*FYI, this is Chapter 1 of 3 that'll be shared here on BC!*

CHAPTER ONE

Earning a degree should be a celebratory time in one’s life. The glitz and glamor of graduation day with students outside on the university quad, hurling their hats in the air as the Dean sends them off into the real world. Everyone’s got jobs, partners, apartments… Sure it’s freakin’ terrifying to stare out at the void of adulthood and face it head-on, but there’s beauty in that. I’ve been thinking about that lately… and how I’m experiencing the exact opposite of it.

While I have my cynical, negative days, I generally consider myself a positive person. I like to look forward, not backward, and I love the concept of helping people. In fact, it’s probably why I pursued and succeeded in getting my Associate’s Degree in Nursing. Yeah, yeah… I know, not a doctor… but everyone knows that nurses are the lifeblood of any medical setting. They take shit from both patients and doctors, holding down the fort from impending chaos. Plus, who the hell wants all that debt from medical school? And so that’s exactly where I’m at today: I’m officially Anderson Saffron, ADN! Done and done!

But of course, it’s never really that simple. To loosely quote Jeff Goldblum’s Jurassic Park character, “Life finds a way… to fuck things up.”

I’m currently in a packed-to-the-brim Kia hatchback, driving from the suburbs of Chicago to the quirky, tourist trap town of Old Buffalo, Michigan. Why? Well, I guess my parents watched me graduate and were inspired to shake up their own lives as well. They sold their house (my childhood home), quit their jobs, and bought a condo in Puerto Rico. For a couple of boring suburbanites, this felt like an insane move. First of all, they’ve never even been to Puerto Rico. But mostly my parents have always been practical, level-headed people. I guess the itch for warmer weather and a fresh start at retirement was simply too irresistible.

Knowing I’m still without a job, they graciously offered to let me accompany them on their life-restart. Call me a sucker, but I decided to stick with the midwest… even if it means living in Southwestern Michigan with one of the oddest people on the planet: my mother’s younger sister, Aunt Trinity.

You could fit everything I know about Aunt Trinity on a single index card. Despite being only a two hour drive away, she’d never been a real part of my life. Not for any malicious reason, but when you’re so clearly the family oddball, you tend to forge your own path. From everything my Mom told me, she lives life on her own terms.

My phone dinged with around 15 minutes left in my trip, cruising down an empty Red Arrow Highway. It was Aunt Trinity, sending what must be her third or fourth ever text to me.

‘Please be quiet when you pull up so you don’t disrupt filming. Thanks!’

Quiet? Filming? What the hell was she talking about? I had no idea what this lady even did for work — or play, for that matter — but I figured a simple thumbs-up emoji would suffice. I could pester her all I wanted once I arrived.

You’d think I’d have at least scouted out Old Buffalo before agreeing to spend the summer here, but you’d be wrong. Though at first glance, it at least seemed I hadn’t immediately fucked up. The downtown was cute and quaint. Touristy, sure, but not in a Hollywood Boulevard gift-shop-every-ten-feet kind of way. The town had adorable cafés, grocery chains, and parks. At a stoplight, I noticed signs posted all around promoting upcoming fairs and community events. After all, even tourist towns need to cater to their locals.

Maybe calling it a tourist trap is an overstatement. From what my mother told me, Old Buffalo has three types of people: working class folks, wealthy lakeside land owners, and the tourists who rent houses from those wealthy lakeside owners. As my GPS led me closer to the lake and toward bigger homes, it was becoming clear that Aunt Trinity was indeed in the Old Buffalo upper class.

“54 Lumber Lane…” I muttered to myself as I peered at each passing house, scanning for a visible number. The estates were expansive and impressive, but in a completely different way from the Chicago suburbs. Lumber Lane — like many of these streets — was woodsy and shaded, and the houses around here seemed to embrace the natural, forest-like atmosphere. Many properties appeared to be hugged by nature itself — vines twisting and crawling on the walls, and bulky trees positioned out front like armored guards. It all seemed like such earthy overkill… but then again, you don’t choose to live near a lake if you’re not already a fan of nature.

I probably took longer than I should have doing my stalker-ish, slow drive-by of Aunt Trinity’s neighbors, but I eventually came across a wooden stake at the intersection of the street and a gravel driveway that read ’54 Lumber Lane.’

Aunt Trinity’s house looked no more impressive than her neighbors — in fact, it was quite a bit smaller. But the house gave a Thomas Kincaid-like ‘Cottagecore’ energy that was certainly appealing. My hatchback banged and bumped down the long driveway while I gazed at the beautiful two-story colonial home immersed in a messy but tasteful array of colorful foliage. An old, wooden garage covered in chipped white paint stood to the left of the house. Whether intentional or not, Aunt Trinity’s dark green Prius matched her estate perfectly.

