with heart eyes, and you looked at him the same.”
Milo’s pony stomped one of his back feet, careful to keep his front hooves planted solidly on the ground to avoid startling Ray.
“That’s how they looked at each other in the coffee shop, too,” Ray said, and Milo considered shifting back right then and there out of spite.
Many shifters struggled to understand human speech while shifted.
Milo had too when he was younger, but Anabelle liked to go on long hikes and as she’d gotten older, it had been easier for Milo to carry their packs on his pony’s back and shift to human when they got to wherever they were going.
He’d gotten really good at keeping his human mind front and center when being shifted, and his pony was expressive enough for the two of them.
“You know, if I was in my prime, Rowan is just the sort of man I’d go after,” Ethel said.
Milo’s pony pulled back his lips and huffed through his large teeth.
“You doubt me, child, but I was quite forward back in my day. Didn’t matter if a man was alpha, beta, or omega, big, small, short, tall. I courted them all.”
Milo’s pony nickered at the thought of Ethel out on the prowl. He could picture it, almost too well, given how she liked to skulk around the retirement home playing pranks.
“Were you forward with women, too?” Ray asked.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Ethel said, laughing her raspy laugh. “I was always intimidated by women. Never really worked up the courage to approach one until I was much, much older.”
This sounded like the perfect moment for Ray to go in for the final question, but he surprised Milo by asking, “What about genderqueer folk?”
Ethel hummed, and her fingers stilled on Milo’s flank. “You know, I never really encountered many of them. At least, not until moving into the city.”
Ethel had a niece and nephew in the city who came to visit on occasion. They’d helped Ethel settle in the retirement home, where she’d be closer to her beloved movie theater and favorite all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant. Before that, she’d lived far out in the suburbs.
“I believe Dee is transgender,” Ethel said, speaking of the woman who lived in the room next to hers. “I’ve never dated anyone like her, but I’m definitely not opposed to it.”
Ray smiled up at Milo’s pony, who merely rolled his big, green eyes.
He hadn’t been particularly worried about how Ethel would respond if he started exploring his gender again, but of course, Ray would want to investigate for him.
He probably would have even lectured Ethel if she said something Ray didn’t deem suitable.
“You know,” Ethel said, bringing her hand up to rest on Milo’s head. “Many of the kids who come in to visit are genderqueer as well. Like our Milo, of course.”
Milo lost hold of his connection to his pony, both of them so shocked that Milo ended up sprawled out completely naked on the grass.
“Our dramatic Milo,” Ray said, grabbing the blanket they had spread out and flipping up the corner so it covered Milo.
Like most shifters, none of them particularly minded nudity, but it was a crisp spring day, which was perfect for playing with his pony but a little less perfect for being naked.
“You…know that I’m genderqueer?” Milo asked, shimmying until he could wrap the blanket around his shoulders.
Ray popped up from his seat and went to fetch Milo’s clothes, while Ethel pulled her walker closer and sat down on the foldable seat. “Well, I had my suspicions after Anabelle would go from calling you he to she to they in the span of a week.”
Milo’s pony whinnied softly, and Milo clutched the blanket a little tighter, like he was clinging to the edge of that chasm. “I didn’t know she did that when I wasn’t around.”
The wrinkles around Ethel’s eyes deepened. “I believe she did it with the best of intentions.”
“Oh, no, I know,” Milo said, releasing one corner of the blanket to flap a hand in the air. “I just…I’m surprised, I guess. You never said anything about it.”
“I figured you would tell me if it was important.”
Was it important? His gender was only one part of him, just like his hair, his eyes, and the birthmark on his big toe that sort of looked like a hoofprint.
It all mattered equally, but unlike his hair, eyes, and toes, his gender was a bit more complex.
Sure, he talked about complex things with Ethel all the time, and even more so with Ray, but Milo had been doing his best to avoid the edge of that chasm.
Sometimes, that was easier said than done.
Ethel brought up Anabelle often, and to be fair, so did Milo, but it usually involved a funny story or relevant anecdote, like everything he’d shared with Rowan.
Every once in a while, though, Ethel would get melancholy, and Milo would find himself teetering back and forth on that edge.
That was probably why he hadn’t told Ray or Ethel about the chasm and the fog.
After everything that had happened, he found himself not wanting to talk about himself at all.
He’d had to do enough talking when explaining to Andrew and his coworkers about losing Anabelle and, later, explaining to Ethel about losing the shitstain that was Andrew.
After that, it just felt easier to talk about anything and everything that wasn’t about him or the way his heart didn’t seem to beat the same way it did when Anabelle was alive, and how sometimes, late at night, he would wonder what would happen if he let himself fall into the chasm.
Milo’s pony gave a soft, plaintive whinny, pulling Milo back from that edge, but also drawing his attention to something else.
He hadn’t realized it, but he hadn’t had those thoughts in several weeks now.
It had started the day he met Rowan. That wasn’t to say it was thanks to Rowan because he would never want to pin something that monumental and heavy on another person.
It was more so that meeting Rowan had somehow changed the direction Milo’s life seemed to be heading.
For whatever reason, while standing in that movie theater lobby, something had come over him, and he’d offered more information about his gender than he had in almost two years. He wasn’t sure if it had been Rowan, Milo, or his pony, but something had spurred him on.
As Milo sat mulling this over, Ethel reached into her “bag of bullshit” as she called it. At any given time, it usually contained three knitting projects, five snacks, at least two things she wasn’t supposed to have, and something that would no doubt get them all into trouble.
Today, it contained a honeycrisp apple, and she handed it to Milo and made a “go on” gesture with her hand. Milo dropped the other side of the blanket, exposing his entire skinny back to the breeze.
He placed the palms of both hands on the top of the apple and gripped the bottom with his fingers. His pony conjured up a picture of Anabelle, with her long, gray hair and dazzling smile, and Milo split the apple in half, just the way she used to do for him.