Then he went easy on me, opening with a Spanish Game leading into a Berlin Defense, and I cleaned up quick enough that we switched and played a second game that took much longer. No drinks, just quiet play until he said “So, you ready for tomorrow?” I nodded, moving my bishop.
“You sure?”
I snickered. “About the move, or tomorrow?”
“And there you are. You’ll be fine.”
Back upstairs, I cleansed, brushed, prepped, and climbed into bed after texting Mom that I just needed to think myself to sleep. If she came up for our nightly ritual, we’d talk, and thinking was what I needed to do right now. She sent back a heart and kiss emoji and I returned them and put my phone in its cradle, grabbed Hads, and settled back.
And thought about dating Papa. Seeking kisses, real kisses. Just imagining that made all the blood rush to my head. Panicking over kisses; I’d never felt so juvenile. Mom was right—I had adult perspective, but it was a useless perspective, even a harmful one. The thought of getting intimately close with anyone of the opposite sex filled me with longing and terror to the point of nausea, putting myself in that picture nearly made my brain do the blue screen of death. Fatal error, bugchuck, reboot. It was far more than just the thought of, eventually, having sex as a woman with a man, it was . . .
You’re afraid to love and be hurt, isn’t that a flashing sign you’re not ready for anything like this yet?
But I knew myself; if I waited to do anything until I’d overcome my fear, I’d never start. It was like my bath yesterday. Shaking but with my feet in the water. The only way past this feeling of doom was to get into a relationship that didn’t immediately blow up on me. And Papa . . . felt easy, when I wasn’t frozen thinking about it. And Pinky had vetted him. I could wait years and not get a better chance than this.
Clutching Hads, I realized my heart was pounding. Because I’d made up my mind. Mom had said to sleep on it, but I couldn’t imagine any of the variables—my battered heart, Papa’s thereness—changing before tomorrow or next week or next month. But that meant there was something I had to do first.
Sitting up, I grabbed my phone and swiped to the text app and then froze, thumb over Papa’s name. Breathing deep, I fired off a text.
My thumbs flew.
The dots cycled. And stopped. And cycled.
I’d almost started typing again when my cell chimed. He was calling.
Every neuron in my brain wanted to take it back. It had been stupid. Fingers shaking, I answered it. “Hi.” It was a squeak, but he heard it.
“Hi.” There was a long silence, which, not at all confident I could make more words, I didn’t mind at all. Finally, “Really?”
I nodded uselessly. “Yeah.” Oh, look. Words. “The transformation spliced my genes with another person’s, I got my second X-chromosome from them. Genetically I’m my own child now, only fifty percent of my original genes.” I swallowed the end of the sentence, inhaled.
“. . . Wow. Are you— I mean, how are you even okay?”
A short laugh burst from my chest. “I’m not? Well, I am? But I used to be like, a foot and a half taller? Just, bigger? I had a dick! I liked girls! And I was pretty much finished with my life but at least I had it figured out, you know?” I finished, breathing hard, and “Papa? Chet?”
“I’m here.” His voice didn’t tell me anything, and suddenly I was glad for our distance; whatever he was feeling would probably only panic me worse.
“I just— I had to tell you.”
“I’m glad you did. How long?”
“Oh. Bit more than a month before school started.” Unbelievably, that was really all it had been.
“From a six-foot-plus dude to you? And you like guys, now?”
I laughed, a bit more naturally and less hysterically since he seemed to be taking it . . . well? “And I can’t begin to describe how deeply weird that is. Imagine the food you just hate, a dish that triggers your gag reflex? And imagine that it’s all you want, now. Just the smell makes you drool uncontrollably. You can’t stop thinking about it. You dream about it.”
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“Liver,” he said.
“What?”
“Liver. Can’t stand it. Mom cooks liver, I can’t even go in the kitchen after. And she cooks it at least once a month, Dad loves it.”
I laughed again. “What do you do?”
“Go get a burger. Or if I know in advance, I can guilt Brad or Bret into inviting me home for dinner. I can’t imagine— It’s like that, for you?”
“Yeah,” I said, relaxing back into my blankets. “I used to think girls were the bee’s knees, you know? Pretty girl walked by, I’d lose whatever I was thinking about. Now? They’re pretty and all, smell nice, but that’s it. Boys? Oh, my God.”
“Huh. Makes sense, now.”
“Makes sense?”
“Oh, uh,” his voice tipped suddenly nervous. “Well, you’re pretty smooth, right? Collected. But sometimes when a guy talks to you, or, or you’re just looking at one of us talking, you get this freaked-out look. That’s why, isn’t it? I thought it might be, well, something else.”
I nodded, swallowing. So he’d noticed. I’d been obvious enough that typically-oblivious teenage boys were picking up on it. Or was it just Papa? “Yeah. Yeah, that’s why. What did you think it was?”
“Um. I thought something bad might have happened to you, that maybe that’s why you were living with your mom, now. This is better. Weirder, but better.”
And, okay, wow, that was . . . “Thanks? I mean— Yes, I think it’s better, too.” After that semi-nonsensical reply came a long silence that felt almost comfortable, which was why I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed out “And Papa, I really, really like you.” And held my breath, so, so glad this was over the phone.