The moment I parked I practically spilled out of the car, desperate to stretch my legs and explore my new home. But I abruptly remembered the warning text about Aunt Trinity’s filming. I glanced around. Where were these cameras? I had no idea what to expect. Was this for work? For fun? Was she filming me as a prank? If it was some big production, nothing outside suggested it. The only way to find out was to gingerly approach the front door and hope I didn’t mess up any takes.

Aunt Trinity’s wooden porch wasn’t doing my stealthiness any favors, creaking with each step. But sure enough when I reached the front door, I peered inside and saw something beyond strange. No big cameras, no film crew, no costumes or big set pieces. Trinity was in the center of her living room — furniture shoved aside to the walls — and she was… dancing?
Well, ‘dancing’ is maybe giving her too much credit. It was more like a mix between a kickboxing routine and jumping jacks. But she was holding something tiny in her hand and spastically waving it in front of her body, all while making wacky faces. The whole scene was beyond bizarre.

Out of respect for her weird ritual, I simply waited at her front door, silently peering through the glass until she looked done. But it didn’t take long. Only a minute went by and she was back on her phone. This seemed like my best chance. The front door was unlocked, so I gave it a little knock as I cracked it open.

“Hey… Aunt Trinity?” I called out, inching my way into the foyer. The interior was just as ‘fairytale cottage-y’ as the exterior. An old, woodsy feel with that hint of mystical, storybook charm. Even the grandfather clock to my immediate left was accented with metallic butterflies and surrounded by a smattering of house plants.

Aunt Trinity placed her phone on the table behind her and craned her neck to get a view of me. “Anderson? Hey!” The fit, petite woman trotted over to me and extended her arms for a big hug. Already I could tell she looked incredible for being in her early 40s. Full, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, practically no wrinkles or signs of aging, and she was in-shape bordering on buff. Particularly for a woman. Hell, I’m only 20 and she looked just a few years older than me.
She pointed to her head. “Twins!” she shouted.

I stood there for a moment, confused until I realized she was referring to our matching ponytails. Though maybe ‘matching’ is a step too far. Her blonde hair was luscious and full while my mousy brunette hair, though long, was pretty limp and lifeless.

Nonetheless, I smiled warmly. Of course I had to remind myself that despite the blood connection, I was essentially hugging a stranger.

“Ah! I SO couldn’t wait for you to get here. I love having guests!”

“Even this long-term?” I chuckled, hoping she wouldn’t recant the gesture.

Aunt Trinity tenderly clutched my shoulder. “Anything for family.”

That sentiment felt a little misplaced coming from a family member I never really knew, but I took her word for it. Hell, who was I to deny free housing for the summer?

“So, uh, Aunt Trinity…”

She stopped me and shook her head. “Please, just ‘Trinity’ is fine. We’re both adults.”

“Uh, okay. Trinity… not to be a snoop, but I noticed you, uh, dancing alone in the living room? Is that what you were filming?”

She paused, as if my questioning of her odd behavior was itself odd. She was about to explain, but caught herself. “I guess I never told your mother about it, so no way you’d know. Hey! Let’s unload your car and get you settled before we talk about boring life stuff.” Trinity briskly scooted by me and out to my car for the first trip without even putting on her shoes. Already this lady was proving to be quite the character.

Over the next hour, I was blessed with an immense amount of help from Trinity unpacking my car and carrying my things into the house. It didn’t take me long to feel utterly wiped from the summer heat. Trinity was the opposite — she was like a freaking freight train! For each trip I made, she’d make three, typically carrying twice the amount. To some degree, I was a little humiliated how this 40-something lady was putting my personal fitness to shame.

It also didn’t help that my room was on the second floor, meaning each trip demanded its own exhausting trudge up the thin, steep staircase. My room was like any other guest room you’d find. A simple bed, a simple table and dresser, and of course being Trinity’s home, accented with nature decor. Not wanting to disrupt the flow, I opted not to unpack my personal items… at least right away.

As I sat on the bed to take in the ambiance, I heard Trinity climb the stairs with what should be my final bag. She tossed it on the ground triumphantly. “Aaaand… that’s a wrap!”

My heart was still beating from the effort. “Seriously, thank you, Trinity. I’m floored by your stamina.” I really meant it. This woman seemed like a total rockstar. Beautiful, in-shape, a homeowner… Everything about her was extremely impressive.

She humbly shrugged. “Hey, it takes a lot of energy to keep this place in tip-top shape.”

Clearly incapable of rest, Trinity treated me to a full tour of the other rooms in her house. It was an aesthetically cohesive 2-bed, 2-bath home that, while low in square footage, certainly makes the most of its space. Each design choice was intentional and on-theme. Plus, for whatever space the inside lacked, the outside more than made up for it.

I must’ve been so zoned in on my car-clearing that I didn’t even notice the pool in the backyard. It wasn’t huge, but had some space for wading and went as deep as six feet. The entire pool area was surrounded by lush, colorful flowers and trees. It felt like a secret rainbow sanctuary.

