Chapter 4 #2
This is where the conversation peters out, right?
We’ve addressed the reason that started the chat, had a few chuckles, and now we can move on.
The text chain between us will move down the screen as others bump their way to the top with more urgency, and we’ll eventually forget we ever met.
I put my phone in my pocket and pull out of the parking garage, expecting silence from here on out.
When I turn onto the main road, I feel my pocket buzz again, and my heart thumps against my chest. As I stop at a red light, I check the text.
Dominic the Beefcake: Vyla told me to tell you to come back soon. She “misses your lush peach.” Her words. What should I tell her?
Vyla has my number, so I find this game of telephone interesting. Did he make up this message just to keep the conversation going? I hate how adorable I find that. Granted, this particular description of my butt is very Vyla, so who knows.
I pick Jules up from school—science club, specifically—and she talks me into grabbing dinner from our favorite takeout spot on the way home.
“How was science club, baby girl?” I ask as she skips through the playlist I put on until she finds a song she likes.
“Ugh, fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it was fine. Can you tell me one thing about it?”
A sigh rattles out of her chest. “We voted for our science fair project today.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it going to be?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “A lava lamp.”
My inner nineties child is jealous. “A homemade lava lamp? That’s cool. Is that not what you voted for?”
“No, I wanted to build a water filter, but everyone else voted for the lava lamp.” She shakes her head as she gazes out the window, as if the fate of humanity rests on her slim shoulders. “The water filter is useful. People need clean water.”
My precious girl. She takes herself so seriously sometimes.
Am I exposing her to too much news? I refuse to get her a phone until she’s at least fourteen, but maybe I should check the search history on her computer.
“Honey, at your age, there’s no limit to how much fun you’re allowed to have, okay?
Especially at school. There’s plenty of time to be exhausted and stressed and miserable in adulthood, but you’re not there yet. Give yourself a break.”
Her response is an affirmative grunt.
When I ask about the rest of her day, she tells me she learned “nothing” in her classes and that “nothing interesting” happened either, and I try to remind myself that this is the standard script of a budding teenager, and I’m not losing my precious baby forever.
We get home and have dinner, and Jules goes into her room to finish her homework after she loads the dishes into the dishwasher.
I change into sweats and a loose concert t-shirt that I cut into a crop top before making my way to the couch.
Then I turn on old episodes of Gilmore Girls as background noise and pull out my phone.
I respond to Dominic’s previous question about my next visit with a “Not sure.”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m pulling up my work calendar, checking it against Jules’s school calendar, and texting back, “Maybe next weekend? Not the upcoming one, but the next. Jules has a three-day weekend, and I’m taking an extra day off too.”
Why the fuck did I do that?
I mean, I was planning to take that Monday off, but why did I offer to come visit?
I don’t even have a place to stay now that Nonna Penny’s house belongs to Natalie and Winston.
We could probably book a room at the Pebblebrook Inn, but…
am I really considering dragging my daughter to a town filled with monsters?
It’s not as if Jules doesn’t know Mapletown exists.
She knows I’ve been spending time there, trying to get things sorted with the house, but she hasn’t come with me to visit since she was a baby.
Certainly not since I discovered that the town is populated with mythical creatures and the town itself is protected by some kind of spell to keep it hidden from the rest of the world.
Will Jules be able to handle this? Will she run screaming from the first orc or werewolf she sees? I don’t want to traumatize her. She came out as trans less than a month ago. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.
“Hey, pumpkin?” I shout, loud enough to reach her room down the hall. “Can you come here for a sec?”
“Coming!” Jules shouts back. She slides into the kitchen on socked feet, twirling a finger in her loose black waves. “What’s up?” She inherited my hair color, my hooded, angular eye shape, and freckles, and basically her dad’s everything else, except for her spunk. That’s all me.
Despite the genes of my Italian father, my very white ex, Billy, and Isla’s white husband, Jules, Isla, Kayla, and I are mostly Asian-presenting.
I’m probably the outlier among us, with my heterochromia, height, and body shape.
I tower over Mom, which she found amusing when I was a thin teenager spending most of my free time playing soccer and softball.
But after I was in a car accident the summer before college and my knee injury put an end to my days as an athlete, the weight seemed to pile on, and her amusement turned into judgment.
Her and Dad, and other members of the family––never Isla––have since learned how to censor their “concern for my health” after I told them to put a cork in it during a particularly tense holiday gathering.
“Do you have plans for next weekend? Want to drive up to Mapletown for the weekend with me?”
“Me and Kayla are staying at Gram’s on Saturday, remember? She’s making a cran-apple pie and showing us how to make something for cultural heritage day. Then Auntie Isla is taking us to the apple orchard on Sunday, and she said we could watch Heated Rivalry.”
I spin on my ass like a top until I’m facing her. “You are absolutely not watching Heated Rivalry. You girls are too young.”
“But Mom…” Her expression morphs into an anguished pout, and even though I feel a slight tug on my heartstrings, I stand firm.
“No way. You stopped believing in Santa last year. There needs to be more time between that milestone and when you watch a show with that much sex in it, okay, kid? Otherwise, someone is going to find out and have me thrown in jail.” I also don’t believe for a second my sister okayed this. I send her a text to confirm.
Jules says you agreed to let her and Kayla watch Heated Rivalry next weekend, but I smell bullshit.
She replies immediately with seven poop emojis.
Isla: But you and I are due for a rewatch at some point, yes?
I mean, I’ve watched the first season at least six times since the last time we watched it together, but it’s not as if I’d ever get tired of Shane and Ilya’s love story.
Obviously.
I should probably punish Jules for lying, but catching her in the lie itself feels like enough.
