[- Routines -]
My Monday through Friday routine was simple: wake up at 4:30 AM, eat a banana with peanut butter, and maybe some granola if I was in the mood. Next up was to pound some water and get ready for a workout. That workout started by logging in to a Peloton spin class that started at 5 AM and lasted thirty minutes. It was an intense ride every morning, and I pushed myself for the physical release / endorphin hit and to squash my life’s usual stresses and frustrations. Done spinning and generally feeling like I was ready to take on the day—I'd pound another big ass glass of water, get showered and dressed for work.
A stop at a local coffee shop—no, not ‘StarYucks’—was a part of my morning commute so I could get my first of many cups of coffee I’d drink on any given day. Once I had that first piping hot cup of lightning-bolt-wakey-wakey dark deliciousness in hand, I’d take a seat at one of the fifteen tables in Café Duro, connect to their free Wi-Fi, and begin scouring the financials and overnight news reports for an hour before packing up my laptop and heading into the office.
I generally didn’t pay attention to the coming and going of other customers while doing my research, though did acknowledge a couple of the regulars who camped at their own claimed table. They were both retired and always seemed to have some ‘hot’ stock they wanted to get my opinion on a couple times a week. Since they had hooked me up with friends of theirs needing financial asset management, I was good about weighing in on whatever stock they threw at me.
Never failed—they'd claim they were going to leave Schwab or Fidelity and have me manage their retirement savings. I knew at their ages—mid-seventies-plus—they weren’t going to jump ship with what they were familiar with and likely paying more than they should for their asset management.
I always left them with, “Just call me; I really can make switching easy."
I hated that my pitch sounded like some car insurance commercial, but it was my usual statement to them and about as much effort as I was going to throw their way given I’d tried to get them to switch for nearly two years since I’d been coming to Café Duro. Nature of the sale, I guess, their loss, not mine, and I had plenty of other clients to worry about anyway. If I didn’t picking up two more wasn’t going to break me.
While I kept to myself mostly and had my own claimed table within the café, I did become friendly with Megan, the owner of Café Duro. More often than not, she’d have my order going before I made it to the counter if she saw me come in or standing in line. Perks of being a regular, I guess. I enjoyed talking with her when I got the chance and found her to be funny, had a big personality—without being obnoxious—and she was just one of those true people people types.
I was impressed with how hard she’d worked to build this business, and by all accounts she was doing quite well for herself, letting it slip a few weeks back that she was considering opening a second location. She had struggles certainly, like juggling some pretty interesting characters she employed and the truly insane rental cost for this building due to its location. Her insurance and the taxes the city imposed on her bordered on crazy too. On top of all of the small business owner stuff she had to deal with, she played the FT divorced mom roll with two daughters—with a shitty husband—to round out her life’s hectic demands.
I certainly could relate to some of that as a business owner myself and some of what she dealt with in her personal life.
When we did talk, I’d push the conversations towards the subject of her kids. I’d listen, smile a lot, and sometimes ask a question or two just to keep her talking so I wouldn’t have to. Pretty sure she figured out that tactic after the first month I’d begun coming here, and eventually I had to lay my story on her for real—in pieces, mind you, and over several months.
I frequented this place for the coffee, the free Wi-Fi, and because I needed to get stuff accomplished before I headed into the office without much interruption or distraction. My commute from the café to my office was barely ten minutes, and I was generally at my desk and talking to my first clients of the day by 7:30 AM. No one in our office is scheduled to begin work until 8 AM (an hour and a half before the markets opened (EST)), and I always beat my business partners in and am making moves before they get their first cup of poorly executed coffee from the office Keurig machine.
My philosophy on investing people’s money through our investment firm was simple—money invested makes mo’money possible over time—simple as that. I wanted my money working for me every waking second, and that’s how I approached investing my client’s money also. I’d coach anyone who wanted to listen to start early and not ever touch what they’ve squirreled away until they were retired. I absolutely love what I do to make a living, generally enjoy the people I provide investment advice and management for, and have been quite successful at it since graduating from college nineteen years ago.
Excelling at my job made one choice I made right after college difficult—that was being a good husband and eventually a good father. The hours I had to put in early on in my career only got worse when the three amigos decided to create our own investment firm. Once that started, I did little else but commute, research, sell my soul to bring in new clients, and occasionally sleep. I was certainly less successful at those two very important obligations I’d signed up for—being a present husband and father.
At the age of forty, my wife couldn’t take it anymore, and we got the Big D (divorced). I’m now relegated to weekend custody of my sixteen-year-old daughter and get the extreme pleasure of paying a hefty child support / alimony payment every month—because what is success if you can’t share the spoils of your sweat and toils with your ex-wife? Bitter much? Maybe a little, but my ex doesn’t drive or define me, and I like to think I’m my own man, and I choose the paths I want to march down.
We split on decent terms, both of us hurting and angry certainly, but we both agreed Jenny, our daughter, came first and there’d be no bashing of the other parent in her presence. Thus far, I can say Jenny hasn’t ever caught me bitching about her mom. I attribute that to realizing I put myself in this situation to begin with by being a less than adequate husband. It helps that my ex-wife rarely ever goes out of her way to make my life a living hell. Her remarrying last year might have had something to do with her happier mood the past two years and that her new man was paying her the attention she deserved. That last bit keeps her focused on her own life and not screwing with mine, thankfully.
I was happy for her, truly. I liked her new husband, liked how he treated Jenny, and their new family dynamic seemed happy and content—so who was I to bitch or complain? I mean, I’m forty-three, single, haven’t dated but twice in three years since the divorce was finalized, don’t get weekends to myself, and have a stress-packed work week. What in my life isn’t peachy perfect?
Life… It doesn’t matter how you plan it out; a curb ball is waiting for you right around the corner and when you least expect it.
“Morning Megan,” I said as I got up to the counter.
“Brad,” she replied, smiling as she slid a cup across the counter to me.
She’d seen me come in and between the three other customers in line before me had made my coffee so that when I got up to the register I could just tap my debit card, choose the default ‘18%’ tip, grab my ‘zoom-zoom’ brain awakening fuel, and get on with my usual routine.
“You have a good day,” she said as I turned, with cup in hand, to go sit at my usual table.
As I turned to head that way, I noticed someone was now sitting at the table I usually sit at. It had been unoccupied when I came in just a few minutes ago and might have explained why Megan had enunciated her ‘You have a good day’ statement differently to me just seconds ago. Guess she was warning me I’d have to switch it up today—break up that regimented and rigid routine of mine.
I turned back to her with raised brow and a smirk, “Yeah, thanks.”
Whatever! No worries; there are other tables, and routines were meant to be shuffled around on occasion anyway. It wasn’t often someone was seated at my usual table, and I had research to do anyway, and... I noticed the woman at my table look up and towards the door as a customer walked in.
Oh… Oh wow, she’s kind of cute.
Younger, maybe late twenties, dressed in scrubs, so maybe a nurse or in the medical / dental field? There were a pile of books on the table, a laptop was open, and after the quick peek at the door, she was right back to looking singularly focused, intense even. She looked to be studying whatever was on her screen, and it made me wonder if people thought that about me when I was deep into my daily research. Did I look that intense and singularly focused, like I didn’t care about those souls coming and going around me?
I made my way to the other side of the café, took a seat next to two police officers—after nodding and saying ‘Good morning'—and sat to get to work. Laptop open, first sip of...
Awck! What the hell is this crap?!
I looked at the cup, still in a state of disgust, and written on it was the name ‘Sara’. In my nearly two years of coming to Café Duro, I’d never been given someone else’s drink or had one prepared for me that was wrong or tasted terrible. What was just in my mouth and difficult to swallow was a foul-tasting sweet and chocolaty drink that sucked! Good God, who drinks this crap?!
I looked back at the counter and could see Megan was busy, and the line for orders was four deep now. I’m not sure why, but I snuck a quick look at the nurse and noticed there were two cups of coffee sitting at her table—she was probably waiting for a study partner or, more likely, her doctor boyfriend to show up. Did it matter? Of course not! Focus, dummy…
I got up and headed to the counter, and once there I waited for Megan to notice me.
“Something wrong?”
“I got Sara’s drink,” I said as she was handing a woman at the register a drink and pastry in a little paper bag.
“Oh, I’m so sorry... I’ll get that replaced in just a second,” she said, turning to her helper and asking for an Americano and mocha. “I’ll bring it out to you. And if you wouldn’t mind warning Sara, she’s at your usual table.”
I turned to look at the nurse, Sara, sitting where I usually sat and could see she was making a face after having taken a sip of her drink. She spun the cup around to read the name on it – mine, looked around, and finally made eye contact with me after looking towards the counter. I mouthed ‘Sorry’, but headed her way to let her know her drink was being remade.
“Guess they got our drinks mixed up; Megan is getting them remade,” I said when I got to her table.
Am I nervous? Do I sound nervous?
“How can you even drink this?” she said, playfully looking disgusted at the cup.
“I had the same thought after tasting your drink,” I chuckled.
“Well, you can have your muddy water,” she joked, extending the cup towards me. “I don’t have cooties or anything.”
I took the cup and smiled, “Didn’t figure you did...”
She slid out of her chair as I stood there stupidly holding my drink she’d sipped when she said, “Our drinks must be ready; they just waved.”
I turned to see Megan holding up two drinks and followed after Sara as she started heading in that direction.
“Really sorry about that, you two; tomorrow’s drinks are on me,” Megan said as we both took our correct drinks, and she took the one I’d been holding that Sara had taken a sip from. “Guess you know each other’s names now at least.”
“Yeah, guess so,” I replied.
Such a brilliant conversationalist, I thought, annoyed that I couldn’t come up with something more playful or funny to say.
“I told him Meg’s that I didn’t have cooties; guess he didn’t believe me.”
Both women giggled at that, and I’m fairly certain I was blushing. What, am I like sixteen again at some high school dance alone and can’t talk to girls?!
“Brad’s one of my regulars,” Megan said finally when I didn’t have anything intelligent to say in reply to the ‘cooties’ comment.
“Really? I haven’t seen him in here before,” Sara replied, skeptical of what Megan had just told her.
I was about to say I’d never seen her in here before either, as Megan countered, “That’s because you’re in here after lunch, until you got through your graveyard shifts prison sentence.”
“It was six months of hell, but they flipped that schedule on us, and I just ‘had’ to put in for OR rotations, and now I’ve got a lot to brush up on,” Sara replied, taking a sip of her mocha and adding, “Ah, that’s more like it. I can feel the heavenly elixir charging my brain cells, thanks Meg’s.”
My tongue was still stuck in neutral listening to Sara’s voice, and I looked at Megan for a brief second, hoping she’d throw me a life line, but she said, “No problem, back to it you two... See you tomorrow.”
Sara went back to her table (my usual table), and I returned to my new and different table. I spent a few minutes beating myself up about that whole exchange and trying to figure out what my problem was. I mean, I talk to people daily and make dozens of cold calls every single day, but I couldn’t just be myself around this woman? And that second cup of coffee on her table? Who was that for? Why am I obsessing on that?! Am I obsessing?
I took one last look at Sara before walking out of the café; she didn’t seem to notice I was leaving, and when I finally made it to work at 7:48 AM, I was later than usual by eighteen minutes. What was worse than being late though was that each of my partners asked if everything was alright as the day progressed. They’d each sensed my day had gotten off to a bad start and that I appeared to be slightly off my game. I assured them I was fine, but it did leave me wondering how it was possible they knew something had gummed up my routine.
Probably just needed some time off or better yet to focus on doing right by my clients...
[- Attraction Detected -]
The rest of my week had definitely been thrown off by Sara because she always seemed to arrive at Café Duro before I did. She’d happily adopted my usual table as her own and while I could screw with my routine and get there earlier, I wasn’t going to make those shifts for a damn table—even though that had been my table for pushing two years. I also figured if I did that, take my table back, she’d think I was being petty or an ass, and that really wasn’t how I wanted her to think about me.