“. . . Same here. I mean, I wasn’t sure, you seemed a little different but alright, but after you screamed through your teeth at your third gutter-ball, I was like, ‘Yeah, I’m into her.’”
“. . . Really?” A squeak, I had no air.
“Yup. You cackling at me after shooting me for the fifth or sixth time just sorta sealed the deal. So, see you tomorrow?”
I opened and shut my mouth. “I, yes. See you tomorrow?”
“Fantastic. Goodnight, Hemingway.” And he disconnected, leaving me staring at my cellphone.
That had been, wow. My heart was beating like I’d just finished running the dammed mile again. Or jumped out of an airplane and survived or something. Putting my cell back in its cradle, I hugged Hads and stared at my shadowed ceiling, trying to process. Against all expectation it hadn’t blown up on me. It left me barely knowing what to feel, now. But—
Papa, I was a boy. Really? Well color me relieved, I thought you’d been raped or something. See you at school? That couldn’t be all there was to his reaction, let alone to my blurted I like you! confession, but if I’d intended it as any kind of test, I’d have had to say he’d not only passed it, he’d also absolutely stuck the landing. With flying colors. Fuck, he’d earned a solid 5 points for style on all the watching judge’s returned score cards. Olympic gold performance.
Forcing myself to relax again, I curled around Hads and started intentional breathing, counting the ins and outs. Sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. I wouldn’t really know until tomorrow, and lying awake catastrophizing about tomorrow was just stupid, so, sleep.
********************************************
I didn’t sleep much. I did manage to fall into a sort of twilight meditation state that passed for it, but if I dreamed at all it was a weird lucid dream of me lying in bed knowing I was dreaming of lying in bed. When my alarm went off I knew I’d been asleep because I opened my eyes.
I went through my morning routine without a missed step, but when I came down to breakfast Mom gave me a look and then a look. I groaned; it figured she’d be taking my emotional temperature every morning—especially with me slipping into genuine teen melodrama at what felt like lightning speed. “Don’t ask,” I muttered, drawing a look from Carl as well as he slipped me my egg on toast and banana.
“Well, now you’ve got to talk or we’re not letting you out of here,” he said, slipping out of his chef’s apron and tucking his tie into his shirt before digging into his own breakfast.
“Fine,” I said, sliding onto my stool and pulling my plate towards me. I wasn’t going to be a surly teen who grunted at her parents or yelled You don’t understand me! “I’ve got the hots for Papa, and Mom wants me to really date him. Sort of a training wheels relationship thing. So, sure, but I can’t do that without him knowing about me, so I told him about David last night. He said it explained a lot, and when I told him I like-liked him, he said ‘Ditto, see you tomorrow, Hemingway.’ So now I’m going to go to school and kiss him.” I filled my mouth with egg and toast, chewing. “Good job this morning. Just the right amount of pepper and runny yolk.”
Carl’s face had turned into a study in something, Mom was just laughing into her hands. I cut up and ate more egg and toast; I’d take the banana with me and eat it at the station. “And I’m nervous about Chess Club. Do you think they’ll like me?”
Mom kept looking at Carl and cracking up, so I didn’t need to ask if she was feeling him or not. Finishing my egg and drinking my juice and tucking the banana in my schoolbag, I slipped from my stool to give each of them a kiss and exit with a “Love you guys!” before either could really think of anything to say to me—although still laughing, Mom yelled “Make good choices!” after me as I went out the front door.
Insouciance. That was the word; studied indifference. Walking down Twain Street in the early morning light, I wondered if I could keep it up. Seeing Shania at the station, I waved and called, and joining her on the platform, ate my banana to forestall any questions she might have about yesterday’s news. I needn’t have worried; a morning person my rail-ride friend was not. “Hey,” I nudged the sleepy ninth year when our railcar came in sight.
She shuffled onto the railcar with me and sank into my side when we sat down. Now she was half-clowning, which fit my morning mood. “I miss summer,” she muttered.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll bet first day you were so excited to see everyone.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.” I leaned my head back against the window and closed my eyes. God, but I loved this.
We transferred at City Center, and Shania picked up on my growing nervousness but didn’t say anything. Coming into the Hadley station, I looked ahead as we slowed and saw Papa waiting by the gate again. Shania saw him too and gave me a friendly elbow as I clutched my schoolbag and did a last up-and-down check of my uniform. When the doors opened, I kept ahead of the tide, crossing the street and stepping up to him.
Lacing my fingers through his, I stood up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The dimple blossomed, electrifying me. He tugged my hand and we floated through the gates and up to the school doors. “Step,” he said before I could bark my shoe on the stone steps and faceplant.
Through the doors and at the junction, he repeated yesterday’s performance to drop his own parting cheek-kiss, smiling. “Lunch by ourselves, today?”
“Uh, yeah. Where?”
“I’ll show you. See you later, Hemingway.” Letting my hand drop, he disappeared into the crowd and I remembered to make my own feet move. At least I could tell I had them.
God, this is going to kill me.