This is the story of three siblings: Emily, a 23 year old transwoman estranged from her parents; her non-binary twin Jordan (they/them); and their older sister Stephanie, a cishet woman.
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“Hey Matt. I'm gonna head out early,” Emily told her boss, “if that's OK.”

He looked at her, hopefully, “Audition?” He always encouraged her, laughing and saying, ‘You have the rest of your life,’ and he’d look around the office, smiling wistfully, ‘to have the rest of your life.’ The other assistants always gave her the side eye when she'd leave for an audition. It's not like there are that many, she thought sadly. But they came a little more frequently these days. Soon, she always thought, very soon.

She sighed, “I wish. I'm,” and she took a breath, “covering a shift at the restaurant.”

He looked at her and groaned, “I thought you were done with all that. I don't pay you enough?”

She smiled at him, “Is anyone paid enough?”

Matt was fifty and fifteen pounds too heavy, with graying hair and green eyes that twinkled. Not that she was interested. No, oh gosh, no. “Seriously though. Michelle,” his wife, “told me to tell you to slow down. She said you can't keep…”

“Burning the candle at both ends. I know. She told me already. You two gang up on me. But Maia asked me to cover and it's Friday night,” she said, putting a lilt in her voice and stretching out ‘night.’ “This is going to be the last time.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious,” she laughed, “I'm getting too old,” at 23, “for this.” She had been cutting back her shifts, this job more than enough to cover her expenses. But this was Friday night and the tips alone would help build up her fund. Matt was great about everything but she was ready to be finished. Or to really begin.

He looked at her. “Get outta here before I give you an assignment,” he grumbled, then smiled.

She went into the bathroom, swapping out her jeans and white cotton shirt, for a short black skirt, a few inches above the knee, and white sleeveless blouse. She lifted her feet one at a time, swapping her flats for black booties with a heel. Every waitress knew that skirts meant more tips. Not too short, then the girlfriends would think you were a slut and bother the guy about it. Just short enough to get them thinking.

She stepped back, checking herself out, fixing her skirt and shifting her boobs in the cups. Her boobs. She still sometimes thought of them as an alien being, welcome but not quite real.

Emily arrived at the restaurant at 5:00 PM. She’d been here six years and had learned early on to avoid the freeway, wherever possible, and take surface streets. “Hiya, sweetie,” Maia, the manager, said, as she came in the door. “Thank you for covering on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”

Emily laughed, “I’ll never pass up a Friday night, you know that.”

Maia smiled, “I know but you’re still saving my ass,” and then she looked at Emily. “Speaking of which, yours is looking amazing.” Emily felt herself turn red. Maia knew her story. It wasn’t a secret but it wasn’t something she broadcast either. As far as Emily and her friends were concerned, she was just who she had always been. “Aw, Emily is blushing,” then, more devilishly, “Like you didn’t wear that skirt on purpose.”

“A girl’s gotta eat. Speaking of which, what’s the house meal today?”

Maia looked at her. “Here at Mariposa,” and she launched into the canned pitch with all of the affect of a hostage video, “Well, we like to say Mariposa is northern Italian with a California twist. I like to say that, with all the fresh fruits and vegetables at our fingertips, we would be crazy not to take advantage of them…”

Emily mockingly rolled her hand, “And?”

“The fish didn’t sell yesterday. Ahi tuna over yesterday's greens. It’s better than pasta, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s sorta free,” she said. Their running joke - the meal didn’t cost any money, you just paid for it with seven hours on your feet and eyes on your tits. “Am I at least getting the good tables for my selflessness?”

“Yeah, yeah, Mother Teresa. You’re getting three patio tables. And it’s supposed to be beautiful tonight. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” She quickly ate her meal, then went to the bathroom to check her makeup. She re-applied her lipstick, Coral. Always coral, never red. Red was for sex, coral was friendly, Stef had taught her. That ‘and coral works for your coloring.’

She went back out, checking the tables, making sure everything was set correctly. At her first waitressing job, the manager had teased her, telling her that the busboys knew what they were doing and that they weren’t going to split tips with her, but the one thing she had brought with her from home was a need for everything to be in order.

8:00 PM. The beginning of the prime dinner rush, when the big spenders started coming in, the bottles of wine, the appetizers and not just the people headed to a show at the Taper. She came out to the patio and froze.

No way. It's not them, she thought. It can't be them. Why would they be here? I mean, the food here is good, she thought, but there's a hundred places like this. And it's not like this is Beverly Hills or Venice or someplace where tourists would go.

Take a deep breath, Emily, she thought. You're losing it. It's not them. They're with another couple. Why would they be with another couple here unless they were on vacation? And look at the woman, a classic California blonde - if you left her outside in the rain. Look at the rinse, that's from Meche. And that shirt. That's from Fred Segal. She's early 40s, at best. But there's no 40 year old woman in Chicago with that body, except maybe on the Gold Coast or in Winnetka, and they are not hanging out with anyone there.

“Excuse me, miss?” She turned to see a man at one of her tables, waving his hand.

She came over, doing her best to not look at them. She gave him a big smile, “Yes, sir?” With that, she went back to her job. She was Emily and she was doing her job.

Two hours later and they were still here. What the fuck were they still doing here? Why the hell was Lia bringing them dessert? This is California. No one eats dessert in public. And another round of drinks? Shit.

She went back inside to run a credit card. Max, the bartender, looked at her. “You OK, Em?” Six months ago, at the end of a long shift, three beers, estradiol and a diet that let her wear that cute sundress, led to one big mistake with him. He had been a gentleman after, but still…

Emily looked at him and thought about telling him, but then it would bring everything back. They had been good for a while, each silently agreeing that it never happened, Max having moved on to a relationship with Kaia, the day bartender. She smiled, picturing the two of them in bed, asking the other ‘what their favorite was.’

“I'm good. I thought I recognized someone I knew,” she lied, nervously pulling on her skirt, “but now I realize it couldn't be.” Then, she ran the card, scrambling back. “Time is money.”

She was taking orders at another table, the man’s eyes looking her up and down which, in spite of herself, made her smile. It shouldn't have, it was annoying. It was insulting. And sometimes you just wanted out of Vons. But, she needed everything she could get today.