NOT that I wanted her to think about me or anything, or I was even thinking about her... Good God, am I losing it?!
Funny thing, I got no support from the other morning regulars about having to take refuge at another table. They asked about it Tuesday morning quietly, and I just shrugged it off and then proceeded to answer a question they had about whether they should dump their Ford and Boeing stock. I think they kind of enjoyed the temporary hex Sara had put on me, and I think they enjoyed talking to her when she’d pass by them or she caught their eye. Thanks for the support, guys!
The entire week Sara and I hadn’t said a single word to each other, though there were a few nods of acknowledgement on a few mornings to basically say, ‘Hey’ or ‘Hi’. I stole stealthy glances at her a few times, but was generally so into my research I didn’t pay her much attention. Well, except for when I left to see if she noticed me – which she didn’t – not even looking up from her books and computer.
I did notice the second cup of coffee had been missing from her table the rest of the week, and it made me wonder if maybe her boyfriend, the doctor (I was assuming), and she were through or maybe they were taking a break. She didn’t seem particularly sad or melancholy that I could tell, but I didn’t know her, so maybe I wasn’t picking up on what was going on in her life.
Speaking of picking up on queues from people’s lives...
“Watch that truck... He isn’t signaling, so he might want to turn in front of you,” I coached Jenny from the passenger seat of the six-year-old Honda Civic her mother and Gary had purchased for her. I could feel my leg stiffening against the floorboard as if I were trying to brake the vehicle from the passenger seat.
“I can see him, Dad,” she complained. “Will you just relax... Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, but driving is a resp...” I didn’t get to finish my statement.
“Responsibility… Yes, I know that,” she whined.
“Okay, then you know not everyone behind the wheel is responsible as they should be then, right?” I asked calmly, looking at her.
She kept her eyes on the road thankfully, but the answer to my question was her turning the radio on, turning it down a little because it was way too loud, braking slightly when she realized she was closer to the car ahead of us than she should be, and saying, “I know Dad.”
We’d been driving for a while this morning, and in my estimation, she was a typical teen driver. Cautious, but thought she knew it all and she was certainly oblivious to the dangers that could pop up at any given moment. When she was focused on the road, the other cars out here, and maybe looking a few car lengths ahead, I could maybe relax and not worry as much.
“Can we go get coffee?”
“Sure…”
“What, no demands on where we ‘can’t’ go?” she asked with a giggle and furrowed brow.
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, but where you want to go doesn’t serve coffee, kiddo.”
“Dad…”
“Telling it like it is Jen... Look, ‘StarYucks’ just tastes burnt to me, bitter, and blah-ahawck,” I said, making a face. “You want to own the stock, eh, okay though I can think of one’s with better returns. Drink their swill? Hard pass.”
“TMI Dad and really, coffee is coffee… Where do you want to go?”
I gave her directions, and twenty minutes later we were walking into Café Duro. I was quick to notice my table was unoccupied, and after ordering our drinks, I got to sit in my usual spot at my usual table. Two minutes later they called our names, Jenny went to retrieve our coffee, and I was taking a sip of my delicious Americano, feeling like a little balance had been restored to my world. Finally, I could...
“Ouch! What was that for?” I complained after being kicked under my table.
“She’s cute,” Jenny was saying with a smile and nod towards an older woman who had just walked into the shop.
“Yeah, thanks… She’s a bit older than me, Jen.”
“I hear older women know their shit and tend to treat younger men well,” she said, giggling.
“Ummh… Language…”
“Just saying,” she replied, and after a moment added, “I think you could use someone in your life.”
“I’ve got all the trouble I need sitting in front of me, kiddo,” I replied, looking across the table at her with a grin.
“Augh… Really? Come on, Dad, something is up with you, I can tell. Are you seeing someone or something?”
“No, of course not... I’d tell you if I were.”
“So not seeing anyone, but you’re interested in someone, right?” she asked.
The momentary hesitation was all she needed to pounce.
“Who is she?” she asked with some genuine excitement.
“No one, sweetie; there isn’t anyone,” I complained.
We sat a few minutes in silence; I was stressing about how people were reading me so easily while she was flipping between people watching and texting madly to someone on her phone.
“How about her?”
I turned to look at the door, seeing an attractive woman with a child in tow and easily an inch taller than my 5’ 11” frame wearing sandals.
“Yeah, I’m thinking her husband would be a problem.”
“No ring,” she quipped.
“Jen, I’m fine, I’m happy, work is good, life is good...”
“I don’t like seeing you sad.”
“Sad? No, honey, I’m really okay, trust me.”
“How about a nurse then?”
“I don’t think I’m ready for a nursing home. Come on, your dad’s not that old,” I replied with a chuckle.
Her reply was a head nod towards the counter, and when I looked that way, I knew who’s backside it was we were looking at. I didn’t get a chance to turn back towards Jenny before Sara had turned to look towards us and could see we were looking her way. Oh crap! This can’t be happening!
A moment later she was at our table. I was standing for some unknown reason, nervous, and introducing Sara to Jenny.
“Nice to meet you, Jenny,” Sara had said and followed that with, “Your dad tell you this is my table?”
“It is?” Jen asked, looking at me and seeing my head shaking ‘No’, smiling, and now looking less stressed than a few seconds ago.
“Not really, but I guess I sort of stole it from him,” Sara replied.
My eyes got momentarily bigger, but I recovered quickly enough to say, “Who told you, the old guys?”
“They might have,” she said, playing coy. “You should have said something; I’d have moved.”
"Eh, it didn’t seem worth it to rock the boat,” I answered.
“I’ll camp out at another table Monday,” she said, smiling.
“If you want,” I said and awkwardly asked, “Hey, I don’t see a mountain of books; what brings you in today and later than usual?”
I was feeling a bit of confidence and maybe a little happy about the prospect of getting my normal table back on Monday. The universe was going to be put back in balance!
“I have a shift in,” she looked at her phone. “Twenty minutes. What are you two up to too?”
“Getting in some time behind the wheel, little drivers education,” I replied, and when Sara looked towards Jenny, she rolled her eyes at her.
“Go easy on him, Jenny; dads are toughest on their kids when they first start driving,” Sara said.
That elicited a little giggle out of my kid and a small nod to the empty chair to her right directed at me. I got the message.
“You, ah… You want to join us?” I asked.
“Oh, I’d love too, but I’m going to scrub in for a heart stint operation – just to observe, so probably should get going. Just needed a bit of a jolt before work,” she said, smiling like she might have appreciated the offer, which made me feel good. “It was really nice meeting you, Jenny, and you,” she said before leaving giving me a look, “I’ll see you bright'n early Monday morning.”
Sara walked away after that. I went back to sitting and looking over the table at Jenny, who was watching Sara leave, and when she was focused on me again, I said, “Nice gal, she did take over my table though.”
Jen was thinking on something and casually asked, “You like her though?”
I felt put on the spot and tried to deflect the question, “I don’t know her to be honest; I just met her this past Monday.”
"But you like her? Like you’re attracted to her?” she asked more carefully.
Augh! Was I? God! Yeah, so I might be... No, I was absolutely attracted to her. Damn it! Why is this so hard?! Think…
“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?” I asked, trying to help deflect her inquiry and maybe also get her opinion on there being an obvious age gap on the sly.
“Age is just a number, Dad... So?”
Augh! Why are you pressing?! This is not the conversation I want to be having right now!
“Look, she’s just a nice woman, nothing more,” I tried saying, but I felt like that reply bordered on being a complaint for some reason.
“Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Yes…”
I was being truthful, but angry with myself that I’d answered so quickly.
“So, you like her then?”
“I don’t know her, Jen.”
“You’re avoiding answering the question, that’s what you’re doing.”
"No, I’m not; I just don’t have an answer because I haven’t really given being with her much thought, that’s all.”
“So you would consider dating her?”
“Jen… My life is full up and often overflows the rim of the plates I’ve got spinning on dowels. I’m happy with that though, and I don’t know that I have it in me to explore a relationship with anyone right now.”
She looked confused by the plate analogy but pressed, “But you’ve dated though.”
“Yes, but I screwed those relationships up, and don’t forget I messed up with your mother... None of that is a confidence builder, kiddo.”
“You realize we all tend to get smarter with age; I’m sure you’re smart enough to not make the same mistakes again, right?”
I wasn’t sure how to reply. I was sure I’d handle any future relationship differently, better than the few I’d been in since the divorce. Jenny pressing had me wondering why she was stuck on this ‘get Dad hooked up’ track. Maybe she thought I was lonely, singularly focused—which, yeah, was kind of the truth, but Sara is way too young, and there’s no way I wanted to pull off a 'Sugar Daddy’ look with some younger woman. How cringe worthy would that be?! God, what would people think!?
“Look, attractive woman, certainly nice,” I began saying, but ran out of steam.
“I don’t think she’s always been a woman, Dad,” Jen said softly.
“Of course not... I mean, just like you aren’t going to be my little girl much longer and be a woman.” I didn’t know where I was going with that train of thought, so I just stopped speaking.
“Not what I meant... I’m pretty sure she’s Trans, Dad.”
::: --- :::
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Rachel M. Moore
[- Exploring -]
It wasn’t as though I hadn’t already been overthinking my being attracted to Sara this past week. And even more so after the conversation with Jenny in the coffee shop after she met Sara and kept pressing me about her. Admittedly, I did devote a lot of brain cycle activity to what a relationship with Sara could be like—if I could get around her being a Trans woman.
I mean, who was she really? Was she really Trans? Was my attraction or what I might be feeling about her fucked up if she was in fact Trans? How did I not even pick up on that?!
I had barely slept Saturday or Sunday night, so when my alarm began blaring at 4:30 AM to start my work week, I was slow to jump into my normal morning routine.
I’m sure my mental state considering Sara would be comparable to a warm plate of Jell-O by now if it weren’t for my Jenny’s support and understanding about how I might be attracted to Sara. We had talked a lot about adult-related matters this weekend regarding my love life, or actually lack thereof. Jenny had absolutely held her own against my male ‘attack the problem head-on' attitude. Damn kid had me navigate many of my concerns with some concentrated thought given to ‘feelings’ rather than ‘logic’.
I was impressed with Jenny’s insights and thankful that at least one of us had a level head through some touchy topics during those conversations.
When we started talking I couldn’t help but come off maybe a little frustrated for what I assumed was Sara having purposely misled me in some way. Jenny was quick to point out that Sara brought nothing to the table but who she was. She said it didn’t look like Sara was fawning over me, hadn’t tried to be anything other than her true self, was just living her life, and our orbits had just happened to collide. Jen thought she was very ‘chill’ and a ‘confident’ woman considering how much society wanted nothing more than to erase her very existence. Jesus, when had my kid gotten wise beyond her years?!
The last thing Jenny had said to me Sunday before she headed home?
“Don’t throw away a chance at being happy, Dad... I kind of liked her, and I think you do too. Get to know her okay; don’t just erase her like others want to, that would be shitty.”
And of course I complained, “Augh! Language, Jen…”
I was nervous walking into Café Duro, nervous seeing Sara sitting at a different table, nervous about what the regulars thought about me right now since maybe they thought I was attracted to Sara. Did they know she was Trans? Did Megan? Would Megan look at me differently if she suspected I might be interested in Sara? FUCK!
After a quick pay and grab at the counter with Megan, I turned to head to my usual table. I caught the eyes of the two regulars and gave them a weak smile, but as I approached my table, I paused, looked over at Sara, and she looked up and smiled at me. God damn it! Okay, fine, I’m…
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
She was still smiling and pushed the chair across from her with her foot under the table before saying, "Sure... Good morning.”
“Morning…”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“What?”
“Push the chair out like that. I saw it in a movie, and you know it really does feel as cool as it looked just now,” she said, smiling, her eyes bright and alert.
“Oh, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that before,” I replied, not sure what she’d meant exactly about that gesture of pushing a chair out. Was that a ‘pickup-line’ move or…
“You’ve got a beautiful daughter, Brad; I can tell she really loves her dad.”
