I chuckle. “I spent my formative years in a house with all women. This is a normal Thursday for me.”
“All women?”
“Yep. My grandma, Mom, two aunts, and my sister.”
“Damn,” she says. “That explains a lot.”
“Explains what?”
“You being the way you are.”
“I think that’s a compliment?”
“It is,” she says with something close to a smile.
Her brow tenses again, and she reaches for me. I scoot closer. Eyes closed, her hand still finds my cheek, stroking it with her thumb, as if soothing me helps soothe her. I’m as happy as a lap dog under her touch. She could punch me in the face and I wouldn’t mind. I probably deserve it after spending the day with her ex and not punchinghim.
“Tell me more, please,” she says.
“About the house?” I ask.
Her nod is more of a nudge against her pillow. “Anything. How’d you end up with all women? I sense child of divorce vibes.”
“Well, you’re wrong. My parents are married,” I say. “They got remarried after they divorced.”
“Knew it.” She giggles. It’s good to hear, even if it’s slightly at my expense. “Why’d they split up?”
I’m not sure how to phrase this. “They fought over how to raise my sister.” Theyshouldhave fought, but my dad is my dad. He doesn’t ever say much, and he didn’t say enough back then. “Mom left himand moved us to Seattle to live with my aunts and grandma.”
“What was going on with your sister?”
I stroke my fingers up and down her forearm, focusing on her hand against my cheek, hesitating to discuss my sister without her around. I have never andwouldnever out her.
In my silence, Bri fills in the gap with the worst. “She’s not sick, is she?” she asks, sounding worried. “Is she okay? There’s nothing seriously wrong with her, right?”
Fuck. Why did I leave it so open-ended knowing what Bri went through with her mom, and what she’s going through herself? “No, she’s fine! She was never sick, it was more about how to raise her . . . in society.”
Her eyes stare into mine for a moment, as if she’s reading my mind. “She’s trans?”
My eyes widen.How the fuck would she—?Stupid question. Bri is Bri. We share the same brain half the time. She gets me, zero judgment, full acceptance. I don’t need to protect my sister from someone who will respect her as much as I do.
I return her stare, giving her all the answers she needs without saying a word.
“And your dad didn’t accept her?” She needs no further explanation. “Sorry, but he’strash.”
A light laugh escapes me. Glad she said what I can’t. “He was raised in the South. There was a lot he needed to unpack, and his fear came out in all the wrong ways.”
“But your mom understood?”
“Not right away. But a lot quicker than Dad.”
It was my grandmother who told Mom to get her shit together.The only unconditional love that should exist is the love a parent has for a child,she told her.Unconditional means unconditional. I didn’t expect someone of her generation to understand, but she did in aheartbeat. That’s why my sister shares her name.
“When did your sister tell you?” Bri asks.
“Oh, god. When she was, like, five. She thought the word for siblings was ‘brother.’ When my mom corrected her, I remember her asking me, ‘Then why do you call me your brother when I’m a girl?’ ”
Even through her pain, Bri cracks the same smile I do, as if seeing the memory as well.