Then, she saw them get up. Fuck. They would have to walk past her. She just prayed that they didn't say anything. You haven't spoken to me in six years, don't start now, not here. She didn't believe anymore, how could she, but still she prayed.

Her prayers were answered. Blonde rinse walked right past Emily, talking a mile a minute. Focus on the job at hand, Emily thought, just focus and you'll be fine. She looked into the man’s eyes, ice blue, and then looked at him discreetly. Probably 60, skin like a walnut, broad shoulders. She imagined him twenty years ago, and gave a little smile.

And with that they were gone. And she exhaled for the first time in two hours.

Two hours later, her shift was over, Maia divvying up the tips. Emily imagined her father grumbling about how pooling was bullshit (‘why should you benefit from someone else's hard work?’ Because, you asshole, it takes as much effort to open a $40 bottle of wine as a $200 one, but people don't tip like that. Not that you would know that.)

Keri looked at her, “You OK?”

“Huh?”

“You looked like something was bothering you.”

Keri didn't know her story, not from her at least. Not that she cared who did. As far as she was concerned, she was always a girl. It just took her longer for it to show, but she wasn't getting into it, not tonight. It had been a good night - $400 more for the fund - and she wasn't letting him spoil it. “Yeah. Just something from a while ago.”

Keri smiled. “That's good. We're heading to Maduro’s. Jake,” the new sous chef, “knows people there. You in?”

Emily, grinning, “I'm there.” Eating after closing with chefs was always fun. They knew people and you'd get meals you'd never get on your own. She remembered a braised pork belly over charred asparagus that she'd tried to recreate. Trying being the operative word. “You need a ride?”

Keri smiled, “I'm going with Jake.” They had been flirting non-stop since Jake had started, Jake forever making sure to serve Keri’s table at the house meal. And Keri making sure to put her orders near his station.

“So I'm going to be at Maduro's myself?”

Keri looked back at the kitchen, “Maybe his friend’s cute, if you're interested.”

Maybe, Emily thought. There was something alluring about chefs, the way that their hands were covered with burns and scar tissue, the calluses rough against the skin that she spent too much on, keeping it nice and smooth. Stef had made fun of her when she had come to visit, saying that she had created a monster.

She was walking on air, humming to herself, when Isabel, the hostess, stopped her. “Hey, Emily. Did you cover 17 tonight?”

And the humming stopped. “No, Why?”

She handed Emily an envelope. “One of the women at the table left this for you.”

“That was Lia’s station. You sure it's not for her?”

Isabel looked at her. “The woman, the brown haired one, left you this and she specifically told me to make sure to give it to you at the end of the night. Like, she asked for an envelope. Maia had to get one from the office. You know her?”

Isabel didn’t know, she was pretty sure. Act, Emily, act. “If I end up chopped up somewhere, you’ll testify, right,” which got her a blank stare.

Emily walked out of the restaurant to her car, smiling at Juan, the head attendant. She got into her car, putting the envelope on the seat and then her purse over it. You don't have to open it now, she thought. It's been a long day and you deserve to relax. Go have fun, eat a good meal, see who's there. The envelope will be here when you’re done. You don't need to open it now. There's nothing good in there besides.

She slipped off her booties and relaxed. The one good thing about restaurant people is no one, not even the guys, expected you dressed up after closing. Everyone was too tired to care, she thought, as she slipped on her flats.

She arrived at Maduro's with Jake and Keri, who were holding hands and looking at each other. She smiled, ready to start conversation with whoever was there, figuring they'd be gone within the hour.

Jake walked in and gave a big guy in chef's whites a bro hug, grasping his hand and finishing with a shoulder bump. “Hey dude.”

The big guy smiled. Brown hair, blue eyes. He was about 6’3”, 240, but he wore it lightly. She pictured him in high school, an unwilling linebacker or tight end. He stuck out his hand, “Hi, I'm Duncan.”

She smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, “I'm Emily. It's good to meet you.”

“Chicago?”

Emily got nervous. How did he know that? She racked her brain, picturing one of the guys in gym class, Rob Robredo calling her ‘bitch boy’ and fouling her in basketball while the coach laughed at her. Act cool, she thought. “Excuse me?”

He looked at her, still smiling, “Your accent.”

She rubbed the callouses with her finger and smiled, “I have worked for six years to get rid of it. Shoot.”

“I'm from Northbrook,” he said, smiling, his eyes lighting up. “I never hear it. And never as sweet as yours.”

She imagined Keri and Jake puking, but they were too busy checking each other's tonsils to care. “I'm from Dekalb. I came out here for college. You?”

He pulled out one of the chairs for her and she sat, smoothing her skirt under her. “Notre Dame,” and she shuddered, thinking of tonight and the envelope, “Did the finance thing for my dad,” and she saw a look come over his face.

“I get that,” she said, taking his hand, his meaty fingers swallowing hers.

“Then, I decided I'd rather cook meals than books. One thing led to another and here we are. Chicago in LA. Actress or dancer?”

“Actress,” she said, looking down then up and then smiling. “How did you know?”

He turned a little red, which made him even cuter. “You're too pretty to just be a waitress.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, embarrassed, saved by Jake’s, “You going to feed me before you try and hook up?”

Duncan took them into the kitchen, fist bumping the two prep cooks, who leered at her and Keri, and then left. She was still amazed by the dichotomy between the front of the house and the kitchen. The front was female, all talk and smiles, the general peace punctuated by the occasional argument. Kitchens were all testosterone, the heat and clamor interspersed with everyone yelling and pushing. Even the female chefs became macho, one, Kelly, reminding her of Jordan, who she needed to call. “So, everyone cool with sockeye? We got it fresh from the Columbia River today.”

She watched, transfixed, as he began slicing it, then grabbing lemons and limes and avocado from the refrigerator and mixing them together. He cut off two small pieces of salmon and handed one to her, “Just let it sit in your mouth for a second.”

“Wow. This is so fresh,” she said, “I'm still not used to it.”

Keri looked at her, “It's fish.”