I could feel my heart beating in my throat, my mouth desert dry all of a sudden, so I took a quick sip of my Americano. SLOW DOWN!
“I’m lucky to have her in my life,” I finally got out.
“How long have you been divorced?”
"Three… Wait, did Megan tell you I was divorced?” I asked confused, having answered her question without even thinking.
“I might have asked her about you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You’re an attractive guy, and I was curious. I figured she knew at least a little about you since you were a regular. Megan and I have been friends since high school, so it wasn’t a stretch we’d talk girl things.”
I looked back at the counter and saw Megan handing a cup of coffee to a woman, and afterwards nodded my way. Had nodded at me or to the woman? So, Megan knows Sara and knows she’s Trans and she knows I’m sitting here with Sara because, well because I’m sitting here trying to decide what… Wait, I’m an attractive guy?
Do I want to say something about being checked out and her knowing any of my actual stories I’d shared with Megan? It wasn’t like any of that was classified or I’d told Megan anything in confidence. I have questions though, like am I’m some game to you, part of some deception, a...
Sara tilted her head ever so slightly, and it caught my attention.
“You look like you might want to ask me a few questions. Before you do, I want you to know I’ve got no tolerance for people with closed minds,” she began, paused to see that I was paying attention still and not lost in my own sound track before continuing. “I have a feeling Jenny might have figured out part of my story, and I want to assure you I’d have discussed who I am with you if I thought we were going to be friends. Guess what I’m trying to do here is give you a chance to get up and walk away if you’re considering being an ass in the next couple minutes.
“I don’t do drama, Brad; I’m not a fighter in the physical sense, I have vulnerabilities like everyone else does, and I’ve got a complex enough life that I don’t need to compound it with even more crazy or crazy people. So, I’ve just set the stage for you—step into the light or exit stage left, the choice is yours.”
Her smile was gone; my mind was moving faster than I could organize my thoughts into a coherent sentence, and she’d asked me to make a choice. Where was the organization I thought I had with everything I wanted to say?!
“Thank you for the ah, the warning... I’m not looking for, umm... You know, a drama or I’m not...,” I stopped speaking as she reached across the table and placed her hand on mine.
“Relax, alright? Just tell me what’s going on in your head; no matter what that is, I promise I’ll be fine. I’ve heard some pretty messed up things over the years, so nothing you have to tell me is going to ruin my life or be much of a surprise,” she said, smiling briefly before taking her hand back and appearing serious again.
"I… I’m confused as to how it is you weren’t born like... Well, like a woman, and all I see is a woman, but you’re Trans, right? How can that be?” I ask dumbfounded.
What I’d lead with, certainly garbled, was just one of fifty-plus different things I wanted to ask her or know about her. Why was this so hard? Am I making it harder than it needs to be? I need to relax! I think I’m actually blowing…
“I can assure you I’m a woman, though I didn’t start out that lucky. The short version of that story is that I knew something wasn’t right with my body matching who I felt I was inside. Those feelings probably started when I was four, maybe five years old—very very confusing, and trust me, it didn’t get easier as I got older. I couldn’t figure out why I hated my life until I found the answer on the internet to the question, ‘Am I in the wrong body?’
“That gave me a partial answer and put me on the right path to getting the real answer, which turned out to be I was Trans. Once I connected those initial dots, I knew I needed help or I was going to give up on living. So, I talked to my mom, which was scary and confusing for both of us in the beginning. Thankfully she got me appointments with a couple knowledgeable doctors. I began taking hormones, male puberty blockers, and had a few surgeries much later on. Yeah, that’s the short and quick version of how this woman is sitting here now. I’m complex, but not as complex as you might think. I want the same things you do: to be happy, be with someone who cares about me, and live my life to the fullest, without societal constraints that limit or block who I am.”
I didn’t know what the internal workings were or the true down to the science definition of being Trans, so there was a lot of mystery still there for me to get my head around. Did I really need to know what being Trans was to that degree? Likely not, but I worked best when there was order in my life, so I wanted to know these things.
I mean, with most women, I had a pretty good idea of what made them tick or what their wants or needs were—yet with Sara, I wondered if that was different somehow because she hadn’t necessarily started life as a woman. Yeah, I had looked up what being Trans meant on the internet after talking to Jenny Saturday night. Did that help me understand it better? Did it help me understand my attraction to Sara? Yes and No... I’d never wanted to be with another man, but she wasn’t one now as best I could tell, but was once a...
“What are you thinking?”
She’d startled me momentarily, and my brain wasn’t functioning in a way I had thought any of this conversation would go before having a chance to talk with her. And I did want to talk to her.
"Truthfully? I'm… I like… It feels complex, you know, like you said,” I stammered.
“Okay, so let’s start there. Are you attracted to me because I appear to be what you thought I was?”
“Yes, but…”
"But I didn’t begin my life this way, so that screws with the complexity to understand your attraction?”
“Sure, but that’s like expected, right?” I whined the question to completion.
“Hard truth: society says only males and females should go marching hand in hand together. But society has evolved a little and finally accepted it’s not the end of the world if males are with other males or females want to be with other females. A few religions don’t bend to those ideas, but thankfully they don’t govern large swaths of this country. There is no right answer to who we’re attracted to or who we want to be with.
“Let’s get past the biggest hurdle for most of the guys who have been interested in me or I have been interested in—whether or not being attracted to me makes them gay. Good grief, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that my student loans would be paid off. Yet, that’s a hang-up, and I totally get it because I’m not the societal norm. Would it help you any if I told you I wasn’t gay? I’ve got zero interest in women and haven’t ever considered being with one – not once. No Katy Perry ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it’ for me.”
Katy Perry? Had she come out as a lesbian and I hadn’t heard that? What? If you like men then…
“You like men though,” I squeaked softly.
"Yes, I do, and that puts me solidly in the camp with ninety percent of all the women you know out there who want to be partnered with or are attracted to men. Look, you thought I was a woman, and I can assure you, I’m a woman to my absolute core. I don’t need to sell you on that; you see and hear that from me or you don't. What you choose to do or be governed by is up to you,” she said confidently, picking up her mocha and taking a sip while studying me, maybe wondering what stupid thing I was going to say next.
I’m not even sure what stupid thing I was going to say next!
[- Alive -]
It was obvious, not only to me because I was living it, but to my two partners also, that I couldn’t focus and ended up going home right after lunch. I didn’t have any in-person client meetings today and was able to reschedule the few calls I did have this afternoon for later in the week—thankfully. I had to assure both partners I was fine; I just had some personal stuff going on that I needed to deal with. There had been questions as to whether that was why I was thirty minutes later than usual this morning, and I deferred them back to my original excuse—'personal stuff’ going on.
They, of course, were quick to assume my ex-wife had gone off the rails unexpectedly. I had to curb that blame because I didn’t need her getting wind of my business by accident, should they happen to say something snarky to her at some point in the future. They weren’t fans of her, and my feelings about her tended to make them think I was 'whipped'. Whatever!
Thankfully, they let me off easy after I promised to explain tomorrow what was going on. I knew when I left the office they were worried about me, and I hated not being forthcoming, but I wasn’t even sure where my head was at the moment.
Work aside, I was stressing to monumental levels and now standing dumbfounded in my kitchen trying to organize all those things I needed to get done in the next five hours! Like verge of a panic attack—heart wanting to explode—fear of decisions made or not made—sharks in the water—or worse, thinking I would absolutely freeze up later when Sara got here. What was I thinking inviting her over for dinner this morning?!
I wasn’t sure which shocked me more—that I’d asked her or that she had accepted my invitation!
Was this electric feeling coursing through my body, reminding me I was actually alive?! Is this what living could and should feel like?! Had my routine really been a rut, a prison sentence in some Matrix-like movie plot? Was Sara the red pill meant to shake my existence off its foundation of lies I’d been living, thinking that I was actually living a full and meaningful life?
STOP!! No more frick’n rabbit hole excursions right now! I’ve got shit to do!
I needed to clean, figure out some kind of meal to cook, and maybe more importantly, figure out what the hell I am even doing with this woman! Yeah, our conversation had gotten easier once I gave up worrying about what others thought and focused on my own wants. And really, fuck it! I could SEE her, and she was cute and playful and magnetic and confident and lippy and pushed back at me! She was all I could think about since I’d met her! Am I losing my mind?!
No, I’m fucking alive! I’m…
My phone vibrated twice in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly to see who was texting me... When I saw who sent the text, I thought—this should be interesting.
Jenny: How did it go this morning? Did you talk to Sara?
Me: Yes, it went better than I thought it would. I asked her to come over for dinner.
Jenny: Wow! I’m surprised, but I like that move for you. You realize that relationships like driving are a responsibility. Lol (*two laughing face emojis*)
Me: Ha ha! Wish me luck, kiddo.
Jenny: You won’t need to; you got this. I’m happy for you. Love you, Dad! (*heart emoji*)
Me: Thanks, Jen; I love you too.
It felt like I’d barely put my phone away before the buzzing of the intercom at my door had me jumping up from the couch, and I was rushing to buzz Sara into my building. I wiped the sweat from my palms on the apron I was wearing and realized I was wearing a damn apron still! Quickly I pulled it off, set it on the kitchen counter neatly, looked over at the table, darted over to it to adjust a fork sitting on a napkin screwy, and wondered if it was even on the right side of the plate. Did I have time to Google the proper place setting for...
The tiny knock at the door answered that question for me. AUGH!!!
I tried to not rush to the door, got a hand on the handle, breathed... Just breathe… I opened the door, trying my best to smile confidently, and the cute woman from Café Duro I was expecting was now a stunning woman standing before me. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that fell just above her knees, had heels on, bangles on her wrists, large hoop earrings, and, in a word, she was beautiful.
“Hey…”
I’m sure I blinked a few times and stumbled with inviting her in. She was carrying a sweater, and I took it, hanging it in the coat closet next to the front door while she set her clutch on a small table next to the closet. When I turned back towards her, I sensed something was off...
“Would you mind,” she began tentatively, “Giving me a tour?”
"Oh… Yeah, yes, of course, I... Are you alright?”
She was trying to smile, but it looked like it was taking some effort. I could feel she was uncomfortable, that something was definitely wrong, and blurted out, “If you’d rather not do this tonight, we...”
She didn’t let me finish.
“No, no, just a rough day at work," she said softly, surprising me by stepping over to me, wrapping her arms around me, and hugging me. “I’m sorry, I’ll be better in a minute... It’s not you, I promise.”
I returned the hug gently, afraid I would break her, but wanted so badly to take away whatever pain she was in right now. She smelled amazing, was warm, and soft, and I considered asking about her day but held off.
“You look amazing; thank you for coming over.” I finally got out.
"Thanks… Been a minute since I’ve dressed up,” she whispered.
“I’m sure any chance you get to be out of scrubs is a good thing. I feel that way about wearing a suit and tie daily.”
Her arms let loose, and she brought them around so she could put the palms of her hands on my chest.
“You didn’t mention you could cook. Whatever is cooking smells really good!”
She was smiling, maybe having shaken off for the moment whatever was bothering her. I had the undeniable urge to lean in and kiss her but couldn’t justify making such a bold move. I was looking deeply into her eyes for a sign she wouldn’t be offended or would want that, but the moment was lost when she stepped back.
I took one of her hands, replying, “Just lasagna; I hope you’re hungry because I made enough to feed us and like six others. Now, about that tour...”
I walked her through the sixteen hundred square feet of my condo, including spending a few minutes admiring the view from the balcony that had a view of the city of Boston proper twenty miles away. She seemed impressed with the condo, had asked questions about pictures of Jenny as a child in the hallway to the bedrooms, liked Jenny’s room, and seemed generally impressed—though confused with my collection of vinyl records.
“You’ve got these out here and some in your bedroom; how many records do you have?” she asked.
