7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Ray
M y folks call me after dinner on Thursday night. I’ve been keeping busy all day with classes and studying with Jordie and trying not to dwell on the fact that it’s my first birthday away from home. I miss my family and our silly little traditions.
Dinner alone in the dining hall after my math lecture just really drove home how lonely I’ve felt all semester. My study sessions with Jordie have been such a bright spot, but dinner with them on Tuesday felt like a harsh reality check. I’m not as important to them as they are to me. Why would I be? They have friends and family and a whole life here.
A life that they’re sort of inviting me into a little more tomorrow night. I’m trying not to read too much into the drag show outing, but I’m excited. The loneliness has been getting worse and I’m not entirely sure I can handle being so far from home for the next three years. Still, I’m not prepared for the lurching dread that hits me in the chest as I answer my family’s video call with the knee-jerk impulse to jam my toque onto my head. It sucks to hide the drastic change in my appearance, a wary acknowledgement that something that brings me joy might be shameful to them.
I had to take off my binder as soon as I got back to my dorm. It smells like I might need to wash it before the drag show. After a couple of days of wearing it around campus for a full day of classes, it’s getting hard to see myself without it flattening my curves. At least the stylish layers Jordie suggested help minimize my chest more comfortably than my oversized hoodie, even without the binder underneath risking outing me to my family.
I plaster on a fake grin and wave for the camera. A fresh wave of lonely hits at seeing my family on my computer screen. I hate feeling lonely with them, like my secrets are a barrier between us and true closeness.
“Happy birthday!” All three of my brothers and our parents chorus as soon as I connect to their video chat request. I roll my eyes at them. The dorks all gathered together for this. Mom even has her traditional sloppily frosted cake sitting on the table with a huge off-kilter 21 candle jammed into the top layer.
It doesn’t help allay my sense of alienation from the family that my brothers are a lot to live up to. Adam is the oldest. He’s a doctor, and he married his residency arch rival, Jackie, last year. Darren is a lawyer, working for a queer rights charity. Luke just graduated as a civil engineer. He’s ace and has always been indifferent toward sex and dating. I think our folks have finally accepted that he truly is happy being single.
When they take their seats at that table with the camera angle zoomed out more, I can see that my oldest two brothers have partners with them tonight. Jackie looks effortlessly serene with a hand on her perfectly round bump at six months pregnant with my first nephew. Darren’s date is someone I don’t recognize, but he’s been talking about a new paralegal he met through work, so I assume it’s zir.
“Did you get yourself a cake like I asked?” Mom fusses.
“Right here.” I hold up the cupcake that Jordie brought to our study session earlier.
They hugged me when they handed it over and it felt so good to be wrapped in their arms. Like I wasn’t alone and untethered in a strange new city. Their body was so soft and yielding against mine, their floral shampoo sweet in my nostrils. Jordie gives excellent birthday hugs. I’d told them about my birthday last week, but I didn’t expect anything from them. I know they have an evening recitation on Thursdays. So it wasn’t like they were going to show up for another dinner like the one we shared after shopping on Tuesday.
The pretty confection they gave me is a sweet gesture. The bright yellow sunflower frosted on top is almost too gorgeous to eat. It made me smile because of how well the vibrant flower evokes their nickname for me. I didn’t bother with candles since I don’t want to be that guy who sets off the smoke detectors and gets the entire dorm evacuated. The thought draws me out of my wistful thoughts of Jordie and back to the expectant faces of my family watching me from my computer screen.
“I’ll have to pretend about the candles,” I joke weakly.
It’s nice to be the center of attention, even if it’s only virtually. The evidence that my family cares enough to get together to celebrate with me, even long distance, goes a long way to assuaging the ache of missing home. It fills a hollow space inside my heart. Maybe they don’t see all of me, but they care.
“We’ve got you covered, sis.” Adam gestures toward the cake with its burning candles. And all the joy I felt at being remembered and celebrated by my family shrivels like a salted slug.
I tug my toque lower over my shorn hair, hiding myself from them. The walls around my heart try in vain to block out the sting of them not seeing me. It’s not their fault. I still haven’t worked up the guts to tell them yet. I want to, I just… can’t. The words stay locked in my throat, along with the burning sting of hurt tears.
