Chapter 12 #2
I want to agree and vehemently protest the fact that Jules is getting the same punishment as Sadie for defending herself, but after she yelled at Bianca, I don’t have much moral ground to stand on at the moment.
Jules will manage her schoolwork just fine; I’m not worried about that. She thrived during Covid. Her grades were the highest they’ve ever been. But I hate that she’ll be missing out on science club. I know how much she loves it, even if she’s not a fan of the project they chose.
I walk Jules to her locker so she can get the rest of her books, and we keep a safe distance behind Bianca and Sadie as we head toward the parking lot.
“Why did you cut your tank top into a bra?” I ask Jules. “I didn’t even know you wanted to start wearing bras.” It’s not like she needs one yet. Then it hits me. “Is that what you wanted to go shopping for last month? After I got back from my weekend in Mapletown?”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “There are so many different kinds. I wanted to see what it felt like to wear one.”
I stop in my tracks, and my eyes sting with tears.
Here I am priding myself on prioritizing Jules’s needs when it comes to gender-affirming care, and I fucking blow it on one of the simplest ways to do that.
Dressing like a girl is one of the easiest ways for Jules to embrace this new identity, and I stood directly in her way.
Why, because we’d gone shopping the month before, and I didn’t want to spend too much on her?
The fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like I don’t have the money to spend.
I was purposefully saving it for gender-affirming care, and when I get the chance to spend it on that, I become an ignorant tightwad.
She didn’t specify she wanted to buy bras at the time, but I should’ve asked.
I’m also not about to drop a grand on bras for my daughter.
For basics, we tend to go as cheap as possible, and when we shop the popular brands, I use the coupon code app on my phone to secure discounts.
Shopping smart is something I’ve always been good at.
I can do this without letting Jules turn into a spoiled brat.
I wrap my arm around Jules’s shoulders and guide her to the car, walking quickly. Once we’re safely inside, I crumble.
“Shit, honey. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.
All of it.” I pull a tissue from my purse and wipe my eyes.
“If I’d just gotten you the bras you wanted, today wouldn’t have happened, and if I’d kept my wise ass to myself, you wouldn’t have said what you did to Bianca.
Which wasn’t okay. You know that, right? ”
She nods, her lip trembling. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
Beneath the ice pack, I can tell she’s crying too, now, and that makes me feel like an even bigger pile of shit.
“I never should’ve said it to begin with, though.
And my temper…” The list of ways I’m failing as a parent is piling up in my head now.
I’ve opened the floodgates. “I’m sorry you inherited that part of me.
It’s always been my biggest flaw. The thing your grandparents are most ashamed of.
” My nose is running, and keeping up with the endless string of snot becomes a trying task.
“I don’t know, maybe I need to speak with someone. Get back into therapy.”
I probably shouldn’t even be sharing these thoughts with Jules, right?
I’m sure there’s a parenting group on Facebook that would tell me to lead by example, and stay strong for my kid, because kids need stability above all else.
That I’m letting her down, and maybe even her dead-beat dad would do a better job than I have.
But aren’t you allowed to be human in front of your kids? Aren’t you allowed to screw up and feel lonely and break down in tears when you’re convinced the world is falling apart and you’re doing everything wrong?
Fuck if I know.
“Never mind,” I eventually say. “I’ll figure it out.”
I start the car as I will my tears to stop falling. Jules turns on the radio to the all-Christmas station, but she doesn’t sing along like she usually does.
“A two-week suspension, not including the holiday break, means you’ll be out of school for a while,” I say, setting up my attempt to lift the mood. “Anything you want to do?”
Her head jerks back. “I’m not in trouble?”
I shake my head. “I need you to promise me two things. First, that you won’t speak that way to another adult unless they’re making you feel unsafe. Second, that you won’t repeat the things I say about anyone else to their face, okay? This needs to remain our little peapod of trust.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Promise. To both things.”
I shrug. “Then we’re good, peanut. If someone pushes you, you have the right to defend yourself. I don’t care what Principal Torres said.”
Her shoulders loosen, and I take it as a win. It doesn’t cancel out the other missteps, but it’s something.
“So…how should we spend this extended holiday break? Other than keeping up with homework, of course.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “I’ve been talking to Rocío on Instagram.
She’s really cool. We like a lot of the same things.
” Her speech has sped up, a clear indication of her excitement.
“She sends the funniest memes and the prettiest makeup tutorials. Could we go back to Mapletown? So I can see her?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think we can make that happen. I’ll talk to her mom and see if they’ll be around the next few weeks.”
Jules bounces in her seat, and the next thing I know, she’s screeching the words to “Jingle Bell Rock.” When we pass the street I’d normally take to go home, her brow furrows as she asks, “Where are we going?”
“Shopping,” I reply with a wink. “Let’s get you some bras, baby girl.”