“About six hundred give or take. I know it’s not common, but there’s personality you don’t get to hear or experience if you’re listening to something digital because they strip out those sounds that add personality to sterilize it and make it sound clean. I do have about that many music CDs and subscribe to a couple music services—but vinyl is kind of my guilty pleasure, I guess.”
“There are worse things you could spend your money on.”
“Certainly… Something to drink? I’ve got pop, water, wine, something harder.”
“Beer?” she asked.
“Stella or Corona...”
“Surprise me…”
I pretended to study her, “Kind of a coin flip, but I’m going to say you’re a Corona and lime girl.”
“You’d probably be right,” she said, smiling, checking the table out while I grabbed her beer, and adding, “You need any help with anything?”
“No, have a seat; if you’re hungry, we can dig in or sit out on the balcony since it’s decent out.”
I’m not sure where I’d stuffed my nervousness about having Sara here tonight, but since she arrived, including through dinner, everything had gone better than I’d expected. Our conversations were mostly work-related—nothing much personal shared—and I learned that the patient she’d been in the OR with on Saturday for the heart stint surgery had passed this morning due to complications. She explained it wasn’t that she hadn’t seen any number of people die while working at the hospital, but this one felt personal for some reason.
“Maybe because he had a nineteen-year-old daughter,” she softly said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied and took her hand for a moment to give it a squeeze.
After dinner, we ended up doing the dishes together, though I’d insisted I could do them later. I’d offered her another beer, but she turned it down—though the offer of a bowl of ice cream from Richardson’s creamery was accepted. When I asked her about it, she’d said she knew her priorities and might not have eaten the lasagna had I offered her the ice cream first.
To this point we’d still not talked about anything deeply personal until we were done with dessert and at the kitchen sink again doing dishes...
“Megan didn’t say anything much about you being divorced,” she mentioned as she was putting her bowl in the dishwasher, turning to take mine and doing the same. “She told me a little about Jenny, and I get the sense she’s an impressive kid given what you told me about your two’s conversations over the weekend this morning. Is the divorce a sore subject?”
“No, not really... We met in college, got married right afterwards, but had decided to wait on having kids because we were new to our careers. My work was brutal back then; you really didn’t have a life if you wanted a job, and she decided a child was something she needed; maybe figuring Jenny would bring me around to paying more attention to her after Jenny was born.
“I’m not above admitting I screwed that up, and I really did love her, and having it end was not an easy thing to accept. I didn’t know how to fix it without giving up everything I’d work for to provide for us, and I don’t think she could ever have buried the pain and moved on anyway. That’s all long gone and something that can’t be fixed. She remarried last year,” I offered, but I could feel some of that nervousness creeping in.
I figured honestly was the best approach this morning and was determined to keep that same mode running tonight—see me at my worst, decide if I’m worthy or not based on what I’ve done after the fact. Plus, no one is perfect, I figured.
“It’s been a few relationships for me where the guy couldn’t get past me not having taken the normal route to womanhood. I tend to make guys worry about their sexuality, and being with me will cause people you know to doubt it too. If I had to give someone advice about being with me, I’d tell them to just be themselves. Don’t overstress the Trans in me, and by that, I mean if you hang out with me enough, you’re going to see I’m exactly what I appear to be,” she stopped to look around, opened the frosted glass front cabinet with glassware in it, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water before coming over to take my hand and walking us to the sofa.
“I really appreciated our conversation this morning. I know that someone like me might be a little confusing, but you were incredibly kind with how you navigated getting to know a little more about me. You were patient, considered my feelings, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind or open up about some feeling you had about who I am. I liked that, when you’re not guarded about what you’re saying or were asking me a probing and challenging question.
“Dating for me is more often a horror show; guess what I’m trying to say is thank you for not being like that,” she finished, leaned over while carefully holding her glass of water, and kissed me on the cheek.
“I wasn’t thinking all that much this morning, to be honest. I had lots of questions, and you indulged my want to get to know you. I thought maybe I’d have scared you off.”
“So far you haven’t said or done anything that’s given me pause, but I’m not sure you won’t be scared off eventually, to be honest. It’ll happen when you have to deal with people who find out I’m Trans and they start to assume you’re into something freaky or you’ve lost your mind or turned your back on God or whatever,” she held up a hand to stop me from protesting what she’d just said. “Trust me, I’ve seen it happen enough to know it will be a challenge most men can’t overcome. It’ll hurt me when that happens, but you’ll land on your feet.”
“That’s a bold prediction,” I complained softly.
“You think so? What if your business partners question your masculinity or say that you don’t have it in you to attract a 'real woman'’? Would your ex-wife think you’ve sought out a fetish or,” she paused to lock eyes with me, “What’s more likely to happen is she finds out and is afraid to have me be anywhere near Jenny?”
Those questions had certainly crossed my mind, but I was more focused on wanting to know who she was and why there was this attraction I had to her. I hadn’t bothered worrying as much about any possible blowback from those people in my life. Jenny had repeatedly said, and I knew this from the media, that society wanted to erase women like Sara. She’d thought fear drove the hate, and I felt like she was seeing I wasn’t governed by either of those things and maybe was proud of her old dad for being open minded.
Rewinding the last couple statements Sara had made, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to warn me away from pursuing her...
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Misreading -]
Nothing was different about my routine this morning until I got to Café Duro. I’d beat Sara in and got a little extra in my exchange with Megan while picking up my Americano because I gave her a questioning look she read correctly.
“I don’t know... She texted last night after I’d gone to bed and said dinner was delicious, you have a nice place, and would talk to me when she got here. That’s all I know.”
“Do you think I should text her?” I asked.
“Maybe give her some time; she’s probably just running late this morning,” Megan offered.
My morning routine was beckoning me, and the hot cup of coffee in my hand was telling me I needed to set it down, so I grabbed my usual table—after a momentary conversation with the retired regulars. No stock tips were requested, thankfully, but there was some joking about Sara possibly showing up and forcing me out of her table when she got here. I got a chuckle out of that and proceeded to my table, got my laptop fired up, connected, and I was scanning my usual financial internet research haunts before I knew it—though arguably halfheartedly because my mind was on Sara.
When I went to check on the crude oil futures, my phone buzzed twice. I could see the texting parties name and got a momentary flash of hope.
Sara: Good morning. I got called in early to actually assist in the OR this morning! Just wanted to say thank you again for dinner last night. I had a really good time. I’ll call you later. Hugz!
I read the message twice, tried to imagine her tone, her facial expression as she typed it, and if there was anything that would suggest in these few words that we’d parted ways last night on bad terms.
She’d left a little after 8:30, and at the door there was a quick hug—with an exchange of platonic cheek kisses that fell well short of what I’d like to have done. I wanted to kiss her, and I’d considered it a number of times after she had kissed my cheek on the sofa unexpectedly. But I felt like she might have been waving me off concerning getting involved with her or, at a minimum, she’d sent me a pretty mixed up signal. Why didn’t I have the confidence to just go for it, to act on my wanting to kiss her, and let the chips fall where they might?!
Me: Wow! That’s awesome; good luck in there. Talk to you later.
That’s short, encouraging, and says I’m expecting a call later. I didn’t want to overplay it or sound pushy, needy, or anxious. Would she reply? Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Sara: Thanks. Are you sitting at my table?
I chuckled and wanted to reply, ‘Yup, all that’s missing is you’, but sent the more practical reply, ‘Yes, Americano in hand and surfing the financials’. Her reply was a single ‘thumps-up’ emoji.
What was my damn problem?! Had I just blown it? Would she have said more if I’d been more playful? Damn it!
I was back on course shortly after getting her ‘thumps-up’ text. Well, basically, after beating myself up for not being more engaging with her for a couple minutes, before I finished my prep work for the day. Battling to not overthink anything Sara related was difficult, but somehow I did and eventually made it into the office at my usual start time. The universe’s routine had righted itself somewhat, though my orbit was undeniably tilted in Sara’s direction.
At a mid-morning break, I ran into Ken, one of my two partners, in the kitchen area, and he’d said I looked much better today and wanted to know if everything was alright.
“Yeah, I met someone, and she’s kind of done a number on me like no one has in a while. A good number, but a number none the less,” I told him.
He thought it was great I’d put myself out there again to date, and I could tell he was genuinely happy for me. Of course he wanted to know all the details of this mystery woman, who’d tipped me over pretty good yesterday, and I told him everything—except the one thing I wasn’t ready for him or my other partner to know—that Sara was Trans. In the moment I had been nervous about sharing that one aspect of Sara’s existence and chose not to mention it because I didn’t want to deal with any questioning of my choice to see her or have to explain my attraction to her or whatever complaint he wanted to conjure up.
It shouldn’t have mattered that I didn’t say anything about the ‘Trans’ aspect, but as the afternoon progressed, I spent much of it feeling guilty and like I’d invalidated Sara somehow. Being Trans didn’t define her, I reasoned, so I didn’t need to let people know that about her up front, right? She hadn’t approached me and told me straight up she was Trans, so it’s not a required disclosure.
That would have been weird, right? Like, ‘Hi, I’m Sara and I’m a Trans woman…’ wouldn’t have been how she started every conversation with someone she didn’t know.
No matter the arguments or excuses I had rolling around in my head or how I tried to justify them being innocent or not being relevant, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. Before Sara, the idea of someone being Trans meant different things to me—like maybe they were a drag queen, some pornographic fetish-driven person, or maybe even a crossdresser could be Trans in a way. I didn’t care and it certainly didn’t bother me if someone needed to do that for their own sanity – which I found out Saturday night on the internet was a big driver for someone who was Trans. It was considered ‘mental health affirming care’ so the person wouldn’t commit suicide by doctors, not just the Trans community.
I got the sense Sara had come out as Trans to right a wrong in her mind and after meeting her and seeing her every day last week at the café, I hadn’t even known she was Trans! She didn’t advertise that; was I supposed to? No, right?
I was deep into one of those rewinding arguments that were playing in my head when my cellphone rang, and it made me physically jump because I was so focused on Sara that I hadn’t expected to be jolted out of my own headspace.
"Hey… I was just thinking about you,” I said, answering my phone on the third ring because I was trying to compose myself after the first ring and realizing who it was.
“Oh really? Were you thinking you should invite me out for a drink tonight to celebrate getting to not only scrub in for a colonoscopy polyp removal this morning but actually getting to assist the surgeon?” Sara asked excitedly.
“No way! Wow, congratulations! I’ll bet that was really interesting.”
“It was, and I couldn’t believe how precise the robotics equipment he used could be. Are you free tonight?”
I didn’t hesitate, "Absolutely... Did you have some place in mind?”
She floated me a text message with the name of a bar/restaurant that was located between where we both lived that I wasn’t familiar with, though I might have heard someone mentioning the food was good if it was the same place Sara was talking about. I’d told her I typically got off work around 5 PM, so we set a 6 PM meet-up time, which would give us both plenty of time to get there—though she said she was about to head home to get cleaned up and changed. I had another hour to kill, and she might have rubbed that in a little with her ‘Neener neener...’ comment and about me having to come straight from work wearing my suit and tie.
On my way to the bar, Sara texted that the place was pretty busy and she was in the bar waiting. I made it with a couple minutes to spare and found her at a stand-up table near the back of the bar. She smiled at me from across the crowded bar, and my expectations were I’d see that cute woman again from the café, but it wasn’t to be. Tonight she was even more stunning than she was last night. She’d put some curl in her hair, the black leather-like pants she wore accentuated sensual curves, her heels made me appreciate how long her legs truly were, the white silky top she had on was flirty, and... I was speechless!
Wow! Just fucking wow!
I wasn’t two feet from her table when she stepped out from behind it to take those few steps to give me a quick hug. She had said something as she hugged me, but I couldn’t hear her over the noise surrounding us in the crowded bar. I was about to ask her to repeat what she’d said when she pulled back a little to look up at me.
I couldn’t help myself and leaned in and kissed her.