“You’re old enough to drink there now, right?” Darren asks.
“You know the first thing she did was probably to grab a fake ID, otherwise what’s even the point of undergrad?” Luke teases.
“Studying hard, obviously.” I stick my tongue out at Luke. He rolls his eyes.
I know for a fact he spent his college years studying his ass off. All my brothers studied hard and they’re all successful in their chosen fields. I struggled to get good enough marks to get into Northeastern University. And much as I’m devoted to my chosen career path, I know it’s not as glamorous as what my brothers do.
My reply gets all three of my brothers started heckling me about what I’m even studying and if I’ve declared a major yet. Even if I wanted to hear their well-intended teasing, I wouldn’t be able to parse who was saying what as they all talk over each other. I haven’t told them I want to be a therapist for kids like me because I haven’t told them who I am yet. The longer this goes on, the more it feels like an invisible wall growing taller and more impenetrable between us.
“Enough of that. Sing to your sister.” Dad cuts through my brothers’ good-natured teasing.
Luke sticks his tongue out at me behind our parents’ backs. Darren winks at me, miming a drink, as if our folks can’t see them both in the little picture-in-picture square. All of my brothers obediently sing the birthday song to me and my name shouldn’t cut like a knife, but it does. The words to tell them are on the tip of my tongue, but what if they don’t listen? Or worse, if they hear me and it changes everything for the worse?
I pretend to blow out the candle on the screen. Luke snuffs out the ones on the table. As Dad serves everyone slices of cake, I stay on the call. I’m not prepared for the longing that hits me square in the chest as they eat the cake Mom made for me. It’s an almond torte with chocolate buttercream and I know from every other birthday of my life that it tastes even better than it looks.
Mom is no baker and her frosting skills leave something to be desired, but the old family recipe is foolproof and delicious. I want to be there with my family around me eating that cake. Even the annoying parts of being the baby of the family have me homesick. I want Luke to poke me in the ribs as he jokes about the birthday kid getting the last piece. I want to be there jostling elbows with Darren because he’s left-handed and always seems to end up next to me. Coming out is terrifying because I can’t fathom a future where I’m permanently locked out of our traditions. My heart aches to soak in more of these moments of family time, stockpiling memories in case they can’t accept who I am.
I haven’t been this intensely homesick since I stepped through security at the airport and waved goodbye to my parents. The lump in my throat feels like it might choke me. I have to set aside Jordie’s cupcake untasted. I can eat it later. When I’m not hollowed out and aching for the sense of belonging that I came here to find. I miss Mom and her soft hugs. And I miss my brothers’ gentle teasing and roughhousing affection and Dad’s awkward heart-to-hearts.
Maybe I can ease into this, one tiny step at a time.
I want to tell them. They chatter in a polyglot blend of English and French. Adam and his wife throw in the occasional Spanish. I’ve missed hearing more than English. The ebb and flow of conversation only emphasizes how far from home I truly am, even if it’s only a five-hour drive back to them.
The hollow ache of missing my family and feeling like a ghost haunting them as they celebrate a stranger who looks like the palest reflection of their hopes for me goads me. I try to endure it, but after a while I can’t take another second. My face is all hot and my throat feels almost scratchy with the burning need to just say it.
The words won’t come. But I yank my hat off, the soft wool crushes under my fingers and I crumple it nervously between my hands. For a few heartbeats that stretch into an eternity, no one notices or says anything. Then my mom gasps, fingers pressed dramatically to her chest.
“What happened?” Dad says it like an accusation, and I can see in both of my parents’ eyes that they hate my haircut. “Qu’est-ce que tu a fait à tes beaux cheveux?”
It’s so hard not to feel like that is the same as hating me. It’s not, but it hurts and I can’t explain or even show how devastating their response is. I sit there, feeling numb and cut off from them by so much more than the miles separating us.
“You didn’t mention wanting a new look,” Mom adds more diplomatically. She sounds more hurt than angry. So maybe she’s just upset that I’ve made such a huge change without including her.