Duncan looked at her, “We're from Illinois. We get walleye, not salmon.” He rolled his eyes and took a bottle, pouring her a shot. “Californians are so ungrateful. This is aguardiente, the national drink of Ecuador. One of the guys brought it.”

She took a sip and it burned her throat. “What the hell,” she sputtered.

He grinned, “Oh, did I forget to tell you it means ‘burning water’? My bad.”

---

She woke up the next morning, tongue covered in wool and her head burning, trying to recreate the events of last night. She remembered the ceviche and the drink. Which became two and then three.

She remembered kissing Duncan, his stubble tickling her face and his hands, the calluses rubbing the skin on her waist when they kissed in the kitchen. And she thanked God that they hadn't done anything more than that. She really liked him and didn't want to blow it by not letting him know sometime before they were naked together.

She rolled over to grab her phone off the nightstand, to see what time it was, and she saw it sticking out of her purse.

The envelope. She stared at it, aiming for pyrokinesis. When that failed, she thought about ignoring it, saying Isabel never gave it to her or it fell out of her purse, but she knew her. She wouldn’t let it go and would call the restaurant and then she’d have to explain why she ignored it to everyone. You could open it, she thought, and ignore what it says. They’re not coming for you, they don’t care about you and you don’t care about them. What could it say? Really, what?

She knew what. For six years, she had lived in fear of ‘what,’ only recently having realized that thinking about it was worse than what it could actually be. Stop, she told herself, you are a beautiful, strong woman and there’s nothing they can do that they haven’t already done. You have made a life for yourself 2,000 miles away from them and that’s what matters, not them.

Like defusing a bomb, she picked up the envelope and slowly slid her fingernail under the seal rather than just ripping it open. Eventually, she succeeded. In it was a $100 bill and a note:

‘Emily (?”). I knew it was you. Call me in the morning. Aunt Jeannie,’ with her phone number.

Oh fuck, she thought. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Why? Why? Why are they here and how did she know? She was about to call her sister and chew her out, they had a deal, she had promised. Unbelievable.

Except Stephanie was in the Bahamas with Jared for their first anniversary together. And the last thing on her mind was Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Rob. Then, she looked over at her mirror.

The picture of the two of them last fall in Santa Monica, Emily in the green dress that Stef had bought her ‘just because.’ The gift card to Nordstrom that she gave her for Christmas so ‘she could buy something hot.’ And the sunbleached card that she had sent her for her first birthday out here, the one with the two little girls on the cover, the older pulling the younger one’s hair, on the inside of which was written ‘To the best little sister in the world.’

She felt guilty and wanted to call her and tell her she was sorry for having thought about it. But then Stef would want to talk to her about it which would just take time away from the trip.

She thought about Jordan, except that they had no idea where she worked. They would laugh and say something like, ‘I know you wait tables, don't push it.’ Besides, they barely spoke to the family as well.

Which left..no one, just a weird coincidence. And a hundred dollar bill, which was what, a bribe? A threat? She wished that Marissa, her roommate, was here instead of working that wedding in Santa Barbara. She'd know what it all meant.

She took a deep breath. You are 23, Emily, an adult. Adults solve their own problems by themselves - and this is not a problem, not unless you let it be one. What was it that they said back in group? No one can make you feel inadequate without your own consent and you are not inadequate. You have friends, you have a good job and you are going to be a famous actress very soon, everyone says so. And they are just some people you haven’t seen in six years.

Ibuprofen, she thought, I need ibuprofen and a glass of water. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She turned sideways and thought ‘Maia’s right. It does look good.” She ran her fingers through her auburn hair, putting it on top of her head and letting it fall down to her shoulders, remembering how happy she was when she could finally do that.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen, hoping the three would get rid of this headache, and remembering Duncan again. The way he asked for ‘her digits,’ the Chicago slang making her smile despite herself.

Then, she took her pill dispenser down, the pills separated into slots for the days of the week. She popped the spironolactone, progesterone and the estradiol into her mouth, washing it down with rest of the water and a shake of her head, a daily reminder. She had prayed for years that one day she would wake up and not have to do this, but she and God hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms for years and, as far as it went, this wasn’t the worst thing.

She sat at the table and stared out the window at the building next door and then down at the pool. That’s all she wanted when she got an apartment, a courtyard with a pool like they had on TV, where she could lie on a beach chair and get a tan. Maybe she should go hang out down there and call later.

No, she thought as she walked back to the bedroom, you are being ridiculous. You are going to call them, there is nothing they can do to you. This is your city and your state and they are just visiting and, no matter what, your friends, Stef and Jordan love you. So call.

She looked at the paper, took another deep breath and went to dial. Then, she realized she was in her panties and went and put on a pair of shorts. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed.

“You’ve reached Jeannie,” and it brought back memories of Easter and Thanksgiving, “leave a message. Thanks.”

She paused and then said, “Hi, uh, Aunt Jeannie, uh, it’s Emily, your, uh, niece. You left me a message at the restaurant yesterday,” and she laughed nervously, “which you knew, obviously. Anyway, if you want, you can call me back at,” and she left her number.

Three minutes later, the phone rang. “Hello?”

She heard the voice at the other end. “Emily?” It sounded as nervous as she felt, each syllable sounded out.

“Aunt,” and her voice caught on ‘aunt,’ “Jeannie?”

“It is so great to hear your voice,” her aunt said.

Really, she thought. Is it? “Um, yours too. Um, how are you and Uncle Rob? And Liam and Robbie?” Her own voice sounded flat and tinny to her ears.

Jeannie laughed a little. “Everyone is fine,” then, after a pause, “so how long are we going to exchange pleasantries for?”

I don’t know, Emily thought, you called me. Or found me, at least. “Um, OK, what’s up?” She decided to lay her cards on the table. Be an adult, even as she felt herself reverting to that first Christmas after she had told her mom the truth. “How did you find me?” Why were you looking?

“We didn’t find you. It was an accident. We’re out here on business and those people we were with told us about this great restaurant that only locals knew about for now. We walked in and we saw you.”

Mustering up bravado, “Really? There’s a million restaurants in LA and you just came to mine?”