There was no hesitation on her part in participating, and for a few seconds I was pretty sure we were telling each other we liked what was happening. I also felt like we were both relieved the other had thankfully seemed to enjoy that quick connection, expression of our mutual attractions. When I slowly pulled away, I got a shy little smile from her and a quick leaning in by her to say something I could actually hear this time.
“I’m going to have to pay for more OR time if that’s the kind of greeting I’ll get when we meet.”
“I wanted to do that last night,” I admitted in her ear.
“I might not have wanted to go home,” she said, smiling at me after having admitted that.
Oh! But, what was with that warning me off vibe I got from you last night?!
She picked up something in my face and leaned in to say, “Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too forward of me.”
I chuckled, “I thought... Never mind. Is it loud in here or what?!”
"Loud… Yes, but I want to know what you were just thinking.”
“Can we do this in the restaurant?” I asked, leaning in again to speak into her ear.
“I couldn’t get a reservation...” she shouted back at me.
“I did,” I said, smiling and adding a quick, “Neener, neener...”
That got me a playful shoulder slap and a quick hug.
We left the noise of the bar for the hostess stand and were immediately seated since I’d gotten us a 6 PM reservation. Sara had brought her Corona with her, and when our waitress swung by, she’d asked what I wanted, and I ordered the same.
Alone at our table, she asked, “So, what were you thinking back there?”
“About the spending the night thing you mentioned?” I asked, trying to keep any nervous shrill out of my question but likely failing.
“No, but if you’d like to share that too, go ahead,” she said, taking a quick pull from her beer and smiling mischievously at me.
“All our cards on the table?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” she replied more seriously, the smile fading for a moment.
“I thought you were waving me off last night. All that talk about my own masculinity and landing on my feet, people questioning me, and my ex being concerned about Jenny being around you. It just, I don’t know, it struck me like we’d hit a point in getting to know each other and it wasn’t going to work for you, and that was just an easy way out, like you were letting me down easy.”
I’d said a lot; I actually referenced a lot of the feelings I had about last night, but I figured she was smart and knew what I was saying.
“I’m sorry I rambled on like that... It’s just been my experience that that stuff happens when I’m trying to just be with someone and make a connection, and it ends up going to hell because society is rough on those that don’t conform to the norms or maintain the status quo. I really didn’t mean to come off that way, and I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.
“I end up being part therapist and part teacher with men I want to get to know, when all I really want to do is be me with someone who wants to be with me for me. Look, I get I’m a little different, but I do grow and learn and bend and compromise—those things aren’t outside my realm,” she said with a little chuckle.
“I didn’t think they weren’t, but there’s likely a lot of unwritten do’s and don’ts to being with you. For example, today my partner asked about you, and I had all these things I was excited to tell him and..." I shrugged.
"And you didn’t mention I was Trans?”
“I didn't, and I’ve been beating myself up about it since. I mean, I could have told him and dealt with it head-on if it was going to be an issue for him, but being Trans doesn’t define who I think you are, at least in my eyes.”
“Who is it you think I am?”
“A woman, a nurse...” I began feeling the nerves showing through a little. “I, like… I just kissed you in a crowded bar, and I didn’t have any reservations about that. I wanted to do that last night, but was afraid you were maybe not interested." I said softly.
I watched her reach for her napkin, turn away, and dab at her eyes. Oh fuck!
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, placing a hand across the table in front of her.
“No, I appreciate what you just said; I’m just being emotional; it’s not you,” she replied, putting her napkin in her lap and then taking my hand in hers to give it a squeeze.
“Did I say something that...”
I didn’t get to finish my thought.
“No, not anything like that; I’m just happy, that’s all. You see me, what else could I want?” she asked and then added, “Oh, and by the way, I wouldn’t ever lead a conversation with someone that I was Trans, and I wouldn’t expect you to either. But if it came up or someone was bashing Trans folk or saying off-colored shit—well, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t step up to squash that crap."
I was mulling over what she’d said, and she could tell what I was thinking. “Don’t beat yourself up for past transgressions that might have offended me—laughing at some Trans-slanted joke or crass ‘dude looks like a lady’ crap. Just be a decent human being and demand that from those around you—that’s not asking too much, is it?”
“Of course not,” I replied quickly. Her smile told me we’d level set an understanding of expectations going forward, and I couldn’t help but feel good about that.
I remembered she’d said something to me when I’d met her in the bar but hadn’t heard her, so I asked.
“I said I was really happy to see you... The kiss a few moments later was very nice too, by the way.”
[- Reversals -]
Dinner was good, but not as good as the conversations we were having since being seated. We’d both shared our experiences with online dating during our meal, and she insisted we share each other’s dishes because mine looked better than hers. I was happy to do that because hers looked better than mine and ended up tasting better than mine.
The recanting of my online dating experiences weren’t anything to brag about—all two of them. Hers, though, were difficult to listen to too. I didn’t get the sense she was trying to outdo me or anything, but I got that those experiences for her were exhausting to deal with. What was wrong with these guys who reached out to her?!
“A lot of curious guys, like they want to experience dating someone in transition for whatever reason, but aren’t ready to be emotionally available or deal with any stigma given to men interested in dating a Trans woman or whether we’re even compatible outside of some sexual expectation they’ve built up in their heads.
“I put the guys who’ve reached out to me in categories—those curious to get to know me for me—and I’ll tell you now those aren’t the norm and don’t happen very often. Then there are the strictly fetish-oriented guys—I think you can figure out what a pain that is. And finally, guys wanting to allow themselves some gay-leaning encounter that might not appear as gay as it would be in their or others minds since I look more like a woman than a man.
“It’s funny they never seem to understand that I’m not gay; I don’t present as gay or even advertise online as being gay, but because I’m Trans, I have to be gay for even considering being with them. No knock on someone being gay or lesbian or whatever LGBTQ+ category you call your own, but I’m not anything other than a woman interested in men.”
“How do you weed through all of that?”
"Experience, unfortunately. A lot of it painful and a time-consuming waste of my time for the most part, experience. I do a lot of pre-date chatting for obvious reasons; I don’t have a death wish. Violence against Trans women is way up these days. While chatting does tend to help spot the flakes, it takes time, and my emotional sanity does take a hit when I start liking a guy and he turns out to be after something I’m not going to be for him—a fantasy or whatever.
“The majority of men who’ve reached out think we’re going to be compatible because I’m either desperate or lonely or whatever delusion they’ve conjured up in their own minds—which is almost always rooted in sex or sex acts. I get a lot of hate thrown at me when I tell some guy they’re not what I’m looking for. It’s definitely a mountain I have to climb before seeing if there’s a chance for a real connection.”
“Not that I’m fishing here, but what about me makes you think I’m different?” I asked earnestly.
“I tend to like men a little older than me, less stupidity in age—generally, but not a steadfast rule. You’re certainly handsome; it looks like you take care of yourself, and you did get a glowing recommendation,” she said before finishing off the last few sips of her Corona.
“Megan?” I asked, and she nodded I was correct. "Older? How old do you think I am?”
“If I’m being polite, I’d say thirty-eight. Realistically, I’d bet no older than forty-one,” she said with a critical eye that said she was maybe messing with me or maybe not – it was hard to tell.
“I’m forty-three actually, and I’d be happy with your 'realistically’ guess. How old are you?”
“Age is just a number,” she said and stopped speaking when I made a face. “What?” she asked, smiling, because I certainly was smiling at her after hearing that.
“I’d said you were too young for an old guy like me, and Jenny said the same thing about it being a number,” I replied, still smiling.
“So, how old do you think I am?”
“Alright, if I’m being polite like you just were, I’m guessing twenty-six, max twenty-eight. If you’re over thirty, I’m buying dinner.”
I watched her look around and then wave to the waitress. For a moment I thought I’d insulted her, but when the waitress came to the table, she said, “Can we get a couple pieces of cheesecake? The Oreo one for me,” she looked over at me and asked, “Same for you?”
“Sure,” I said, questioning what was going on.
“Figured I might as well have desert since you’re paying for dinner,” she quipped with a shit eating grin.
“Get out of here! You are not older than thirty... I call BS, and I’m going to need to see some proof of that before I’m paying.”
“Thirty-two, pushing thirty-three in a couple months.”
We continued to talk nonstop through the desert, and neither of us had realized the restaurant was empty around us until our server came around to ask if there was something else she could do for us. Sara apologized for us not being more in tune and keeping her from closing out her till. When the bill came, Sara had reached for her purse, but I told her I was getting it as I’d lost the age-guessing game.
“No, you wanted proof of my age,” she said smiling, sliding her license over for me.
I picked it up to inspect it with a critical eye, turning it over and back and flexing it as if maybe it wasn’t genuine or plastic enough. It had her address, a nicer part of North Waltham, her DOB showing her birthday was indeed a couple months away, and by the year calculation she was indeed on the back side of being thirty-two years old. I was surprised to say the least and slid her license back to her, not before seeing it had a capital ‘F’ for the ‘SEX’ designation, which totally made sense to me.
“You know I would have paid without needing proof?”
“I know, but I wanted you to see when my birthday was so you’d maybe take me out to celebrate.”
“Consider it a date,” I replied quickly, and her smile at that spoke volumes.
We walked from our table to her car as if we were an item. No one gave us a second glance or questioned what we appeared to be—a hetero couple enjoying a night out.
“Well, this is me,” she said, touching the handle of her late model year Chevy Cruz to bring it alive.
“Very practical car; how do you like it?”
What am I even saying?! That’s not what I want to say to you! I’m fucking blowing it!
“I’d like it better if it were parked at your condo,” she said, getting her arms around me before saying, “Though I know it’s late. I don’t have to work tomorrow and... I thought maybe you’d be up for a little more talking.”
She was warm in my arms, smelled amazing, was beautiful, and I really didn’t want this night to end yet. I couldn’t picture my schedule for tomorrow and began to panic about whether not having made my bed would make me look like a slob. Not that she would be in my bedroom, but what if she stayed the night? Did I go to work in the morning? What if…
“Hey, it was just a thought; don’t stress or overthink it, okay? We could meet up later this week? Maybe I could cook for you or, more likely, DoorDash something for us,” she chuckled.
Her eyes, those lips... Say something!
“I’d like that, your car parked at my condo,” I croaked and leaned in to kiss her lightly.
At the door to my condo, the tension between us was undeniable, and once inside, we were in each other’s arms before the door clicked shut. Our kissing was urgent, the holding of one another was desperate, and the noises we were both making confirmed our desires for the other. I couldn’t help but reach between us after I’d backed her into the front door and caressed one of her breasts through her blouse. That got me a satisfying moan from her that sparked a little confidence, but her whispering something to the effect I needed to slow down had that idea crashing hard. Had I overstepped?
“I’m sorry,” was all I could manage to say.
I’m sure I looked pathetic and like I was about to say something else, but my brain had stalled.
She placed a finger on my lips to keep me from rambling, before saying, “No, we’re not sorry tonight... We can be more comfortable though, right?”
“Of course, yes... Okay,” I replied nervously, thinking we were going to move, but she held me still.
“I don’t sleep around, Brad. I’m not saying that’s what’s happening here, but I want you to know that,” she said softly.
“Neither do I... I'm… I’m like, I haven’t done this in a while, and, yeah... I understand, and I’m not, or I wouldn’t expect anything,” I stumbled pathetically to get all that out before my nerves got the better of me.
“I’ve got all those desires you’d expect I’d have, but things need to be, well, everyone needs to be patient. Does that make sense?”
“Of course… I’m, I’ll follow your lead,” I replied quickly, maybe anxiously.
I could feel her studying me before she got her hands up around my neck to pull me into a quick kiss.
When she pulled away, she smiled, saying seductively, “Let’s go get comfortable.”
I was shocked that she led us to my room rather than the living room, but I wasn’t going to complain. Once there, she playfully gave me a look about my bed being unmade, my towel from showering this morning being draped over the corner of it, and my workout clothes in a pile about a foot from my laundry hamper.
“Really? You miss the hamper from inches?” she asked with raised brow and that shit-eating grin that made her look so fucking cute to me.