“You loved your long hair! It’s going to take so long to grow it out again, darling. Why would you let all that effort and time go to waste?” Dad gestures. And maybe he’s just upset because of all the hours we spent together with him helping me put it into braids and trying new looks.
Years of laughter and tears as he learned how to style long hair on the days when Mom had early shifts at the hospital. She couldn’t be there to get me ready for school most days. Maybe he just misses the way it was a part of us bonding. But it hurts to have him reject something that feels like the first step toward finding the real me.
My brothers are just watching; spectators to the latest family drama. Luke is grinning like he has a joke on the tip of his tongue. Adam looks sternly disapproving, like he wants to agree with Dad that I acted rashly. I don’t look at Darren; if any of them would understand the significance of this gesture, it would be him. I don’t want to see rejection from him, so I don’t meet his gaze on the screen.
I want to scream that it’s just hair, it will grow back. But it’s not just about my hair, and I have no intention of letting it grow back out. This is about so much more than my hair. If they can’t accept that I’m an adult who can make my own decisions about a freaking haircut… I’m too scared to bring up the axis-shifting changes I came here to consider, free from their stifling love.
“I just needed a change. What do you think?” I run my fingers self-consciously through the velvety stubble on my scalp. Even in the face of my family’s disapproval, I can’t help but smile at the giddy delight of the short hair that meets my fingers. The boyish face reflected on my screen feels like a promise.
“You love it, don’t you, dear?” Mom’s face softens at my smile, and I nod. My chest feels less tight and I can breathe again at the glimmer of understanding there in her face.
“I really do. It’s like a literal weight off not having to deal with it. And I donated most of it, so all that beautiful long hair won’t go to waste.” I bite my lip as I look at Dad, echoing his words back at him. Someone who needs it can have all that beautiful long hair.
“Then I’m glad you did it. I’m sure we’ll all get used to the new look, right dear?” Mom elbows Dad. He glances down at her, takes in the smarten up look in her eyes and nods.
“Of course, if you love it, then we love it for you, honey. You just took us by surprise,” Dad says the words stiffly, but I know he means them. For a second, I think this is all going to be okay and I can say the words that might change everything without losing them.
“Ah, nice do. Bet you’ll get all the ladies with the new butch look, sis,” Luke teases me. And the words are like a gut punch. They land squarely on the insecure part of me that worries I’ll always look like a butch girl and not who I really am.
Darren elbows him. “Cut it out, Luke.” My favorite brother defends me.
“Yeah, lay off,” Adam adds.
“Sorry, I’m sure you can get as many dates as you want, sis,” Luke assures me, all earnest caring as he sees the emotions playing out on my face. “You’ll always be our baby sis, no matter how you dress or how many hearts you break.” He gives me a cheesy wink.
My stomach sours at the blatant implication that I made such a drastic change for other people. I did it for myself. Not to look the way I think other people want me to, and it hurts not to be seen. Doubly so, because I got a taste of that sort of acceptance from Jordie. Someone I’ve only known for a month sees me more clearly than the people who love me the most. That makes the lonely ache I’ve been fighting all day worse. I was right to leave, to come somewhere I can have a blank slate to figure out the man—no, that’s not quite right either—the person I am inside.
“Boys, honestly!” Mom chides, turning to give all of my brothers an exasperated look.
How would it feel if that epithet included me? I want it to, not just to be included in that fond tutting, but because that word fits me. It’s all so complicated and strange and I really miss Jordie right now. Wish I could talk over the subtle nuance of why being called a boy feels like liquid sunshine pouring over me, but man chafes. Albeit in an entirely different way than girl and woman. Each of them is an ill-fitting scratchy garment I can’t wait to shed.
Girl is like too-tight underwear I’ve outgrown. Woman fits like the underwire bras I’ve never quite grown into and good riddance to them when I switched to wearing sports bras with tight compression exclusively. Man is more like formal wear. Too stuffy for day-to-day use and I have nowhere and no desire to wear it. Boy is like my comfy jeans that hug my body and make me feel like a million bucks, even if it isn’t always the right attire for every occasion.
Dad looks into the camera and smiles conspiratorially at me, breaking me out of my weird spiral about clothing. “You see what it’s like when it’s all boys? We miss having you home to even things out, baby girl.”
