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She drove down for the weekend to hang out with her favorite, and only, grandson.

“I can stay home alone for a few hours,” Zayn grumbles at the door, watching as I put earrings in. I never had holes for them before, and I finally bit the bullet and walked into the tattoo parlor to get them done two years ago while Zayn was at preschool.

It’s how I actually met Arran. He was working the front desk while I filled out the paperwork to get my ears pierced.

My lips curve at the memory of how intense his gaze on me was, even as I raise my brow at my son.

“That’s adorable. You can stay home alone when you’re fourteen and not a second sooner. Even then, it won’t be for very long,” I tell him. “How do I look?”

Zayn blows out a breath as he crosses his arms and stomps over to me.

“Your face is too red,” he muses.

“I need to blend my blush,” I correct, leaning around him to fix it with some correcting spray and a brush. My makeup skills have evolved to make me feel pretty and less to hide bruises.

My life is completely different now in a good way. I’m still dead on paper and Arran calls me Isla. Zayn and I have had multiple discussions about how Noor is a family name and only they will call me that. He isn’t the type of kid to call me by my real name for any reason. I’m still Mommy to him.

He’s smart-mouthed enough as it is. God save me from the teenage years. Those are sure to be a ride.

“That,” Zayn grunts, moving around me to survey my outfit. “The dress is pretty, Mommy.”

“Thank you.” My soft alt, baggy clothing has also evolved. I prefer things that feel good, but I’m enjoying color again.

My family has made sure I can hide, and it’s changed my entire persona. I smile more, I have better access to medical care, and I’m on a lower dosage of anxiety and depression medication.

This is as close to perfect as things get for me.

My dress is long and covered in colorful flowers. It’s very deep cut, and I am considering wearing a lace bralette instead to cover more. Will Arran get the wrong idea?

I have never been on a single date before. I’m in way over my head.

“Necklace,” Zayn insists, pointing at my jewelry box. “You’re missing it.”

He and Emil bought me a necklace for my birthday last year, and I forgot to put it back on after my shower. It’s on a long chain and has a polished rose quartz hanging from it. The back is an engraved gold piece with Zayn’s name and the numbers one-four-three on it. He saw a video that said it’s a spiritual sequence that means love, and Emil went with it.

His teachers get a kick out of the things he says, because he’s very attentive in class. When he speaks, people make it a point to listen. Zayn talks my ear off when we’re alone, but even with family, he listens more than he talks.

“You’re right,” I say, picking up the necklace and putting it on. I’m wearing compression socks with combat boots since you can’t see my shoes either way. I’m determined to have a good time.

Our date is at an open air festival up the street that’s featuring a few bands and art booths. One of the booths will have some of my artwork, though that’s not something I plan to tell Arran. He knows I’m an artist, but my paintings are sold under yet another fake name.

I’m sure it would be difficult to keep track for some, but I truly value my privacy. I don’t sell my art to become famous. This is how I give my son and I financial security, and while Tara, the rec center coordinator, may suspect, we don’t discuss where my art is sold.

I was sleep deprived when I asked if she needed an art teacher, and probably wouldn’t have offered since my style is recognizable if you’re an art lover. Instead, she gives me my anonymity while I teach the kids in the community different forms of art.

Sometimes it’s paint, others it’s digital. I’ve been playing with cartoons and may attempt to break into that format if I get bored. Otherwise, I’ll keep it for myself. Not everything needs to be financially viable. You can create simply because it gives you joy.

“Am I ready now?” I ask him, picking up my purse. It’s packed with candy to keep my sugar up, a fan, emergency electrolyte gummies, and other necessities.

Ugh, do I need to tell Arran that I have POTS? We haven’t hung out with each other long enough for it to come up. Since I’ve been feeling so much better, I feel as if I no longer have a post-it note on my forehead that says “she’s a weirdo and sick.”

This could entirely have more to do with my childhood trauma than reality though. I guess I still have some work to do in therapy.

“Yeah. Why can’t I go with you again?” he asks, following me out dejectedly.

I don’t think he’s upset about having Liliana stay with him, but more so that I’m leaving.

“I… It’s a lot of walking and you’d be bored,” I begin. “There are also times when I’m going to need to go out without you. Remember when I have art shows?”