“I was anxious to get out of here this morning to see you,” I complained and shrugged my embarrassment while leaving her side to hurriedly pick up those items off the floor and doing a half-assed job of straightening out the comforter over the messed-up sheets beneath it.
Thankfully the master bath was still in pristine condition after her visit last night.
Her statement about patience hit me, and I assumed that meant if there was the possibility of sex, anal sex, I’d need to be smarter than the one time I’d tried that with my ex-wife. It wasn’t something to be rushed, I’d learned, and that stuff you saw in porn videos was bullshit. Slow, everything needed to move...
“Do you know what they call a partner that won’t perform oral sex?” she asked.
I looked at her questioningly and couldn’t believe she'd asked me that! I was partly shocked because I’d been so in my own headspace trying to understand being patient about engaging in anal sex – that I wasn’t even sure I understood the question. Was she really asking me about oral sex? What do you call someone who won’t do it? Wait, would she expect me to perform that on her?
Her giggle woke me from my panicked stupor. She’d been watching me closely, maybe amused at my discomfort, and looked to be enjoying my squirming a little.
I answered her tentatively, “Ah, I really have no clue.”
“An Uber…”
Huh? That doesn’t make any... Oh! Oh my God! I couldn’t help but laugh at her joke, maybe more so at myself for being so dense and nervous. Of course now I had a lot of 'sex’ questions on my mind, and they all dealt with her expectations of me doing things to and with her.
I hadn’t thought this far into my attraction for her, but if she was similarly equipped as I was, how did I feel about that? Could I really touch her? Would I be willing to do more than that? She didn’t expect to flip our roles, did she? What’s that called?! Topping? Wait, bottom? Augh!
Did she think I was interested in that or wanted that? I mean, that couldn’t happen without some discussion, and I am positive I have zero interest in a relationship like that. Do I say something?
Sara came over to me, took my hands, and said, “I’m just nervous; you’ll have to forgive me. I talk a lot when I’m nervous. It’s not often I meet someone who’s normal and I feel accepts me for who I am. I mean, if this is too much, happening too fast, or is even remotely uncomfortable for you, we can really just hang out, talk, and have a beer.”
"Do I make you nervous?”
“No, not like bad nervous, but I don’t want to disappoint you or have you think less of me.”
“I don’t think I could do that... You’re amazing and beautiful and funny and make me feel silly, and I just want you to be alright with being here. Alright?”
“I am alright and happy to be here,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me into an embrace.
At 4:30 AM, my alarm did its usual blaring, and I snapped upright to get my hand on it to shut it off so as to not wake Sara. When I looked over to the side of the bed she had slept on, I was surprised to see that she wasn’t there. I plopped back down and lay there a minute, remembering how much I’d enjoyed last night, but felt a pang of disappointment she wasn’t physically still here to bathe in that glow I felt.
I don’t remember her getting up or leaving and wondered why she hadn’t stayed. She said she had the day off—had I done or said something wrong? No, she’d lied in my arms afterwards, and that’s not something someone did when their experience was bad, wrong, or uncomfortable.
I smiled satisfyingly, thinking that nothing that happened between us last night was even remotely as I’d pictured, anticipated, or expected. There were definitely a few surprises I wasn’t prepared for, and I’d very much enjoyed all of it, all of being with her. Had I come off as too needy? God, I hoped not!
It began when she’d left me to get the bed turned down, lights shut off, and out of my clothes—while she got ready in my bathroom. I was lying in bed when she came out and got a quick glimpse of her in just her bra and panties before the bathroom light went out, and she got into bed with me to snuggle. She was so soft, warm, smelled amazing, and after a long kiss with moments of frantic touching of each other, dangerously loud moaning by both of us, and us grinding our bodies together, I was pretty happy about being able to get her bra off one handed.
After getting her bra off and my hands on her breasts, I began to stress about being as excited as I was and whether I’d be able to last more than a couple minutes before popping! She broke our kiss a second later, and we both got to take full breaths while reveling in just being able to hold one another.
I felt her hand reach between us to grab hold of my manhood, and her whispering to me, “Patience, alright.”
I’m sure I stuttered my answer, which was, “Yes, of course.”
A small kiss followed, and she was moving herself into a position she could get her lips around what her hand was holding. I literally melted in her hands and she took great pleasure in torturing me. I couldn’t help but whimper, suck in noisily, or hiss out strained exhaled breaths, and I lost count of the number of times I’d said, ‘Oh God...’ or called out her name softly.
I swear she knew how far to push me, like right up to the edge push me, and then preserve my finishing by being less intense or slowing everything way down. That happened multiple times, and when she finally snuggled her body back up to me, I couldn’t help but want to hug and kiss her greedily. I hoped I left no doubt that I was an appreciative lover.
We lay there holding one another silently for a good minute. I traced a hand lazily over her body, caressing her, feeling goose bumps on her arms, and even squeezed her soft, supple ass through her panties. It occurred to me that maybe this intermission of sorts might have expectations on the back side of it. Like to signal that it was my turn to return the favor, or as she joked, an Uber might be what she’d call me.
I still wasn’t sure I had it in me to touch her penis, let alone perform any kind of oral pleasure for her. Her moving gently in my arms and kissing my neck made the decision for me, and I decided right then I would do my best. She had to know this wasn’t my norm; I can do this! I’m not gay; she’s not gay either!
My hand at her hip slipped between our bodies, my fingers getting under the waistband of her panties, and I...
Her hand was on mine, gently, and everything stopped.
“Patience, I'm… This is still new for me,” she whispered while taking my hand to guide it lower.
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Soaring -]
My routine barked at me in the middle of my remembering how amazing last night was with Sara and I swung my legs over the side of my bed to get this day moving. I wished she was still here, and felt a pang of disappointment I wouldn’t be able to tell her how amazing she’d been. Maybe she’d want to meet again tonight? That's if I didn't screw something up...
I couldn’t help but notice light coming from the under the door to my room, but remembered Sara had led the way straight to my room last night so of course they’d still be on. I’d gotten a flash of hope she was still here, but I’d been in a hurry to do as she’d suggested with getting the bed ready and myself undressed that I had closed my bedroom door so as to…
What is that smell?
I stood, flipped the lamp on next to my bed, and grabbed a pair of bike shorts from my dresser and a tank-top. What I smelled was sweet and cake-like and I was positive I just heard something metal being placed in my kitchen sink. Was Sara still here? I felt suddenly sparked at the prospect of getting to see her after last night!
“Hey…,” I said softly so as not to startle the woman standing at the kitchen island with her back to me.
She was wearing my button down shirt from work yesterday and turned to face me with a big smile, “Hey yourself…”
“You make us breakfast?”
“I attempted, but I’m not sure the YouTube video on how to make pancakes from scratch was much help. I burned a few, but there are six that don’t look so bad in the oven,” she said prancing over to me to get her arms around me.
There was a quick kiss and that smile of hers made me feel like she was genuinely happy to see me. I couldn’t help but think I felt the same way right now.
“I thought you’d left,” I whispered.
“I haven’t slinked out of some guys place in a very long time,” she said confidently, maybe blushing a little. “I… I really enjoyed last night and wanted to see you I guess.”
I hugged her a little tighter, saying, “I’m really glad you’re still here.”
We ate our pancakes while standing at the kitchen island and what could have been an awkward conversation turned out to be very enlightening. I’d told her again, as I had last night, that I was expecting the way things eventually played out to be very different. She told me she appreciated that I hadn’t asked prior to last night the ‘genitalia’ question, because that wasn’t anyone’s business but hers.
“How long have you, I mean… You know…”
“It’s been a little over three years. The surgery is called ‘penile inversion vaginoplasty’, which basically means my wrong genitalia were used to help construct my vagina. I had a second touch-up surgery to correct an issue – not uncommon, but I won’t bore you with any of those details. Then because I was still struggling with some of my gender dysphoria regarding the appearance of my vagina I had a procedure to refine my labia and clitoral hood. Some might argue I was being vane, but vanity had nothing to do with it and I’m very happy now with all I had to go through to get to where I am today. None of that recovery was easy let me tell you,” she finished with a little chuckle.
Everything she’d said sounded medical in nature, was certainly interesting, and maybe a little more than I necessarily wanted to know. What was most fascinating to me about being with her last night and us engaging in sex was it all felt exactly as it was supposed to feel – at least for me. She moved and sounded like any woman I’d ever been with, got lost in her own pleasures and desires, and unless she was faking all of that it seemed like she enjoyed it as much as I had.
“Too much information?” she asked when I hadn’t immediately said anything.
“No, I’m… I very much enjoyed… You know, like all of,” I tried saying but she hugged me and kissed me to shut me up thankfully.
When we parted she said, “Me too… In case you couldn’t tell.”
I couldn’t help but remember how she’d taken my hand and guided it between her legs last night. The confusion of the unknown I felt in the moment I touched the slickness of her vagina and how in that moment I’d been turned me on beyond words. I was relieved also, but not surprised with being turned on regardless of what my hand might have encountered.
Her body had stiffened at my initial touch, her hand there to guide me for a few moments told me it wasn’t because she was uncomfortable, but rather she was excited by my touch. I had made a move to go down on her, but she’d stopped me and wiggled herself under me in such a way that it was obvious she wanted one thing and only one thing, and it had nothing to do with my mouth or tongue being where my hand had just been.
There was a request to prop her hips up with a pillow, which in hindsight helped keep me patient and from rushing anything. Then I was kneeling between her spread legs, poised, and anxious to begin. She asked me to give over control of trying to guide myself into her because she knew best how to do that comfortably this first time. I think that helped control the pace of entry so she could get used to me being inside of her. It was a totally reasonable request and I would have given her anything she’d asked for in those moments before being able to be fully inside of her.
She kept a hand lightly on my stomach as a bumper, a spacer, so I wouldn’t get over zealous about how far I entered her. Her other hand was on my hip to help encourage me to slide into her at a pace that was comfortable. Nothing happened quickly and I was very in tune with her needs, her wants, and followed her lead.
When I was inside her there were moments we both couldn’t help but lose control and we each had colored outside the lines last night. Our bodies made all the right moves, gyrations of greedy hips geared toward not only our own pleasures but also in consideration of the other. The sounds two people were expected to make while engaged in sex rang out proudly, unabashed, and for me that brought on my final stand before I’d have liked it to have happened.
As I played out those moments of my own release watching Sara beneath me, she was exactly what she’d told me she was – a woman. I felt happy for…
I absently had gazed at the clock on the microwave across from us and the time caught my attention – 5:12 AM. Realizing that made me sit up straighter and freeze for a moment.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re a bit intoxicating, you know that?” I answered.
“I am?”
“I’m generally sweating pretty good by now on my Peloton and this is the first I’ve thought about it or even my normal morning routine…”
“You can still make the café though, if you want…”
By the look on her face I could tell there was some disappointment about this morning together possibly coming to an end because my focus had shifted from her to my normal routines. Damn it!
“What if I didn’t go to the café?” I asked her.
“What if I… No,” she said taking my hand smiling. She nodded towards the hall and led me to my bedroom, past my bed, and into the master bathroom. “My hair is going to be a problem, but maybe I can just borrow a hair tie from Jenny and at least look less hideous after we shower.”
“You want to shower together?” I asked surprised, but smiling like an anxious kid on Christmas morning.
“Yeah…”
Before I could say another word she reached into my walk-in shower to turn it on, got the water temperature how she wanted it, unbuttoned the few buttons on my dress shirt she was wearing, slipped out of it, and stepped into the shower. I could only stare, mouth probably agape a little, and my cock was certainly not being shy in this moment. She was beautiful…
“You coming?” she asked turning to look over her shoulder at me from the shower.
I was out of my shorts and tank top and holding her in the shower in nothing flat. We both actually giggled like school kids for a few seconds as our hands made their way over one another. Sara pulled my face towards hers and our tongues were as entwined as our bodies were.