I grimace, fuck. How do I tell them how much that sort of comment hurts? I can’t. I can’t do this.
“Uh, yeah. I should go, I need to study for a test. Talk to you all soon.”
“What? On your birthday?” Luke teases.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Luke, shockingly, the professor didn’t consult me about the test schedule. And unlike you, I really do need to study if I want to pass.” I stick my tongue out at him, embracing the childish teasing that makes me feel more like I’m on even footing with him again. Luke returns the gesture. Adam rolls his eyes at our antics. “Bye everyone, thanks for the birthday wishes.” I wave.
My family takes my cue and waves back. It’s not entirely true that I need to study. I have until next week to cram for the test, but I can’t do this for a moment longer; pretend every she and elle and utterance of my name doesn’t hurt.
“We put some cash in your bank account, dear. Treat yourself,” Mom says, blowing me a kiss.
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“Be safe. Stay with your friends if you go out, pour bénéficier de la force du nombre,” Dad reminds me.
“Yeah, I will.” I swallow the bitter lump in my throat at knowing he wasn’t that overprotective with my brothers when they went out at my age. Then I hang up and swallow back my tears. I can lie to myself that it’s because I’m far from home in a strange city, but I know the truth is because they’re guys.
The cupcake from Jordie is still sitting there; for a second, I want to just smash it. To break something beautiful in the real world, make it reflect all the tangled up emotions I can’t seem to reconcile and don’t want to hold inside. I want to feel the bright yellow frosting squishing between my fingers. I reach for it and the note Jordie included in the box catches my eye.
For the birthday boy, may your day be as sweet as you! Bony feet! ;)
The butchering of the French for happy birthday makes me snort. It’s so Jordie. They see me. I brush my fingers over the word boy . Me. Someone I just met a month ago knows me better than my family. That breaks open the floodgates; tears burn down my cheeks as I pick up the dainty cupcake and bite into it.
I want to destroy the beautiful frosting swirled on top. Tear it apart with my teeth. The sweetness is almost too much, just on the edge of cloying, but I bet Jordie loves it and that makes me smile through my tears. They have the biggest sweet tooth and they are forever bringing baked goods to share whenever we get together to study. It’s time to admit to myself that I have the biggest crush on them I’ve ever had on anyone. Not the least because they see the real me under the socially acceptable facade I’ve fear of the unknown has kept me too scared to shed.
They’ve held my hand through the first baby steps of becoming the Ray I long to be, and I want them to hold my hand through it all. What would they have said if they were here for that scene with my family? Probably followed my lead and not corrected the deadname that I hate more every time someone says it. It’s so much harder to pretend now that I’ve found the courage to ask for the name that fits all of me.
On a reckless impulse, I dash away my tears, snap a selfie biting into the cupcake and send it to Jordie with a quick thanks.
Then I toss my phone face-down on my bed and bury my face in my hands. I’m not ready to see their response to the picture. Did it come across as friendly? Or clumsy flirting? I rub my palms over my eyes. What was I thinking? Ugh.
Is it too late to unsend the message? My phone buzzes as I reach for it to check. I stuff my face with another bite of cupcake to shore up my nerves, then flop onto my bed to check my phone.
Jordie: Mm, looks delicious! I should have sprung for a whole box. You like it?
Ray: Yeah. It’s good. Reminds me of you.
Jordie: How so? It reminded me of you too, sunshine ;)
Because they’re so sweet it makes my teeth ache? That’s far too flirty. I delete it and try again. Except instead of backspacing over the next coy tease I tap out, I slip and fat finger the send button on an even more over-the-top cheesy line. Crap.
Ray: Hm, maybe because it looks as amazing as it tastes?
Oh, shit. Did I really just imply that I want to taste them? I mean, I do. But that’s not something you say to a friend.
Jordie: Aw, you think I’m as pretty as a cupcake?
They send a GIF of a closeup on a drag queen batting absurdly long lashes. I snort, smiling to myself as I roll onto my back to keep texting. I feel as giddy as I did texting my first boyfriend at fifteen. It feels like a first, everything brand new because this is the first time I’m flirting as the real me, nothing held back. No major secrets hanging over me or making me squirm at every well-intended compliment and gendered endearment.