Jeannie responded, “Cut out that Nehlen bullcrap...Emily. It was an accident, I swear on Liam’s head.”

“Why not Robbie?” Their older son, four years younger than her. By the time she left, he was starting to become less of a non-entity to her.

Jeannie laughed, “If you’ll meet us in person, I’ll tell you why that’s not a promise that’s worth anything. Emily,” it sounded like she had been practicing saying it, “I swear no one knows you’re here and I’m not telling them, but you were always my favorite and then I saw you yesterday and I just want to see you.”

She stopped for a second. “What kind of business?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of business? Has the company gotten that much bigger since I left?” She willed herself not to let her voice crack.

“That’s part of why we’re here. Let’s just leave it as you’re not the only one who got tired of their bull.”

Emily was intrigued. “Where are you staying?”

“Pasadena.”

Involuntarily, “Ecch. Why?” Pasadena was God’s waiting room, as far as she was concerned.

Jeannie laughed. “We’re not all 23 plus when, if, when I see you, you’ll understand. So, will you meet us, please?” Her tone seemed sincere.

“Uncle Rob’s coming?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I, I, I just thought that…” He would be disgusted and horrified by me? He would run screaming? Or worse, he would stand there screaming at her?

A pause, “Emily, we love you and we want to see you. Me and Uncle Rob.”

“You promise?” I have no reason to trust you, she thought. And this is probably a huge mistake. And I wish Stef wasn’t in the Bahamas and Jordan wasn’t useless and Marissa wasn’t working that wedding. But, something seemed sincere.

“Em…what should I call you?”

“Emily or Em. That's what people usually call me.”

“Emily, I promise. No jokes. I promise. If you don’t trust me and I don’t blame you, pick as public a place as you can think of. I’m Irish so you know I won’t make a scene and Rob knows that I will kill him if he says one word.”

Emily sat there for a minute. Every voice in her head told her to say no. To say that she had nothing to say to anyone from that family, that she moved here to avoid ever just running into them. But one voice told her to go. Be proud of yourself, it said, you should be proud of yourself. You, unlike all of them, made a life for yourself on your own, without anyone else’s help. Go show them. “Sure. Is there anything you want to see?”

“You.”

“I mean, if you hadn’t seen me, what would you want to see?”

“Deena, that’s the woman you saw yesterday with us, said I should check out Silver Lake.”

Do you want to see fake hipsters and their kids? At least, it was close to her place and it wasn’t Hollywood or Beverly Hills. “OK. I’ll meet you at the Farmer’s Market, Griffith Park at Sunset.” She looked at her phone - 10:30. “Does noon work?” They made plans and she hung up, staring at her phone. Fuck, she thought, now what?

She went to her closet and stared at it, trying to figure out what to wear. You could find a thousand websites telling you what to wear on a first date, what to wear to meet his parents (not that she had to worry about that so far), what to wear on a job interview. What to wear when you're meeting your aunt and uncle for the first time since you transitioned. Fat lot of good the Internet was, she thought. Then she hoped that, like Harry Potter, the magic outfit goblin would pick out the perfect outfit. Then, she remembered JK Rowling was a TERF. Up to you, Emily. She could have called Mia or Shaye, they'd have opinions, but today, she decided, was about doing things on her own. She did everything on her own to get here, she could do this.

She pulled out her pale green cotton dress, the one with the spaghetti straps and the pink flowers. Pluses: she looked hot in it; it was light enough that if it got too warm, she wouldn’t sweat. She needed to talk to her doctor about her levels, lately she had been sweating a lot. Then, she shook her head. She looked at the dress again and held it to herself. Definite maybe, but would it be too much for them?

She took out jeans. Jeans could work, she thought. She pulled them on and buttoned them, checking out her ass. I look good, she thought, then took them off. I'm not wearing jeans to make them comfortable.

She took a pair of cutoff denim shorts out and looked at herself in the mirror, smiling. This is the outfit she had dreamed of wearing since she realized her truth, remembering Stef going to the beach, her bikini top visible through her t-shirt. She piled her hair on top of her head, and then let it fall, making kiss faces. She took a mirror selfie and smiled. You are gorgeous, she said.

Then pulled the shorts off. This is for the beach or hanging in the park, not for seeing people in Silver Lake. Give her a stroller and she'd look like a second wife or someone's au pair.

11:45, she pulled into a parking spot three blocks from the farmer’s market. She pulled down the visor and checked her makeup in the mirror. She wasn't wearing much, coral lip gloss, a little blush and eyeliner. She thought back to those first lessons in Stef’s room, day makeup versus evening, and the first time she ever felt truly happy with her reflection. She took a deep breath and got out of the car, swinging her legs out and then standing up, smoothing her skirt under her, her pocketbook strap cutting across her chest.

In the end, she had chosen a pale green top, cinnamon brown mini and sandals. You go girl, she kept telling herself, you are strong, you are powerful, channel your inner Elle Woods. Elle was beautiful, Elle was strong and Elle was all woman.

She was sitting on a bench at the corner, watching people go by when she heard, “Emily?”

She looked up and saw her standing there. A little older, her roots showing through the brown, and a few pounds heavier, with tiny crow’s feet around her eyes. She was wearing jeans and a white cotton button down over a blue tank top. The classic suburban mom. “Jeannie. Aunt Jeannie,” and she stood up, her knees feeling weak. Great, she thought, I'm going to fall on my face in front of her.

They stood face to face, awkwardly looking at each other, Jeannie's eyes appraising her. “Wow,” her tone, uncertain. “I mean…”

Emily looked around, “Where's Rob, Uncle Rob?” She felt a burning feeling in her stomach. Dekalb began pouring over her, pounding her defenses. She remembered Christmas Day junior year, the way everyone ignored her, and she felt tears forming. She wanted to run. “I mean, it's fine. I didn't really expect…” To ever see any of you again ever. It was stupid of me to even think he'd see me, even if you called me. I've been happy without you and I'll continue to be happy without you.