She and Kayla play this game just as often as me and Isla played it when we were kids.
Pitting the grownups against each other to see what they can get away with.
Unfortunately for our daughters, me and Isla talk a lot more than our parents did, mostly because we don’t hate each other, so our girls don’t get away with much.
“Auntie Isla blew up your spot, kiddo. Nice try.”
She throws her head back with a groan. “Sadie’s mom let her watch, and she won’t stop talking about it.”
I fail to stifle a sardonic laugh. “Sadie’s mom can make all the questionable decisions she wants.
We won’t be following her lead on anything, ever.
” Sadie and Jules have butted heads since sixth grade, mainly because, just like her mother, Sadie has the air of a typical empty-souled, spray-tanned mean girl, with her unnaturally white teeth, blemish-free skin, and acid tongue, and Jules has never conformed to beauty norms. I’ve let her choose her own clothes since she was old enough to speak, because who am I to tell another person what they’d feel their best in?
Even before she came out, her wardrobe consisted mostly of casual androgynous pieces.
Now that she identifies as a girl, I’ve noticed more feminine accents have been added to her outfits, and part of me is terrified Sadie will use her gender identity as a way to bully her.
To my knowledge, it hasn’t happened yet, but is it just a matter of time before it does?
My fists have been clenched since the day she came out in preparation for it.
Not just Sadie, but everyone. We live in a cruel and violent world, and for whatever reason, society seems to fear trans people more than domestic terrorism, and over my rotting fucking corpse will I let anyone insult my baby for living authentically. Ain’t happening.
“Can I have an ice cream sandwich?” she asks, holding one up for me to see.
“Only if you bring me one.” A calendar alert pops up on my phone a second later. “Don’t forget, we have that appointment on Friday morning to get your shot.”
Her lips tilt slightly downward. “Yeah, I know.”
“Are you nervous?” I ask, folding my arms on the back of the couch. “The doctor said it’s a quick pinch, and you only need one every three months. The medication is safe and everything it does is reversible.”
She doesn’t respond.
“You can also hold off on the shot if you’re not ready. Isn’t that what your therapist said?”
“Yeah.” Her brown eyes drop to a spot on the tiled floor. “I know. It’s not the needle.”
I close the distance between us and lean against the kitchen counter, about an inch from her in case she needs me. “Do you want me to move the appointment back? We can get you in to see your therapist again first if you want.”
“I just don’t know what to tell people when I get to school.” Her eyes grow wide. “Why I’m coming in late.”
I pull her into my chest, and her arms tighten around me.
When we first discussed her getting puberty blocker injections, she was thrilled and eager to begin her journey as the person she’s always felt like on the inside.
It wasn’t until she started worrying what others would think that doubts began to form.
“You don’t have to tell them anything, coconut.
But if you want to say something, keep it vague.
Just say you had a doctor’s appointment.
If anyone pushes for more details, remind them that it’s none of their damn business, okay? ”
“But what if my friends ask?”
“Haven’t they been excited for you since you came out?”
She nods.
I understand her reluctance. Her friends are few, but they’ve been a safe place to land since long before she came out.
Jules is old enough to understand how quickly that can change, though.
When she came out to her dad, he wasn’t outright transphobic, but he also wasn’t as supportive as he could’ve been.
There are still instances when he misgenders her, and it dulls the light inside of her every time.
He’s still her father, but he’s no longer a safe place for her to be fully herself, and that realization is like a knife to the chest.
“You’re good at reading people,” I tell her. “Feel them out and only share what you’re comfortable with, okay?”
She sighs and nuzzles her head a little deeper into my chest. “Okay.”
My eyes sting at the memory of her doing this as a wrinkly baby when she was hungry, then as a toddler when she needed comfort. I know there will come a day when she no longer needs these kinds of hugs, and I’m desperate for that day to be decades from now. My sweet, perfect pumpkin.
She releases me and spins toward the freezer, grabbing two ice cream sandwiches and dropping one in my palm before heading back to her room.
I take mine back to the couch and resume my scrolling. As the first bite settles on my tongue, my phone buzzes.
Dominic the Beefcake: I’ll get to meet the famous Jules? What’s her favorite kind of soda? Or does she drink juice? I’ll make sure we have some.
Why is he so excited to meet a kid he’s only heard maybe three sentences about? And eager to ensure she has her favorite drinks, as if we’d spend the majority of our time at the bar. It’s as odd as it is endearing.
No need. She just reminded me she has a two-day sleepover planned with her cousin that weekend. I’ll be flying solo this time.
Dominic the Beefcake: That’s too bad. Some other time, maybe. I’ll let Vyla know how soon you’ll be back. She’ll be thrilled.
And because I can’t resist the urge to flirt a little…
Only Vyla will be thrilled? No one else?
Dominic the Beefcake: Maybe others are thrilled, too. But maybe those others are trying to play it cool because they don’t want their excitement to freak you out.
I chuckle as the blood rushes to my cheeks and moves down my neck. As much as I loathe dating, flirting is what makes it fun. I suppose I’ve missed that part of it.
Acting “cool” is not hotter than being openly smitten, just FYI.
The dots appear and disappear a few times, making me question not only my last text, but also every decision I’ve ever made.
My anxiety doesn’t ease as the minutes pass, so I put my phone beneath a pillow and turn up the volume on Gilmore Girls.
Lorelei is just getting into a heated argument with Emily when I feel the buzz of his reply.
Dominic the Beefcake: Then consider me a smitten kitten.
Beneath the message is a selfie of him with his elbows on the bar and his large hands beneath his chin. He’s added heart emojis over each of his light blue eyes and illustrated cat ears atop his head.
This man is officially a menace, and I fear I might not hate him as much as I wanted to.