Chapter 10
Autumn
I haven’t seen my sister in almost a year, and her chin-length bob is all grown out and wrapped up in a bun on her head, making the two of us look even more like twins than usual. I hold her at arm’s length. “Love the updo, boo! And love this dress!”
It’s a pale blue cotton that’s meant to look like denim, trimmed in white lace, with big delft-looking buttons up the front.
“Yours, too!” Summer says, plucking at the peach-colored sundress blooming with dahlias I chose this morning. “And this must be Tucker!” She grabs both his hands in hers and tugs him into a hug.
The look on his face is priceless. I don’t think people touch Tucker very much. He’s got such a remote vibe.
Thinking of Tucker as touch starved is probably not a great addition to the collection of unwanted thoughts and feelings I already have about him.
“Thank you so much for coming to my wedding!” she tells him. “I’ve been so excited to meet you. Autumn doesn’t usually get this glowy over a guy.”
I really wish she hadn’t said that. I mean, what if he were really a guy I’d just started dating and I hadn’t told him my real feelings yet? Now he would know how into him I am. And now he does know that I haven’t actually been into anyone for…
Well, for a really, really long time.
Not since I went home to take care of Summer and Jim went MIA on me.
But that’s not important right now.
Summer releases Tucker and turns back toward me and our dad. “Jane’s flight was diverted because of in-air engine trouble,” she frets. “What if she misses the welcome party tonight? Guests are starting to arrive—I keep getting texts from people—and I want her to be here to greet them with me!”
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“In the air on her way to Portland. She’s going to try to get on standby for a Redmond flight.”
“Did her conference go well?” Jane is flying in later than Summer so she can present at a women’s leadership conference on challenges specific to trans women.
Jane does a ton of support work in the trans community, and while she’d be the first to say no one needs to talk about anything they don’t want to talk about, it’s important to her to share her experiences and publicly mentor others.
“She said it went great! I wish I could have been there to see it; I bet she was amazing. But I’m freaked out about her flight! What if she doesn’t make it in time?”
I give her another hug. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll get here.”
“Promise?” she asks.
I think of her at eight and ten and twelve, asking, Promise?
I think of her at nineteen, too, and how I wished, so fervently, that there was something I could promise her other than It’ll get better.
“Promise,” I say, and I vow that I’ll make this, and everything else, okay for her.
And it seems to work because her shoulders straighten and her brow unfurrows.
I suddenly become aware that Tucker is no longer standing at my side, and I scan the room, searching for him.
He’s helping my grandmother push her walker toward a nearby couch, his body language unhurried, patient.
When they reach the couch, he helps her sit, then joins her.
He leans in and says something, and she giggles.
She replies, and the rough unused sound of his laughter, even at a distance, does something to my insides.
Nessa catches me staring. “He saw Lola was starting to sway on her feet and took it upon himself to grab her a seat. What a nice man you’ve got yourself, huuno.”
She knows, of course, that I haven’t “got myself” any man, but there’s mischief on her face; she’s totally enjoying herself.
Summer’s looking Tucker and Grandma’s way now, too. “Autumn! He’s—amazing. Aw, look at them. They’re adorable.”
Grandma is telling a story that involves a lot of expansive hand gestures.
Summer leans in and whispers to me, “I’m so glad you’re back on the horse, and what a horse!”
Faintly annoyed, I mutter, “He’s not a horse—”
“You know what I mean! He’s gorgeous! Those shoulders! Those arms! That face!”
“I’m a lucky woman,” I say, trying to keep the dryness out of my voice.
“I’ve just worried about you. It’s been such a long time since you were with someone,” Summer says.
It has. My sister still doesn’t know the real reason Jim and I broke up, and if I have my way, she never will. I told her that I ended things because they weren’t working out for me.
I didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she already felt. I’ve never regretted the decision, but the more time that passes, the less possible it feels to ever tell her how much losing Jim hurt.
“It’s nice to break the dry spell,” I manage, hoping that this conversation is the last one we’re going to have about my long, still-ongoing sex hiatus while Tucker’s in the room, looking hot and making my grandmother laugh.