She felt Jeannie staring at her. “He's coming. He's always on that damn phone,” she grumbled. Jeannie looked at her. “Those are good colors for you. Your mom always said she had…”

“I don't want to talk about them,” she snapped. She really needed to see the doctor before she went what her friend Katie called ‘full period.’ She clutched her pocketbook strap. “I'll talk about me and you and Rob and Liam and Robbie, but not them. Deal?”

Jeannie smiled, “Fine. I've spent 22 years not wanting to talk about them. So, how do you like being a, uh, waitress?”

“It's fine but I really don't do it much anymore. I work as a legal assistant. For now.”

“Do you want to be a lawyer?”

Emily blurted, “No,” which made people turn. Then, lowering her voice, “I'm an actress.”

Jeannie looked around. “Yeah, that makes sense. Your m...you always did plays in high school, right?”

Not that any of you came, or even asked me about them, and she felt the urge to scream then run. You don't have to run, she thought. You can stay as long as you want and then politely leave. Then, go scream in the car. “Yeah.” Out of the corner, she saw her uncle Rob saying something into his phone and then putting ít in his pocket. Rob was wearing jeans and a Notre Dame polo shirt. He came over and looked at her. “Emily, right?”

“Hi, Rob, Uncle Rob.”

He looked straight at her, his green eyes confused, and she imagined what he was thinking. “You can call me either one, I guess. It's been a long time.”

She decided to play this like an improv exercise. You're three people who know each other from your hometown but you haven't seen each other in a while. You meet in a strange city. Of course, then someone would say something like, ‘and you're in a Nick Teen show.’ Which they weren't. She looked at his shirt and smiled. “Interesting choice of shirt for here,” USC being Notre Dame’s rival.

He grinned and puffed out his chest, “I don't care.” Jeannie rolled her eyes. She remembered her in the kitchen during Grandpa Peter’s birthday, watching a game on the little TV while she cooked.

Me either. After six years of deliberately ignoring it, she could now watch a quarter or two without hating it, but she definitely didn't care. “So, how are Liam and Robbie?”

“Liam’s good. He's a junior. Looking at colleges.”

Emily smiled, “Colleges? He can apply to somewhere besides Notre Dame and maybe U of I?”

She saw Rob visibly relax at the question. He laughed, “I want him to go where he’s happy. Which can be someplace besides ND. Except here or Michigan though.”

“Oh, that’s good. How’s Robbie?” She saw Rob and Jeannie exchange a glance. “Ummm, did I say something?”

Jeannie looked at her, “Let’s talk about happy things. You asked why we were here. We have big news….”

Rob jumped in, “That guy you saw us with is a developer building an office park in Glendale and I am handling the construction!”

Jeannie looked at her, “I hope the men your age don't talk over you.”

“They do,” she said, the comment making her feel warm. Then, looking at Rob, “The company’s gotten that big? Wow, congratulations,” she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could.

Jeannie looked at her. “The building’s not the only big news,” and she fished in her bag, pulling a business card and handing it to her.

“RJN Construction and Engineering?”

Rob looked at her. “You weren’t the only one who got tired of their bullshit.” Then, “Sorry.”

“Uh, that’s gotta be awkward,” she offered. A light wind blew and she held down her skirt, noticing how he looked away when she did.

“I don’t care. We were having one of the meetings a couple of years ago,” ‘meetings’ dripping with scorn, “and I realized that I didn’t want to play their games anymore. That I was miserable and I needed to get out before I killed myself. Or them. Does that make any sense to you?”

She looked at him, then Jeannie, who smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, kinda. Well, that’s great. So how did you end up here? I mean, the company,” and she hated saying even that, but at least it was just a thing “like Wisconsin is a big deal for them?”

“I called some people I knew from school and started hustling around. I have a core group of guys and I hire crews where I am. I work longer hours and harder than ever…”

Jeannie smiled, “But it’s ours. Not theirs. Ours.” She looked at Emily. “But we’re not talking about them today. Right Rob?” Rob shrugged. “Just us. OK?” She nodded.

Rob looked at her, well at the top of her head. “So, what have you been doing with yourself?”

In the role of Emily today is Emily. “Um, so I went to CalArts, on a full scholarship. I started in the animation program…”

“I remember you used to draw all those Japanese cartoons with big eyes…” Jeannie smiled and rolled her eyes again.

“I did,” she smiled, “thank you for remembering. But, then, I switched to the acting program. I got my BFA last year and now I’m trying to make it as an actress.”

“What made you switch?”

She took a deep breath, “I did a play and realized that I was happier on stage. That I needed to be on stage. To put myself out there, y’know?”

He looked at her and smiled. “Good for you. So, you’re waiting tables in the meantime?”

“Not really anymore. I work as a legal assistant mostly. I just covered that shift as a favor to a friend. Funny, huh?”

Jeannie smiled. “I worked my way through school waiting tables. I always liked Friday nights.”

“No kidding? I didn’t know you did that.”

Jeannie smiled. “I always found Friday tips were best. Better than Saturday. I don’t know why. More drinking maybe. Is that still the case?”

Emily laughed. “Definitely. That’s why I covered. I don’t know, Saturday’s date night. You’d think they’d be trying to impress their dates or something…”

Jeannie looked at her and snickered, “Or something. Sorry, Rob,” she said, as he looked away.

She felt her face flush. “So, this is Silver Lake. Why don’t we walk around a little? It’s a very walkable neighborhood,” she fumbled. What is my job, she asked the imaginary audience. Tour guide, real estate agent, they shouted. Now, she was a real estate agent who gave tours.

They walked around for an hour, Emily pointing out the sites and listening to Rob talk about the project. She steered them to Micheltorena Street. “OK, so this is one of my favorite places in the city. You are going to love all the houses. They say it’s one of the best collections of architecture from the 30s through the 50s anywhere in California. And on your left you can see… “ She was talking with her hands, and saw Jeannie give her a look and a smile.

Rob took out his phone, “It’s OK if I take pictures, right?”

“Sure. I think so.” She felt her hair blowing in the wind and, without thinking, took a hair tie out and put her hair in a ponytail.

She felt them looking at her. Jeannie whispered. “You look better with your hair like that. Cuter.”

