Chapter 35
As soon as I’m sure we’re out of earshot, I can no longer keep my composure. “Okay, did I miss something?” I whisper loudly. “What the hell is wrong with a blanket fort?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jude grumbles. “That was weird.”
“Poor kiddos. I was excited, too.”
Jude leads me through the main room of the finished basement, which includes a pool table, a decent-sized television, two small recliners, and an unmade pull-out sofa bed.
We wind down a strangely narrow hallway and into a bedroom.
On its own, the room isn’t very large, but it has a door that leads outside, indicating that Jude is free to come and go as they please without having to navigate through the main house.
The walls are mostly bare, but there’s one framed, movie-style Our Flag Means Death poster featuring most of the first-season cast hanging over the bed.
I also notice another poster on the opposite wall from a Mitski concert.
Otherwise, I can hardly tell someone lives here at all, let alone the person I care about more than anyone in the world.
“Wow, so is this your childhood bedroom?”
“Nah,” Jude replies. “I moved to the basement the summer before college. I wanted more space and privacy, so the whole basement is mine. Not right now, though. Taylor, Danny, Harper, and maybe some of the other kids have been sleeping down here for a few days.”
“Is your whole family staying here for the holiday?” I ask, incredulous.
Jude sighs. “Yep. I’ve never been more grateful to have my own space, which includes a door.”
Damn. I knew this house was big, but to have enough bedrooms for all twenty of these people to stay comfortably for several days, including a bunch of kids? It must be massive.
“Here we go,” Jude says with a grunt, pulling a plastic bin from under the bed. They pop it open, revealing several boxes of crayons, markers, and colored pencils, along with multicolored cardstock and spiral-bound notebooks. “Do you think this is enough?”
“Yeah, I would say so.” I study them for a moment, then ask, “Are you okay?”
Jude exhales a nervous laugh. “We’ve barely been here fifteen minutes, and I already feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I have no idea what.”
I shake my head. “Babe, you’ve done nothing wrong. Trust me.”
Jude glances up at me with a shy smile. “You don’t have to call me ‘babe’ when no one’s around.”
I shrug. “I think it’s best if I stay in character.”
They roll their eyes, but their smile stays put. “How are you feeling about everything?”
“Oh, I’m good. This is pretty easy so far.” I pause, realizing that’s not exactly true. “Well, except for keeping my mouth shut while everyone keeps deadnaming and misgendering you. That fucking sucks. Can we at least tell the kids your real name?”
Jude’s smile fades. “I think it’ll be confusing for them and just make the adults mad.”
“What about Taylor and Danny, though?” I press. “They seem pretty cool.”
“It’s not worth it.”
I frown. “Do they even know?”
Jude’s gaze drops to the art supplies. “Not from me. I can’t imagine what kind of weird shit they think about me based on whatever telephone-game info they picked up.”
“Maybe you should try talking to them,” I offer. “They’re staying down here, right? You can probably get Taylor alone to talk to her.”
Jude shakes their head. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t know this family.
It’ll somehow get back to my parents, who won’t hesitate to confront me in front of everyone, and I can’t handle that.
So the best course of action is to avoid sensitive topics, ignore their stupid opinions, and put up with the bullshit until we can leave. ”
I sigh. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. Thank you. Now, let’s get this stuff up to the kids.”
We head back upstairs, bringing the box of art supplies to the living room and spreading its contents across the coffee table.
Emma still looks disappointed, but she selects a sheet of yellow cardstock and a handful of colored pencils from the pile and gets to work.
Aiden, Brooke, and Mason follow Emma’s lead, and even Jude reluctantly grabs a few supplies to start a project of their own.
Instead of joining them, I watch. Emma draws a field of wildflowers set against a blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and a big, round sun.
Aiden’s page looks like it was printed straight from Minecraft, with blocky structures and contraptions in greens, browns, and grays.
Mason’s work features a giant truck, not unlike the toy he’s been carrying around, except it's hauling smaller vehicles and other trucks.
Brooke’s piece depicts several people of varying heights, hairstyles, and clothing colors, and even includes two four-legged friends.
She catches me looking and eagerly points to each figure.
“That’s Daddy and Mommy—see, Daddy is a policeman—and this one is me, that’s Aiden, this one is Cooper, and these are my dogs, Nubs and Jeffy. ”
“Wow, Brooke, that’s really nice,” I say. “You’re a very good artist.”
“Thank you,” Brooke says, beaming. “Want me to draw you?”
“I would love that!” I reply.
While Brooke excitedly grabs a fresh sheet of cardstock, I turn my attention to Jude.
