Her voice was soft. “What about Miles?”
I sighed, feeling a trembling in my chest that warned tears were imminent. “His life is here. He doesn’t want to come with me.” My voice cracked at the end.
“Oh, my baby. I’m so sorry.”
I just nodded though I knew she couldn’t see it, fighting back tears and losing.
“Maybe you could do long distance?”
I sniffed back a sob. “I don’t think so, Momma. We need to be close. I don’t think either of us want to be apart with no end date in sight.”
She was quiet again. Processing the information, I supposed. “I know this will work out, honey. If he’s the man for you, this will all work out.”
Tears were streaming silently down my face. “I know that, Momma. But I love him so much, and this is breaking my heart. I don’t know the right thing to do.”
“You listen to me, Atlas Azalea St. James. Communicate with your man, and don’t hold anything you are feeling back. You do that, and this will work out. I feel that in my gut.”
I almost rolled my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. My mother always trusted her gut, and I had to admit, it had served her well over the years. When I was twelve, she’d opted to forgo the only junker we thought we could afford, claiming it didn’t feel right in her gut, and the next week, a friend offered her a much nicer, newer car for the same price. Another time, she leapt at a low-paying job because she felt in her gut that it was right. And not six months later, a position opened up, and she got a promotion and a raise, enough to cover her bills and save a little, too. She was working at that law office to this day.
So instead of giving in to the fear, the worry that this would be the end of Miles and me, I let her words calm me for the moment. “Thanks, Momma. I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby. Now, tell me what you’re wearing to prom.”
I laughed, sending her the picture I’d saved from its online listing. She gasped and swooned over it, and I just smiled, enjoying the light chatter that buoyed my mood during our few minutes of easy conversation.
But when I ended the call and started getting ready, I knew the anxiety would be back all too soon.
***
Formal clothing was always a beast. Not only did one have to spend a lot of money on a new outfit, which I wouldn’t have minded had I not come to Gomillion with a decimated savings account and very little saved in the five months I’d been here, but I had to predict my pronouns and vibe for the event.
I was a proud, fabulous, genderfluid transgender human—admittedly a mouthful—and I was confident in and happy with my identity, but it had its challenges.
For the eighties-themed reunion prom, I’d chosen to go with a masc-cut suit, but in true fashionista form, it was made of a dark-purple satin brocade with black satin edging the lapels. The pants were made of the same fabric but had a satin stripe, also in black, on the outside of each tapered leg. The satin laced throughout the brocade shone in the Hollywood-style lights of my vanity as I stood in front of the tall mirror in the corner to check my reflection.
I’d sent Miles links for a tie and pocket square in the same color and pattern, and I couldn’t wait to see the suit he’d picked out for the occasion. Would it be black and sleek or gray and fitted? A casual, classic style or more modern?
Whatever he’d chosen, I knew he was going to look positively edible. And I was going to have so much fun peeling it off him tonight.
My heart panged at the thought of our last night together, making me sigh. I shrugged out of the jacket, laying it on the bed carefully, then sat back down at the vanity table to finish my makeup, careful not to get anything on the black slim-fit dress shirt I was wearing with the jacket.
Despite the slight mood bump the conversation with my momma had given me, melancholy settled back in. Why did we have to end before we’d really gotten a chance to begin? I’d never trade these months with Miles, but we could’ve had something more, somethingbiggernow that he’d come out. I was so proud of him for doing it, especially knowing I wasn’t staying in Gomillion, but I couldn’t help but think yet again that the Universe had the worst timing.
I wanted to stay for him. I wanted to be this man’s Daddy for the rest of our lives. But it made no logical sense. It wasn’t responsible.
I didn’t want to be responsible, dammit. But even if I threw caution to the wind, I also knew that Miles would be the only reason I’d stay. And though he was everything to me, it wouldn’t have been enough, and I didn’t want to grow to resent him.
Though I’d never loved it here, I’d resigned myself to staying when I fell in love with Miles. But the job situation changed things. If I stayed, I’d have to take yet another job I was overqualified for. I’d have to stay in this small town where, if I was being honest, I felt like I couldn’t fully be my fabulous self. I’d never had overt hate directed my way—everyone had been surprisingly kind, actually—but being in a space where people tolerate your identity is very different than being around people who embrace it and celebrate you for exactly who you are.
I gasped, freezing in place for a split second, then returned my mascara wand to its tube and twisted it closed. I hadn’t put that together yet, but I realized now that was why I’d never truly felt like this was home: I couldn’t be one-hundred-percent myself.
Mileswas home, but Gomillion wasn’t—and it wouldn’t ever be. I needed a place where I could spread my feathers like the proud peacock I’d always been. I’d found that in Seattle, and I think that was why I loved it there so much. Not being there these past several months had felt like part of me was back in the closet, and I hadn’t fully recognized that until now.
Being with Miles had partially filled that hole for me. But looking at it from a different perspective, our relationship had served to mask that desire.
I deserved to be fully out and proud. I wanted that for me. Honestly, I wanted that forhim. But I wasn’t going to beg him to come with me—that would just causehimto resentmedown theline. No, if he ever followed me out West, it had to be completely his decision.
The front door opened, and I smiled as I set my mascara down and stood to greet my man. I checked my hair one last time in the mirror—perfectly coifed, not a hair out of place—then pulled on my jacket before heading into the hall.