She felt a lump in her throat. “Anyway,” she said, as they walked along, “this is maybe my favorite house on the block. It’s the John Lautner House. It was built in 1939 and designed by John Lautner, who was called one of the best architects under 30 when he did it. I got to go inside once and what’s amazing about it is that he sloped the ceiling over the main-living space so that warm air would rise and exit above the kitchen.” Rob was staring at her. “What?”

He smiled, “How do you know all that?”

She thought back to Kevin, her boyfriend junior year. He was an architecture major at UCLA who took her to Palm Springs to ‘see all the mid-century houses.’ (‘So, how was seeing the architecture,’ her friends teased. ‘We actually saw architecture.’) “A friend told me.”

“Friend?” Rob said, looking at her forehead again.

“Rob, stop,” Jeannie said. “I’m glad to hear that Emily has friends,” and she winked.

“Moving on,” Emily said, “Up the hill is Silvertop, which John Lautner also designed. Unfortunately, we can only see so much from the street. If I had known you were coming,” I would have hidden, “I could have seen about a tour.”

“I’ll let you know next time I’m in,” Rob said, then fumbling, “sorry.”

She felt tears again. “It’s OK. I mean, if you want to, let me know.”

Jeannie came over and touched her hand. “Why don’t we get lunch? All this walking has made me hungry.”

“What does everyone want?”

Rob smiled, “I have been dreaming of real Mexican food since I got here.”

“Is that OK with you, Emily? If I eat carbs, I balloon up.”

“It’s fine. I can get fish tacos. Besides, it’s not like...where you’re from. Not as heavy.”

They walked back down and Rob’s phone rang. “Fuck…I’m sorry I have to take this,” and he walked ahead, his voice rising and pace quickening.

“Sorry,” Jeannie said.

Emily’s hair fell in her face and she brushed it out of her eyes. “I understand. It’s work.”

They stood there awkwardly for a second. “We’re having a good time.”

“Me too.” Emily felt her bra strap shift off her shoulder and she moved it back up. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Jeannie smiled. “It happens to all of us.” They walked to catch up to Rob and failed, as he got more animated. “Can I ask about you?”

She looked at her, trying to read her mind and failing. “I told you.”

“You told me what you did. I want to know about you.”

Do you really? How I hated coming to your house because everyone would be there? How I used to try and make myself sick so I didn’t have to see anyone? How I dreamed that one day I’d be able to wear a dress and shoes like Stephanie and have everyone tell me how pretty I was, instead of treating me like a freak. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Where do you live?”

She took a deep breath. “In an apartment.” She wasn’t going to give her any more than that. Not yet. She seemed nice enough but she hadn’t survived these past six years on trust.

“By yourself? Or with someone?”

“I have a roommate. Marissa.”

“You mentioned a friend before. Do you have a...friend now?”

She laughed. “No. I’m between friends now.” She thought about Duncan, his hand swallowing hers and their tongues intertwined as he backed her up against the bar.

“You’re lying,” Jeannie laughed.

She wanted to hide. “No…”

“It is all over your face. There is someone.”

“No, there isn’t. We should catch up to Rob.”

Jeannie took her hand, so she couldn’t run away. “I’m glad you have friends,” she laughed. “And I want to know about them.”

Emily looked at her. “He’s not a friend. Not yet. I just met him yesterday. Does that bother you?” She felt herself tense up.

Jeannie looked at her, hurt. “Emily, it does not bother me in the slightest. Why would it bother me?”

“I just thought…”

“Don’t,” she said, taking her hand. “You’re a beautiful...young woman. And why wouldn’t you have friends? Although, if you had female friends…”

Emily played with the ring on her finger. “I don’t. I’m straight.” She remembered kissing Megan in junior high, how soft her lips were. She had tried to find out what happened to her, but all she found was a Finsta account. “Is this too weird for you?”

“No. Is it for you?”

“Um, kinda?” Which got a laugh from Jeannie.

“How about we just take this as it comes? OK?”

Rob shoved his phone in his pockets. “Are you two coming?” They walked and caught up with him. “Sorry. Being your own boss has some drawbacks, like constant calls.”

“Do you need to go or something?”

Rob looked at her, “Do you want me to?”

“No,” and she fidgeted with her ponytail. “Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” and then he grinned. “I’m hungry and I want Mexican food.”

Jeannie looked at him. “Idiot.”

They ate lunch, Rob and Jeannie marveling at ‘how good, how fresh everything was,’ both oohing and ah-ing over the guacamole.

“This is California. We get fresh avocados,” she laughed, then lowered her voice, “and this isn't even that good. Next time, I'll take you to Boyle Heights and you'll see…” And then she stopped.

Rob looked at her, “ That sounds...”

She felt tears again. “Excuse me for a second,” and she all but knocked over her chair running to the bathroom. She ran in and stood at the sink, crying and hyperventilating. You need to get out of here, she thought. You were having a perfectly fine afternoon but you can't let them in. If you let them in, it's only a matter of time before something happens. She pulled out her phone and started to call Stef, practicing her apology, not that she would expect one and would probably be angry that she didn't call sooner. She sat on the little bench and was crying into her hands, when she heard the door open. She didn't look up, but felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Emily…”

Jeannie. Shit. She pulled away a little. “Sorry about that out there.”

Jeannie looked at her. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I made a scene. You promised you wouldn't and then I went and did it.”

Jeannie moved closer again and Emily sat there, neither moving away nor accepting the embrace. “No one even looked up, like it happens all the time or something. What's wrong?”

What's wrong? What's right? We're in the ladies’ room and I'm bawling my eyes out. “You don't want to hear it.”

“My niece is crying her eyes out in the bathroom, and me and my husband are the only ones here, which makes me feel like it's my fault. So, yeah, I want to hear it.”

Emily stood up and looked in the mirror, at her red rimmed eyes. She saw Jeannie's reflection behind hers. “You don't. It'll freak you out.”

The reflection got up and stood behind her. “It won't.”

She took a deep breath and asked a question she had thought she had stopped asking, “What do you see?”

“I see a pretty girl crying,” and now the reflection was touching her shoulder. She tensed then relaxed.

“Do you? That's it?”

“Yes,” and the hand didn’t move.

She put her hands on the sink. “Really?”