When she broke that kiss she said seductively, “I’m a bit sore, a good sore, but sore.”
I’m sure my eyes got a bit wider and I was about to apologize, but she slipped her hands between us and as one cupped my balls gently, the other was wrapped around a very stiff shaft. She moved backwards to sit on the shower bench, pulling what she had in her hand towards her mouth after sitting.
I walked into work just before 8 AM with one of my partners, Ken, and he was instantly on me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, all good,” I said smiling.
“The coffee shop woman, eh? Must have gone well last night?” he asked, with full on innuendo present in his tone.
I’d told him yesterday about asking her to my place for dinner Monday and that we were getting dinner out last night. I could have used less Neanderthal in his probing, but got it – I hadn’t mentioned dating or women in months to either of my partners so this was a big deal for them too I guess.
“She’s nice and dinner was good.”
“That look on your face says more than dinner happened buddy…”
“There is no ‘look’ and we’re taking our time, so get your head outta the gutter.”
A lie certainly and I’m not even sure I would believe what I’d just said to be honest if I were him.
“Good for you,” he said as we went our separate ways to our respective offices.
I wondered for a brief moment whether he’d think that if he knew Sara was Trans. As I entered my office the phone on my desk began ringing. I looked at it blankly, thinking I did not want to be here right now. I wanted to be in the shower still with Sara or rolling around in bed with her or just hanging out or…
I caught the caller ID of the person calling and my heart sank.
“Hey, everything alright?” I asked worried something might be up with Jenny since my ex-wife, Denise, rarely ever called me at the office. Why hadn’t she called my cell?
“I don’t know – is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Something in her tone wasn’t right. Fuck! Jenny and I had talked about not saying anything to her mom about Sara and I was fairly certain she wouldn’t – at least not yet. I hoped this wasn’t a call to chew on me about Sara.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about Denise, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I replied uncomfortably.
“I want to know whether or not you’re seeing a transsexual, and whether you gave any thought to whether I would approve of having something like that around my daughter.”
Fuck! Not the conversation I want to be having right now!
“Why would you think I’m seeing a Trans woman?” I asked doubling down on thinking I could skirt this conversation somehow.
“Because Jenny said something about you two talking to a nurse at some coffee shop this weekend and last night she had her laptop open on the kitchen table with browser tabs open for a Google search on ‘Transgender’ dating and another for her Facebook account that showed some nurse named Sara Connelly on it. This Sara person had that stupid pink and blue flag they like to shove in everyone’s face in his profile picture,” she barked annoyed that I’d tried to deflect her inquiry.
“Okay, well I think you’re overreacting. Did you talk with Jenny about this?”
There was silence on the line for easily ten seconds, so I figured my ‘overreacting’ comment had hit a nerve.
“Did you know this person was a transsexual?” she asked.
Guess we’re going to have this conversation now.
“She’s not a transsexual. I can see why that might be confusing, but to answer your question - no… Jenny kind of clued me in on her being a Trans woman when we saw her at the café.”
“There weren’t clues, Brad?” she asked chuckling. “Like you know, big hands, a mustache, a bulge in his dress, or whatever?”
You fucking bitch!
“I don’t need to explain myself to you Denise, and frankly you’re being kind of an ass right now! What’s your problem?”
“My problem?! You want to know what my fucking problem is Brad?! Our daughter being around some man wearing a dress! You really don’t think that’s a problem or would think I wouldn’t be concerned about that?!”
“Stop! Fucking stop!” I yelled while getting up to close my office door because across the hall from me Marty had leaned over to see what was going on due to my outburst. I didn’t say anything to him and just shut the door.
“No! This is how this is going to go Brad – if you insist on seeing this shemale and chasing some gay perverted fantasy of yours – fine, have at your boyfriend or ‘alternative’ lifestyle. But, I’m telling you I’ll petition to keep Jenny from you without supervision during your allotted time with her if you insist on seeing that guy. Are you hearing me?!” she screamed back at me over the phone.
“I’m not gay and you’ve got this all wrong,” I chuckled.
“Was he born male, like biologically a man right now still and assigned at birth as such or whatever they’ve changed that gender or sex conversation shit too? Why?! Why is it they want to up end every damn norm we’ve got?!”
I was so done with this conversation and fuming at her narrow attitude on anything regarding Sara. She knew I wasn’t gay or attracted to men – and even if I were, who gives a shit?! Was she really lumping every crossdresser, shemale, tranny, drag queen, or whatever into a single category to fear and hate? God damn it!
Breathe!
I hadn’t spoken for a few seconds, which got Denise asking, “Well?”
“Well what? You do what you think you need to do, but a few words of warning first. Your ignorance isn’t going to play well with Jenny. I suspect she either knows kids who are Trans or understands what kind of shit show this country has been for someone who is Trans. And lastly, I can’t stop you from filing shit, and I won’t. I also won’t beg you not to or lose sleep over it for fucksake.
“You want to go to court, draw up the papers, and get them to Lance. He’ll talk with your lawyer and we go from there. Who I see or chose to spend time with is none of your fucking business. You’re closed minded bullshit is more of a danger to our daughter than Sara would ever be,” I said just before hanging up on her.
Both partners spent the day giving me a wide berth. After the markets closed, Marty had swung by my office to see if he could help out with anything.
“We’re just concerned about you, Brad. So, whatever you need, okay?”
“I appreciate that… Denise just woke up extra bitchy this morning. It’ll die down.”
I wanted to believe that, but wasn’t counting on there not being additional shouting matches between us.
“She not happy about you dating?” he asked.
“That and the woman is Trans,” I shared without thinking that out fully before answering him.
“Trans? Like Transgendered?”
“Yeah, like that…,” I replied giving him a look.
“Oh, I… Okay, I wasn’t expecting that to be honest.”
“She’s a nice woman, it’s not a scary torrid shit show like Denise thinks,” I complained.
“And you’ve let this person around Jenny?” he asked with mild surprise in his tone.
I’m not sure why, but I could feel his judging me, his thinking I had lost my mind or was gay or whatever the hell was spinning in his little pea sized brain right now. Fuck! I felt like I needed to do damage control, so told him the story of how Sara and I met, how Jenny had picked her out at the coffee shop as someone I might be interested in, how I didn’t know she was Trans until Jenny pointed it out, and afterwards how her and I talked that out. I stressed that nothing about Sara gave Jenny any concerns and after my getting to know Sara she was right and I had no concerns about her being around Jenny.
“Deciding that or the inherent dangers aren’t the responsibility of a child though, Brad.” he stated.
“Really? Jenny’s sixteen and talked more intelligently than her mother did on this subject,” I protested.
“And you’re not like, you know or anything, right?” he asked gently.
“You know I’m not gay… Being with someone who’s Trans doesn’t make one gay, Marty. Tell me you don’t seriously believe that,” I asked.
“No, no, of course not… But, I’m just saying it wouldn’t matter if you were to me, or Ken. You’re choice of partners or who you’re attracted to is no one’s business,” rounded out his reply.
“Is my seeing Sara, going to be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t be, right?” he hedged his answer with a question.
“It shouldn’t, but I feel an uncomfortable vibe going on between us right now,” I said staring at him intently.
“No vibe from me, and Ken likely won’t care – his brother is gay and married, so he is tolerant of that kind of thing. What we do outside of the business is our own business. If it affects the business, well we’d need to reevaluate, right?”
“Tolerate? You think Ken tolerates his brother’s choice to be with someone he loves, even if that’s another man? Come on… He loves his brother, I think tolerate is a bit misplaced, eh?”
“Sure, whatever you want to call it…”
“And to level set this, my seeing Sara has about as much chance of screwing with our business as the Fed dropping interest rates a full percent over the next two quarters. Relax, we’re not going all ‘Pride’ focused or whatever. I’d just appreciate everyone being decent human beings, that’s all.”
My partners could be confusing at times and it’s not like I was asking them to make any special concessions for Sara or treat her with kid gloves if I decided I wanted to date her or bring her around. If we dated, we were going to be around and out and present and not holed up in some dungeon or whatever.
Good God! Why did any of this have to be so painful? And for what?!
[- Grounded -]
Sara had called around 5 PM to see if I wanted to meet tonight. She quickly picked up on there being something up with me and try as I might to get her to give me a bit of space, she wasn’t having it. She arrived just after I’d gotten home from work and came bearing Indian take out from a restaurant down the street I’d been curious about trying but hadn’t yet.
The food ended up being good, while the conversation about my day proved to be a bit more difficult. I explained my ex’s call and how my subsequent conversation with one of my partners about her had gone. She listened, asked a few generalized questions, hugged me, and apologized.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” I complained. “And I don’t care what they’re issues are or might be, it’s bullshit.”
She was slow to speak after I’d said that, “Right now, you think you’re rallying around an injustice or people being shortsighted, which, yeah shows these peoples ignorance really. You can’t fix that unfortunately. I’m a lightning rod for fear and hate since I’m not exactly the norm these people are used too and I don’t like it’s spilled onto you like this.”
“Screw them, I don’t care.”
“If Jenny cared?” she asked quietly.
“I think Jenny does care and sees you for who you are. She knew, I told you that… She knew I was attracted to you even before I knew you were Trans. I’m telling you, what these people think is not an issue for me because I saw you before I learned any of that other stuff and it hasn’t changed my thinking or how I feel.”
“Easy cowboy… I’m not trying…,” she began saying but stopped speaking when the buzzer at the front door went off.
I hopped up and pressed the button, “Yeah?” The reply was the sound of a clicking door. I looked back at Sara, “Not sure what that was, maybe food delivery for some other unit?”
A minute later there was a tiny rap at the door and when I got the door open Jenny was standing there in the hallway.
“Hey kiddo… What are you doing here? Come in, come in…,” I didn’t get to ask what was going on or why she didn’t just use her key before she had her arms wrapped around me.
“I’m really sorry, Dad,” she said into my chest.
“Ah, nothing to worry about… Does your mom know you’re over here?”
I was assuming she knew her parents had gotten into a shouting match today.
“No…”
“Text her, let her know you’re here. I don’t need her anymore annoyed at me or thinking we’re colluding against her,” I said looking into the living room, “Come say hi to Sara, if you’re hungry we’ve got some Indian food still…”
She followed me to the kitchen, giving Sara a little wave, and fixed herself a plate of food. Sara joined us at the kitchen island as Jen explained how her mother had looked at her laptop and the fight they’d had about that invasion of privacy. The ‘nurse’ story wasn’t a great leap for her to figure out since Jen had mentioned meeting Sara this past weekend.
“I never meant for her to go all mental on you,” Jenny said taking a bite of a naan taco she’d made with butter chicken and rice as the filling.
“I know… We’ll work it out,” I replied. “Did Gary have anything to say about it?”
“No, I think he knew to stay out of this, though she complained to him about it for probably an hour. They don’t ever argue, but I know when they’re annoyed at each other,” she said.
“Do you have any concerns about any of this?” I asked knowing I was putting her on the spot in front of Sara, but felt like she could handle the adulting the question required given everything we’d talked about this past weekend regarding Sara.
“No,” she said looking at me and then to Sara, “You’re both consenting adults and can do whatever it is that makes you happy. I know who you are Dad, you’re not going to do anything reckless, contrary to what mom thinks.”
“Your mom thinks if I’m seeing Sara I’m being reckless though and we will work that out – not for you to worry about, okay? Think she’s stuck with the majority of the country who believed in the guy they elected who says people like Sara are what’s wrong with the world.”
“That’s a load of crap, Dad! With as many problems as we have in this country, being Trans isn’t what got him elected, right?” she asked looking at Sara to confirm her complaint.
We were both looking at Sara and she gave a little shrug before saying, “The Trans issue was just another fear mongering bullet point they used to sway voters I’m afraid. Did the Trans issue rate as high as the economy or issues at the border for the people that voted for that idiot, certainly not, but I wouldn’t discount the weight it added to the argument for change they kept spewing. The current administration dropped the ball on the LGBTQ+ community and ignored taking the pulse of the populous to try and educate people so as to quell their worries about why I’m such a threat to their way of life. I promise you I don’t want to screw up anyone’s right to their pursuit of happiness, just want to live my life as the real me.”