Trinity pointed to an area behind the pool with a small path. “There’s another garden area with a gazebo and some chairs back there. It’s a great place to read or just relax.”

“Trinity… this is astounding,” I said, overwhelmed. “I had no idea what to expect driving up here, but…”

“Not this?” She finished my thought. “A lot of people say that. But hey, I’m a flower fanatic and take a lot of pride in appearance and quality — for both myself and my property.”

She led us back into the kitchen for a snack and drink to bide our time until dinner, all while doing our best to catch up on 20 years of lost time. For as hectic and high-energy as she is, Trinity was a great listener and wonderful to chat with. I almost felt guilty spending time going over my own life, knowing hers must be 100 times more interesting. But after explaining my nursing job dilemma, I remembered to bring up the very first question I had for her while peering through the window.

“So… the dancing. You said that’s something you're filming?” I asked.

“Ah! You’re so right, I haven’t given you the spiel yet.” Trinity had me get up and follow her to the cleared out living room where the makeshift ‘dance studio’ was.

“So…” she huffed, as if ready to drop some crazy revelation. “This is gonna sound kinda weird, but I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer.”

Huh? That’s it?

“Uh, that doesn’t sound weird at all,” I assured her. “Lots of us have dreams like that.”

“Well…” she continued. “After finding success in the corporate world so young — and then leaving that life in glorious fashion — I decided to take up being… an influencer.”

I shrugged. “An influencer? Like on TikTok?”

“TikTok, Instagram… a little bit of Facebook. Basically companies send me products — everything from makeup to hair products to clothing… and I try ‘em out, review them, and sometimes do silly little dances with them. Then people buy shit based on whether or not I like it or not. I post under the handle @PrincessTrinity. It’s silly… but it’s become my brand so I’m sticking with it!”

“That’s… really interesting,” I muttered, not really sure how to respond. I mean, it’s objectively surprising that a woman in her 40s — especially one of her means — is trying to be an influencer.

Trinity sighed again. “Look, I did the whole corporate thing for nearly 20 years and it fucking burnt me to a crisp. I needed something fun, something I could work toward. I thought, ‘Hey, I like beauty products. I have opinions. Why not try this out?’”

“And how’s it going?” I asked, though feared I came across insensitive.

“Pretty well, I think. I have around 30,000 followers on TikTok, 50k on Instagram. Facebook skews a little older so I’m not as big there…”

My eyes lit up. “Wow! That’s… genuinely incredible.” Nowadays, 30,000 followers isn’t exactly rare, but it’s still impressive for a nonprofessional.

Trinity let out a huge sigh of relief. “Phew! I’m glad you dig it because… look, while I love your mom, she’s very traditional. I’m sure she’d lose her mind if she found out I flaunted clothes and makeup online for brands. I guess I was a little afraid you’d judge me for it too.”

I confidently shook my head. “Not at all,” I assured her, chuckling. “I mean, I’m probably the furthest thing from your target audience… but I support you 100%.”

Feeling much more confident knowing I accepted her quirky side hustle, Trinity encouraged me to sit around as she walked me through her ’studio’. Admittedly, the influencer world — particularly the beauty influencer world — was of no interest to me. I don’t like attention, I don’t like performing… Keeping to myself with a good book is my idea of fun. But from an academic perspective, I appreciated her little crash course.

“So you film yourself dancing, I assume you edit and voiceover later… When do you actually use the products?”

“Like this! Here, I’ve got one left,” Trinity said, opening up a tiny box she pulled from a white gift bag. Out of the delicate white box, wrapped in plastic, was a tiny metallic item. I stepped closer to her iPhone, positioned on a tripod and surrounded by a ring light for even lighting.

The metallic item turned out to be a deep-red lipstick tube, evident as she untwisted it and held it close to the camera.
“Step back please,” she directed me as she was ready to hit ‘record’ on her phone. I stood there still as she pulled the lipstick from the camera toward her face, shook her body a little bit, then playfully applied it to her lips, ending the whole sequence with a big smile.

“Okay, all good,” Trinity said, letting me be at ease.

“No review?” I asked.

“That comes later, during the voiceovers. I told you, it’s a whole process. An insert here… a wide shot there…”

“Well, what’s your first impression?”

Trinity shrugged. “I dunno. I need to see in a bigger mirror.” She took one step toward the mirror on the living room wall, but suddenly stopped, almost tripping over herself.

That was weird. “You okay?” I asked, concerned. But she turned around to me with a little smile.

“Have you ever worn makeup before, Anderson?” she asked plainly.

I gulped, dumbfounded by her insane question. “Uhh… no?”

She chuckled quietly. “Because why get only one opinion on this pretty new lipstick, when I can get two?”

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Look out for the first few chapters posted here on BC over the next week. Hope you all like this new one :)

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/Can-You-Lend-Hand-Feminization-ebook/...