Jeannie moved next to her, and Emily could see tears in her eyes. “I don't know what to say,” and Emily started to recoil. “I don't mean it that way. I see a beautiful girl, that's all I see, but I know she's in pain and I hate that I ever caused her pain and I hate thinking that I could cause her pain.”

“You didn't cause me pain,” she said, staring into the sink.

“We didn't help.”

You didn't. You didn't do anything one way or the other. She didn't know what to say, so she shrugged. “What about Rob?”

“He told me, ‘she seems really happy.’”

“She? He said, ‘she?’” In group, they had told them to imagine throwing away their feelings of self-loathing, and she had imagined throwing them into Lake Michigan and now the tide rolled back in. “Really?”

“Emily, when we were walking around and you were showing us everything, you know what I saw? I saw you. A pretty, happy young woman. Smiling and confident. I don't know what you see, but that's what I see.” Emily began crying again and Jeannie hugged her tight. “It's ok, Emily. It's ok.”

They left the restaurant and Jeannie said, “Can we walk around a little? I saw some stores I’d like to check out,” which got a groan from Rob. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Then, whispering in Emily’s ear, “Are you OK to go,” and Emily nodded.

They walked down the block and Rob’s head swiveled every time he saw a beautiful girl.

“Do you think you could be a little more subtle, Rob?” Jeannie groaned.

“That girl was amazing.”

Emily looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Girls like that are a dime a dozen here, Rob.”

He took a dollar out of his wallet and handed it to her, “Can you make change,” which made her laugh.

Leaving Rob on a bench in the park, they walked down Sunset. They walked past The Odells. “This place looks interesting. Let’s go in.” Emily never shopped here or, for the matter, any place in Silver Lake. Silver Lake used to be a sketchy neighborhood back in the 1980s. Then, the artists and musicians moved in, then the actors and actresses and now rich people and their kids. The only girls her age who shopped here either had a TV deal or had their clothes paid for by a guy they called ‘daddy’ - theirs or someone else’s.

They started looking at the racks, and Jeannie held up a jumpsuit. “These make a comeback every few years, and I will never know why. Have you ever tried to go to the bathroom in one?”

“My friend Shaye wears them. She thinks they make her legs longer.” She paused, “They don’t. If I want to wear pants, I’ll wear pants.”

They came to dresses and Jeannie held up a teal print dress with a low v neck, short sleeves and a tie back. “Oh, this is cute. You should try it on.”

Emily held it to her and looked in the mirror. “It is cute.”

“Go,” she said, pushing her towards the dressing room.

She went into the dressing room and took off her skirt, keeping her eyes fixed on her face and chest, and then her top. She pulled the dress over her head and she smiled at her reflection. It came to mid-thigh and was really cute. This was really cute. She looked at the price tag. This was expensive. Really, really expensive.

She went to take it off and then heard Jeannie say, “Are you coming out?”

She walked out and Jeannie - “Wow. That dress is perfect.”

“You think so?” It was. It was perfect. She had money from last night but that was for the fund. Besides, where was she going to wear it? To some party in Echo Park, so some guy could spill a drink on it?

Jeannie laughed. “I have spent my life looking for something that looks that good on me. You have to get that.” She showed her the price tag. “OK, so in three months when you get your first movie, you will get that.”

They kept walking in and out of stores. “Is anything in this city bigger than a size 4? Anything?”

Emily smiled, “That’s what Pasadena is for.”

“Ha ha ha. One day, you too will be 48 and let’s see how you like it. I like Chicago. I can wear a coat six months of the year.”

Emily thought about the absurdity of it all. All these expensive stores all sold clothes made for 22 year olds, except that no 22 year olds she knew could afford any of them and the 40 year olds who could looked ridiculous in them. On the other hand, she looked really good in the split front skirt at Mohawk. She figured she could find a knock off online.

They were in a store when her phone rang. A Chicago number under which it said, ‘Maybe Duncan.’ She grinned from ear to ear. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” She moved away from Jeannie, who followed her, smiling. She glared and Jeannie mock-slumped away. She looked at herself in a mirror while she was on the phone, grinning and pushing her hair behind her ear. She hung up and walked back, plans for Wednesday night firmly in hand.

“Do you want to tell me who that was?” Jeannie grinned, making her feel naked.

No, she thought, no, I don’t. “No one. It was no one,” she said, unable to wipe the smile off her face.

“Was that your not a friend?”

She looked over her shoulder at a mirror, watching herself turn pink. “It was a spam call. About my car warranty.”

“I have no life. I have two boys. You have to tell me,” she pleaded, laughing. “My life is sitting on a bench staring at 22 year olds. Come on, please.”

“Fine,” she said. “His name is Duncan. He’s a chef. From Northbrook, of all places. OK?” She went off to look at a dress.

Jeannie stood in front of the rack. “No. I need more. What does he look like?”

Emily smiled. “He’s like 6’3”, 240, but not fat. Not a musclehead either. Just,” and she smiled, “big, really big. Brown hair, blue eyes. And he has these great hands...” Jeannie looked at her, her grin now splitting her face in half. “I mean, I can’t explain it…” She looked at her reflection and then Jeannie, who seemed rapt with attention. “OK, you find that weird. I’m gonna stop.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. I told you all I have is vicarious thrills and I am not getting those from Liam.” She noticed how she still said nothing about Robbie, and tried to figure out how to ask. “What do you mean ‘hands?’”

She turned red. “I am so stupid. I should not have said anything.”

“You shouldn’t have but you did. So too bad…”

“OK,” she squeaked. “He has chef’s hands. Like they’re covered in cuts and calluses and when,” and then she remembered the two of them at the bar, his hands under her shirt, rubbing her waist, “you sure you want to hear this? Really?” The glare answering her. “OK, so like you feel them against your skin, it makes me…”

Jeannie laughed. “I understand completely. When Rob worked the crew summers, I used to love rubbing out the knots in his shoulders.” Emily thought about Rob and Jeannie and grimaced. “Oh, get over it. But you like this guy, huh?”

“Maybe?” Now, she was red.

“That’s not a maybe face,” she teased.

