Page 8 of I Wish You All the Best

I nod.

“Figures.”

“I thought they’d understand.” I really, really did. I mean, I’m their child. I thought that might account for something.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” She nods to the chair. “Sit back down. Please.”

I eye her before I take my seat again, rubbing my sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans. I haven’t showered yet, which makes me feel that much more disgusting. Like I’m covered in a film I’ll never crawl out of.

“You’re eighteen, right?”

I nod.

“Have you graduated yet?” she asks.

I feel like the answer should be obvious, but I have to remind myself again. She’s been gone for ten years. “No.”

“Okay, this is a question I already know the answer to, but do you want to go back there?”

Even at the idea my stomach clenches, like there’s a fist slowly closing around it. “No. Please, no.”

“Okay, okay. It’s all right. We’ll need to talk about some things, okay? Like school, new clothes, everything else you’ll need. I’ve already talked with Thomas, and we don’t mind you living here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, kid.” She runs a hand through her red hair, a dye job, I’m guessing, since no one in our family has red hair. And the chances of her hair suddenly turning red naturally seem bleak. She hasn’t changed much since she left. There’s still no mistaking us as anything other than siblings. Same eyes, same pointy nose, same pasty white skin, same mess of hair. I wonder how different I look to her. “Sorry, I’m trying to think. Not really sure where to start with this stuff.”

I can’t even look at her. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, okay? This isn’t your fault.”

I know that. Deep down, I do. But right now it’s hard to swallow. To accept it.

“So, what are your pronouns?” she asks.

The question strikes me. Not in the bad way. It’s just weird. Hannah is the first person to ask. The first person who had to ask. “They and them,” I say, trying to sound confident, but even I can tell I’m failing miserably.

“All right. Well, it might take some getting used to, so I want you to correct me when I mess up, okay? Do you want me to explain everything to Thomas?”

I nod.

At least that way I won’t have to.

Hannah gives me some of Thomas’s clothes to change into after I get out of the shower. “He’s about two sizes bigger than you, but I’ll need to wash these before you wear them again.” She bunches up my clothes in her arms. I drown in Thomas’s shirt, but at least the sweatpants have a drawstring. “We’ll go out shopping later, okay? Get you the basics,” she adds.

“Thank you.”

“Thomas and I talked about getting you into another school. He teaches at North Wake High School, called his principal this morning to see what we’d need to get you switched over. We, um …” Hannah sighs. “We also looked into therapists in the area, someone you could talk to.”

On the list of everything I want to do right now, that is near the very bottom. Probably somewhere between fighting an alligator and jumping out of a plane. “Do I have to?”

“Well, no, you’re an adult, technically. But I think it’d help. There’s one my friend Ginger and her son saw after he came out. Dr. Bridgette Taylor. Maybe she can help, she specializes in kids like … kids like you.”

“You mean queer kids?” I say.

Hannah acts like she’s waiting for my actual reply, my agreement, but when I don’t say anything else, she just sighs again. “Think about it, okay?” And then she’s gone.

I sit there in the silence of the room, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Like, what do you do when your parents kick you out of your house? When your entire life is upheaved, all because you wanted to come out, to be respected and seen, to be called the right pronouns? I almost reach for my sketch pad before I remember it’s in my backpack, at home. I can’t even do the one thing that might comfort me.