They’re completely immersed, sketching in a spiral notebook propped against their legs and angled so I can’t see it.
But I don’t try to peek—I’m perfectly content watching them work.
Their lips curl and press together, their tongue sliding against the inside of their cheeks, occasionally poking out of their mouth in deep concentration.
It’s the most endearing and captivating display I’ve ever seen.
God, when did I become such a sap?
“Hey, hey, look!” Brooke exclaims, poking my arm. “It’s you!”
I tear my gaze away from the Jude show to look at Brooke’s work, and I immediately break into a wide grin.
Because she used an entire page for my portrait, Brooke spared no detail.
She included my eyebrows, lips, nose, and even my earrings.
She added a few extra inches of flowing yellow hair, and my legs are so long they disappear off the page.
But for a six-year-old, this is genuinely impressive.
“Wow, Brooke, this is amazing! That looks just like me! Jude, look!”
Jude peers up from their work, and I don’t even realize my mistake until I see Jude’s eyes fill with panic.
“Who is Jude?” Brooke asks.
“Oh, that’s just their nickname,” I explain casually. “Do you know what a nickname is?”
Brooke’s brows furrow. “No.”
I press my lips together. “A nickname is a cute little name you call someone special. Like, my real name is Oliver, but sometimes my little sister calls me ‘Ollie-bear’. That’s my nickname.”
“But Oliver and Ollie-bear sound the same. Jude doesn’t sound like DEADNAME.”
“They don't have to sound the same,” Jude chimes in. “A nickname can be anything, as long as it’s nice and the other person says it’s okay.”
“Is it like when Aunt Taylor calls Harper ‘Bunny’?” Emma asks, barely looking up from her wildflowers.
“That’s exactly right!” Jude says. “Bunny is Harper’s nickname, even though those names don’t sound alike at all.”
“Can I have a nickname?” Brooke asks.
“Sure,” I say. “How about Miss Picasso?”
Brooke scrunches her nose. “What does that mean?”
Jude tries not to laugh. “Picasso was a famous artist. You’re also an artist who could become famous one day.”
Brooke considers it, glancing down at her art and smiling. “Okay, I’m Miss Pickle-So from now on.”
As soon as Jude and I make eye contact, we crack up, struggling to stifle our laughter. “That’s perfect,” I manage. “Miss Pickle-So it is.”
“Who’s ready to eat?” calls a voice from the kitchen.
“Me!” Brooke shouts, scrambling to her feet and sprinting to the kitchen. She’s followed by the rest of the kids, the men, and then Jude and me.
Witnessing all of Jude’s family crammed into one room is, in a word, overwhelming. If I’m feeling that, I can only imagine how poor Jude feels. But it’s not long before I’m distracted, as usual, by food.
The spread of Thanksgiving dishes covers every inch of the kitchen countertops and island, and my mouth immediately starts salivating.
They’ve got all the turkey-day hits: mashed potatoes, gravy, mac-and-cheese, stuffing, cranberry sauce, buttered dinner rolls, honey-baked ham, and, of course, a massive turkey.
And some green stuff, too—green bean casserole, maybe?
Asparagus? I’m sure someone is excited about that, but it’s not me.
My eyes are on those potatoes, pasta, and pink pig meat.
“All right, everyone, Grandpa Bill is going to say grace!” Ashlynn shouts over the rest of the family. A chorus of shushes follows until everyone settles down.
As Jude’s father recites a prayer to bless the feast, I give Jude’s hand a gentle squeeze. Jude returns it, pressing their side into me.
“In Jesus’ name, Amen,” Bill finishes.
“Amen,” everyone says in unison.
“Now, let’s eat!” Jude’s mom commands, a wide grin on her face.
The family lines up at the edge of the kitchen counter to fill their plates, and despite my growling stomach, I wait for Jude’s signal to join the line.
Jude’s cousin Taylor—by far my favorite adult family member—slips in line behind us with Danny and little Harper.
Taylor gently nudges Jude to get their attention, then whispers something in their ear that brings a genuine smile to Jude’s face.
The two of them look at me, and Jude erupts into giggles before looking away.
“Should I be concerned?” I ask.
Danny laughs. “I would be if I were you.”
Taylor playfully shoves Danny’s upper arm. “Oh, hush, Danny. I was just telling DEADNAME how handsome you are, Oliver.”
I raise one brow toward Jude. “Is that true?”
“Taylor’s also being inappropriate,” Jude answers, their cheeks bright pink.
“Oh, Lord,” Danny groans.