“Right,” Kate announces. “Who’s ready to find out the gender of the baby?”
Everyone cheers and whips out their cameras as I feel my eyes roll back into my head, in search of a fuck I am desperately trying to give. Why Kelly needs to do this, when she’s known since shevisited me back in LA in August, is beyond me. But I guess that’s what everyone does these days. It’s content for their socials.
Kelly grabs the knife, looks at me, and gives me a wink. It’s the same wink she always gives just before she’s about to do something crazy. She holds up the knife and instead of gently cutting a slice, she hacks into the cake, like a scene out of a horror movie. Blue sponge flies everywhere.
“It’s a boy!” Kelly says, giving a masterful look of surprise.
Everyone shoves their camera toward the unfortunate confection and then at Kelly, while Kate attempts to rescue the cake and cuts it into slices.
“But what if they decide they want to be nonbinary?” I ask.
“Christoper.” My mum whacks my arm, her face awash with fury. “Will you leave off with all that nonbinary bullshit.”
Kelly cuts me a look to stop me from engaging in a tetchy back-and-forth. The words still linger on the tip of my tongue. If my mum were nonbinary, she would identify as Danger. Her pronouns would be try/me.
I just wish that for once my mum would broaden her narrow views. Her actions and outlook on life have always left me feeling let down and disappointed that she won’t change her perspective. I keep clinging to the false hope that she will wake up one day and be more accepting of those who don’t conform to the heteronormative way that society has been constructed over the last millennia.
But the best she’s been able to muster since I came out is that she can just about tolerate me being gay as long as I don’t rub her face in it. No wonder I’m so fucked up.
A homophobic dad, who died the day I came out.
A homophobic mother, who can just about tolerate me.
“Mum, leave him alone.” Kelly’s firm tone puts an immediate end to any further attempts to chastise me. Kelly nods toward the door as Kate hands out slices of cake to the rest of the women in the room.
Thank God I have at least one family member who’s supportive of the community. I edge around the cluster of women and meet Kelly in the kitchen.
“Do you always have to try and get a rise out of her?”
Kelly laughs half-heartedly and grabs a bottle of elderflower cordial.
“You know it’s too hard for me not to say something. To poke the bear.”
“Maybe you could lay off of her a little bit, just for the next couple of days.” Kelly’s voice softens, the way it does whenever she wants something. “For the baby.” She rubs her bump.
Right, cause I’m the one that always has to compromise.
“Are you going to weaponize him every time you want something from me?” My gaze is drawn to her belly button, poking outward against her green maxi-dress.
Kelly moans and grabs the kitchen counter.
“What’s wrong?” My heart jumps into my throat.
“He’s kicking again. Right on my bladder.”
Kelly winces while she breathes through the pain.
“He’s taking the piss,” I say, unable to resist a shot at a cheap joke as I help her over to the chair by the window. The sky outside is already dark at 5 p.m.
“It’s not funny.” Kelly stifles a laugh as she sits. “Here.” She grabs my hand and places it on her belly. “Can you feel it?”
I finally feel a push against my hand when I lower it to the bottom of her belly, and I light up like the Christmas tree out the window in the house opposite.
“I still can’t believe you’re going to be a mother.”
My little sister.
A full-grown adult. With a husband, a house, and now a baby on the way. A swirl of pride washes over me, even greater than when I watched her walk across the stage at her graduation to collect her degree.