Ray: You know you are. What are you doing tonight?
Jordie: I’m still in my recitation. Bored to tears. What are you doing?
Ray: Studying.
Jordie: Nerd.
Jordie: I need to finish going over this study guide so I can GTFO, but you’re coming out with me tomorrow still, right?
Ray: Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.
Nerves roil in my gut. They’re taking me to a drag show to meet their friends. It’s not like I haven’t gone to similar shows at home. I’ve enjoyed drag performances with and without Darren. This is different; I’m going to be meeting Jordie’s friends. As Ray.
I’m going to get dressed in the new clothes we bought, the stiff binder that makes me look even more masculine than just my hair and the layers of baggy clothes I’ve been wearing for months. Or the more fitting layers we got at the thrift shop. I’m going out as a boy for the first time and meeting new friends and it’s going to be amazing. Or terrifying. Both. Definitely both.
I roll back onto my belly, trying to block out the sick feeling in my stomach just thinking about all the ways tomorrow could go terribly. Luke’s teasing about being a chick magnet now plays on repeat. I don’t want to look like a butch girl, or draw the confused second glances that make Jordie smile like a Cheshire cat when people aren’t quite certain which pronouns to use for them. What I want is to look like a guy. I want people to see the real me I am inside.
Jordie: They’re going to love you. Fair warning, Jacob will hit on you.
Ray: Yeah? Does he hit on everyone?
Jordie: No. Just hot guys and the occasional masc-leaning enby. I’d say he doesn’t mean it, but he does. He just doesn’t do relationships.
“Agh.” I kick my feet, because ah! Jordie thinks I’m hot. Or they’re just being nice. Trying to boost my confidence.
Ray: I’m excited and nervous to meet everyone.
Jordie: Nothing to be nervous about. They’ll all like you. Want to bring your new clothes over here before so we can get ready together? I know the dorms can be a pain if you wanted to have more space or privacy or whatever.
Ray: Oh, score. A proper invite to the inner sanctum? I’ll be there!
Ray: J’ai hate de te voir.
I throw in the French, since they always seem to appreciate the practice when I talk to them and talking with my family has me all nostalgic for the sound of home. There’s a long pause and I chew on my lip, wondering if maybe they changed their mind or I’m coming on too strong.
I finish my cupcake in tiny nibbles as I skim the textbook for the first psych 101 exam that’s coming up next week. It’s hard to focus when I keep glancing at my phone, hoping Jordie will text again. Maybe I can finagle some extra study sessions with them out of the test. I bet they’d be down for that.
Jordie: Totally. I had to look that up because for a second I thought you were saying you hated to see me, and I was confused, but I’m excited about tomorrow too!
Jordie: Ah, my group is teasing me about being glued to my phone. I’ll text you more later, birthday boy. Enjoy the rest of your treat ;) 3
Jordie: If you’re up for it, meet me by the dining hall in an hour and I’ll show you something cool. ;)
Ray: Oh, another surprise? Do I get a hint?
Jordie: Hm…How about it’s my little brother’s favorite spot on campus?
Huh, so it’s a hint and a quiz on how well I’ve paid attention. They’ve mentioned Liam is into a few things. The library for the poetry? But we’ve been there a few times to study. They’ve mentioned taking me to check out the arboretum, but that closes at dusk and it’s getting late. I’m stumped, but I want them to know I pay attention to what they say as intently as they listen to all my transition and coming out woes.
Ray: I’d say the arboretum, but isn’t that only open during the day? Some other magical hidden garden?
Jordie: Ha! Yep, it’s closed, but my botany lab’s final project means I have permission and the security codes to enter after hours. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves to check out cool plants. Perks of using botany to fill in my missing lab science credit, yeah?
Jordie: I snuck Liam in the second week of classes, and he keeps asking when we can go again.
Ray: Sure, that sounds fun. I’ll meet you in front of the dining hall.
Jordie replies with a string of emojis that straddle the line between excited about our plans and flirty. My heart beats faster at the images. I’m reading way too much into something so innocuous. I know I am. But Jordie just makes me smile so much. And I don’t want to stop.