“I don’t know him. We’ve hung out once and other people were there.” Ignoring us while they made out, but they were there. “So, we’ll see, I guess.” Oh, and he doesn’t know about me. “He’s definitely someone I could like. It really doesn’t bother you?” Putting it out there.

“No. And stop asking, Emily.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Emily hugged her. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” And she saw her wipe a tear. “OK, that’s enough. I want to walk a little more before Rob calls and starts bothering me some more.”

At the last store, Emily went to the bathroom and came out to see Jeannie paying for something. “What did you get?”

She pointed at a jewelry case. “A pair of cute earrings,” pointing at blue quartz ones in the shape of a flower. “Like those.”

“Oh, those’ll look really cute. Good choice.”

They walked back to find Rob reading his phone. “Have you left that bench, Rob?”

“I went to the store and got a bottle of water. Looked at the bookstore.” He looked at Jeannie’s hands, at the one bag. “I’m glad you were here, Emily. Looks like you saved me some money.”

“There was nothing in my size, Rob,” she said, sighing. “Apparently, we need to go back to Pasadena.”

Rob got up. She had never noticed how much bigger he was than Jeannie, at least nine inches. He kissed Jeannie. “You’re the right size for me,” then, “so what did you do?”

“We just walked around. Checked out the stores. When Emily gets her first movie deal, we are definitely coming back here to shop for her. We saw a dress that was made for her.”

Emily started to tear up again, then smiled. “I’d like that.”

Jeannie took her hand. “Me too.” Just then, her phone rang. “Oh god, it’s Liam. This will be bad,” and she walked away, leaving Emily and Rob.

“I’m sorry we left you so long.” They had been gone for a couple of hours.

Rob looked at her. “It’s fine. You two had a good time?”

She looked at Jeannie, who looked exasperated, as she kept waving her hands, switching the phone from one to the other. “I did. I hope Jeannie did.”

He smiled, “I’m sure she did.”

“Did you?”

He put his hands on her shoulders, surprising her with how heavy they were. “Yeah.”

“You’re not just saying that?” She waited for the shoe to drop.

“Emily, I haven’t just been sitting here. I’ve been thinking too, which is never a good thing,” a family joke at which neither of them laughed. “Look, we come from a family of assholes. When God created the Nehlens, he unfortunately set the default to asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” she said.

“I try not to be. And, from what I saw today, you aren’t. But, the rest of them? Everyone treats everyone like shit and you got treated the worst. And I’m sorry for that.”

She started to tear up, and wiped a tear from her eye. “You didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t stop it either. Anyway, I don't believe in signs and all that shit, but yesterday was a sign. You came here today, which you didn't need to do, and I, we thank you. You probably should’ve just told us to go to hell and you didn’t. How come?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Because you’re not an asshole,” he grinned. “I know you don’t want to talk about them and I won’t, but the way I figure it is you and I are the first ones to get away from them, which is a good sign, no?”

She smiled. “Probably.” A guy walked past, checking Emily out and Rob glared at him, which made her smile.

“Probably,” he scoffed, “you’re all the same. Can’t give a guy a win. Anyway, I, we, want to get to know my, our, niece. Will you let us?”

With that, Emily started to bawl. Not tear up, not cry, bawl. Rob pulled her into a hug. “It’s OK, Emily. It’s OK,” and he rubbed his hand in a circle on her back. “Come on. Don’t do this. People are watching. Come on,” he laughed.

She started to laugh a little, but didn’t let go of him. “Thanks, Uncle Rob.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jeannie came over and looked at Emily, her eyes red, and said to Rob, “What did you say to her?”

Emily smiled. “We were just talking. It’s fine. I promise,” and Rob took her hand, and she smiled. “What happened?”

“Well,” and she took a breath, “he started the conversation with, ‘I just want you to know that I’m OK and no one was hurt.” Rob offered a ‘fuck,’ and Jeannie continued, “the Jeep is now at the body shop and insurance has been called. Apparently, ‘some guy just cut right in front of me and now the front end is kinda banged up.’ Why did we have kids again?”

He looked at her, “Too much disposable income. Not enough gray hair.” He turned to Emily, “he’s a good kid but sometimes he’s dumb as a rock. Anyway, we can address this later, you don’t need to hear this.” She wanted to say that she wanted to, that she felt a part of them when she did but then decided that was too much for now. “I’m going to be out here regularly and I hope that I can give you a call when I am. Is that OK?” Emily started to tear up again. She really needed those levels checked. “Stop that!”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling. “I’d like that.”

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead, “Me too.”

Jeannie smiled and handed Emily the bag, “Open it.”

“What? What is it?”

Jeannie grinned, “Open it.”

“I thought you bought yourself earrings,” she said, as she put her hand in the bag.

“I lied,” she said. “Just open it.”

Emily opened the box in the bag and inside was a butterfly necklace. Her spirit animal, she always envied how pretty they were. She remembered a school trip to the Field Museum, the butterfly hall, watching the monarch butterflies flutter around, beautiful and free. “Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful. But it’s too expensive. I can’t,” and she handed it back.

Jeannie looked at her. “I owe my niece a lifetime of birthday presents. This is just a down payment.” She took the box and put the necklace around her neck, the delicate chain brushing against her. “I saw it and I thought of you.”

Emily hugged her. “Thank you. I love it.”

She walked them to their car. “I expect a phone call Thursday,” Jeannie said, kissing and hugging her.

Rob looked at them. “Huh?”

Emily said, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Emmy has a date Wednesday with a boy from Northbrook.” The diminutive making her feel inexplicably happy.

Emily braced herself, only to hear, “You came all the way here to find some rich kid from Chicago? Who is he?”

“He’s a chef. And a Golden Domer,” a Notre Dame alum.

“Mmm hmmm. I know his type,” he laughed. “Have fun.”

She nodded, wondering whether to hug him. He leaned in and gave her a kiss, whispering, “Be happy,” then, in his normal voice, “I’ll call you the next time I’m in.”

“I expect it. And don’t kill Liam. He’s a kid.”

They pulled out and she watched them pull away, while she waved. She fingered the butterfly necklace and walked to her car, smiling.