“But what about…,” Jen was beginning to say, but her phone began ringing.
She answered it, put it on speaker, and set it on the island.
“Jenny, let me talk to your father please…”
“He’s standing here, you’re on speaker,” she replied.
“Is he there?” the voice inquired from the speaker on the iPhone sitting between us.
“I am, what’s up?” I asked, shaking my head annoyed.
“Pick up the phone Brad,” was Denise’s reply.
“Nothing you need to say to me can’t be said in front of our daughter,” I chided.
“Alright, I’ll ask again, is ‘he’ there?” she asked annoyed.
“I’m the only ‘he’ here, Denise.” I held up my hand because Jenny looked to be ready to blast her mother. The idea of allowing that to happen was very tempting, but I was determined to take the higher road.
“I’m not going to argue semantics with you, alright…”
“Good, is there something you need, Denise?” I asked calmly.
“I think I made that clear earlier, so I hope you’re upholding my wishes on that request. Also, if I’m not mistaken today isn’t one of your days to have Jenny, so would you mind sending her home?”
“I will after she finishes eating, if that’s okay,” I replied trying to be civil in front of Jen and Sara, plus trying my best to not provoke my ex.
“Her permit doesn’t allow for her to drive without a licensed driver at night, Brad.”
“I’m aware of that; I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“Fine…,” she said annoyed and the call ended.
“She’s lost her mind!” Jenny complained.
When I didn’t immediately reply Sara said, “Her job is to protect you as best she knows how, and statistically speaking she doesn’t realize I’m about as much a threat to your wellbeing as a Trans woman as your chances are of getting hit by lightning at the north pole.”
“North pole?” Jenny asked.
“Super rare, but as the climate changes there’s a chance it’ll become more common up there,” Sara replied.
We left my place to return Jenny home an hour after Denise had called. Until we left, the three of us had engaged in a number of conversations related to the ‘wacky’ right wing conservatives out there now looking to screw with the countries fabric – again. It was interesting to hear Jenny’s take on the outer most fringes of either wing, left or right, and how they sure seemed to put a lot of effort into making people’s lives a living hell.
“It’s a shit show and I can’t understand why they get such pleasure out of imposing their brand of crap on people,” Jenny complained.
Of course, I had to complain too, “Language Jen, language…”
I’d driven with Jen back to her mom’s place and Sara had followed behind us.
“She’s really mellow, huh?” Jen asked.
“I guess,” was my reply. “She’s passionate about stuff, obviously, but I think her opinions on the things we were just talking about wouldn’t be described as radical or wanting to limit some group of people’s rights. I haven’t heard her say anything unreasonable since I’ve met her honestly.”
“You’re really cute, Dad…”
“Really now? I don’t get that sentiment from you when I’m trying to keep you from swearing,” I said chuckling.
Thankfully Denise wasn’t waiting out front for us to arrive and hadn’t even come out or peeked from behind curtains to see me getting into Sara’s car. Not that she would have been able to see who was driving the car in the dark mind you, but she wasn’t stupid either, so she’d probably have known or queried Jenny.
“I’m going to suggest something, but I need you to just hear me out completely,” Sara began as we turned onto the main thoroughfare outside the neighborhood Denise lived in.
“Sure…”
“There will be no convincing Denise I’m not some pedophile in a dress out to corrupt or do irrevocable harm to Jenny by being around her. Being Trans is scary for some people and after listening to her on the phone, along with what little you told me about your conversation with her today, well… Ya gotta admit in her mind she’s convinced I’m a bigger issue than some ‘bathroom’ protocol or whether I should be allowed to play sports on some woman’s team, right?”
I couldn’t see Sara’s face, but I reached over and put my hand on her thigh, “She doesn’t get to dictate my life.”
“For a couple more years she does though because of Jenny, at least in some legal circle. I, I really don’t want to make that time any more difficult for you.”
“I should be apologizing to you for her insanity, so yeah, I am really sorry that I’ve got that kind of crazy in my life right now and it’s spilled over onto you,” I offered softly.
“Okay, but here’s the thing I don’t think you’re seeing… It’s not your ex that brings out the crazy; it’s me because I’m Trans. I could pass, have an hour long conversation with someone and get them to like me, but when I mention being Trans – all that like evaporates…”
We came to a stop at a light and she looked over at me with a weak smile. A little shrug and head nod followed and was her suggested course of action. In my mind she was telling me we should probably end whatever it was we were trying to figure out doing together.
“No…,” I stated firmly.
The smile went blank for a moment, “It would probably be for the better, you that…”
“Again, no… I’m seeing things too, not that I don’t have things to learn or anything like that, but I’ve got enough of an understanding of the issues to know what’s right or what I want or when to give a damn about what Denise thinks. What you’re maybe not seeing is I get a choice in all of this and if I choose you, I still have Jenny regardless. Jen’s not going away, come on, you heard her talking about her moms craziness. I’ll deal with Denise, you just deal with me trying to get to know you, okay?”
“I don’t need saving, Brad,” she whispered as we began moving again when the light turned green.
“I never thought you did, but I wonder if that idea should be flipped around. I needed my orbit bumped a few degrees out of alignment for the better and there you were. I think I’m realizing my life was way too routine and needed to change...”
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Learning -]
“I’ll get the mediation set for early next week, probably Tuesday since everyone’s schedule seems to align on that day. Again, Denise can’t limit your legal custody, so we’re just fighting the supervised physical custody aspect of these changes to the divorce. You given any more thought to letting Jenny speak?” Lance, my lawyer and longtime friend, asked as I sat in my office rubbing my temples listening to him on speakerphone.
“Denise is protesting that idea,” I replied.
“It always boils down to the child's best interest. Doesn’t matter if we’re trying to get there via mediation or should this progress to court; all courts must evaluate the child's health, safety, and general well-being as their primary objective. There are no abuse, violence, or drug/alcohol considerations here, and in truth they’re banking on a very thin ‘sexual conduct’ argument, saying your dating a transgender woman, in essence, could negatively impact Jenny.
“From what you’ve told me, Sara’s not a concern for Jenny and even Sara’s background makes her appear to be a saint. Jenny’s age plays well with a mediator or judge’s opinion, at least in my experience. She wouldn’t be the only deciding factor in this mediation session or should it go to a hearing, so I really think you should reconsider.”
“Sixteen isn’t eighteen, Lance.”
“Yeah, but if she were eighteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he chuckled back at me.
“Agreed…”
“The more mature a child's rationale is in support of their parent’s involvement in their lives, the more weight the court will give the child’s preferences and insights. Look, there’s no specific age when judges will consider a child's opinion, but judges tend to give the opinions of older teenagers more weight—seen it many times before, buddy. I think Jenny could handle herself in an interview ‘in camera,’ which means she sits with the mediating retired judge for an informal conversation at the mediation session. There’d be no one to influence her or give her looks, or her fearing getting in trouble for not backing her mom or dad for that matter. Both sets of lawyers could be present—though unlikely, we’re not typically allowed to speak or ask questions, which is why most times we’re not allowed in on those things. We’ll be able to watch the interview from one of the waiting rooms.”
“Alright, push for it… I’ll take Jen’s temperature on it again, though I’m sure she’d be alright with speaking to the mediator.”
“Good, then I’ll get back to you.”
“Appreciate that, Lance,” I replied.
“You won’t when you see my bill,” he laughed back at me over the phone.
“Did I mention my managerial fees were going up on certain friends’ asset accounts?” I asked.
[---]
It had been a week since Denise laid into me about Sara. I had been seeing Sara every morning at the café, except this past weekend, and talking with her a few times a day either via texts or when she wasn’t busy and felt like calling. I felt we weren’t in sync, though, but I had to step back and look at the broader picture, realizing she was also busy with plenty of demands in her life. Those demands ranged from studying to shifting her career to a more OR-focused path to volunteering at a Trans youth shelter and even getting in to see her counselor this past Monday to work on some dysphoria and anxiety she’d been feeling.
We’d talked about that a little over the weekend and again this morning, about her dysphoria and feeling as though she’d lost some of her ‘swagger’.
“Yes, some of what I’m dealing with is because of her,” Sara admitted to me after I’d joined her at our table in the café.
I knew Denise was a bigger issue than Sara had let on, but I didn’t want to push or pry too much. Was it best to let that scab over or pick at it to solve the issue long term? Either way there was bound to be a scar.
“What does your counselor think?”
“Her usual… Think it out, acknowledge how I feel, look for the positives, and don’t let it dictate my moving on to taking that next breath.”
“Can I do more to help?”
“I kind of thought you had last night after dinner, didn’t you?” she asked, smiling, one brow raised to accentuate the question.
Last night was the second time we’d been intimate, other than a few make-out sessions that got interrupted by calls or life or that one morning in my shower where she’d done all the heavy lifting. While I’d absolutely say last night was amazing in every way, there was an itch inside my brain telling me we were a bit off kilter yet.
“Come on, you know what I’m asking.”
“I do… That we can share in that, though, being together, it’s affirming and does more for me than you probably realize,” she replied softly.
Affirmation and validation of who she was were important concepts to her, and she’d shared those ideas with me a few times—though I was probably slow to realize the weight of their importance. She stressed I didn't have to fully understand why things weighed so heavily on her; I just needed to respect her feelings, to listen, and not force my opinions or feelings on how she felt. And finally, I needed to trust what she was telling me or that a decision she was making was the right one for her.
I'm not exactly sure why, but I found it easy to be mindful of all that, and I think she appreciated my efforts. I still couldn’t help but feel like I could be doing more.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“More so than I’ve been in a long time,” she said, placing her hand on mine.
[---]
That evening Jenny had a band concert, and I had joked with Sara in a text message after lunch that it wasn’t too late for her to consider coming along.
Me: You could come.
Sara: Yeah, thanks for the offer, but I’m relining the drawers and cabinets in my kitchen with little chicken logo shelving paper. Probably be an all nighter.
Me: You’re kidding, right?
Sara: Yes, the stuff isn’t chickens; it’s ducks, actually. BTW, I’m doing a shift early tomorrow, then an OR observation at 4—not likely out of there until late. Call you later, K?
Me: Alright. I should be home after 9.
Sara: Hugz!
Guess we weren’t seeing each other tonight or tomorrow. I’d have Jenny Friday night for the weekend, and Lance’s advice had been to curtail having Sara around Jenny—at least until after the mediation session, which he said would be on Tuesday. Not sure why I had joked with Sara about coming to the concert tonight. I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but I wanted her to know I wanted her around—no matter the environment. Shit, I needed to be smarter!
I gave Denise and Gary a moment with Jen after she exited to the lobby outside the auditorium from a door that said ‘Stage’. I’d hung back, and when I noticed Jen was looking for me, I raised my hand to get her attention. She smiled, headed my way, and we were hugging a few moments later.
“That was really enjoyable, kiddo,” I told her as we hugged.
“Thanks, Dad… No Sara?” she asked.
“I invited her, but she didn’t want to be a distraction.”
“Right… Lance asked me if she and I talked, and I asked him why. He said until after the thing Tuesday, it was probably best to focus on not pissing Mom off.”
“I’m sure that’s not what he said, Jen…”
“It kind of boils down to that, though, right?” she questioned.
“Maybe a teaspoon's worth, but your mom gets an opinion—even if it’s a sucky one that isn’t…,” I began saying, but was interrupted.
“It’s a messed-up one, Dad,” she complained quietly as someone she knew walked by and patted her on the back.
“Who’s that?”
“Trinity… She plays the French horn, second chair, and she’s Trans.”
I turned to watch the girl walking away, heading for a group of students.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah…”
“Have you two ever hung out?” I asked, turning back to Jen.
“A couple of times, like at the mall, at lunch, and stuff like that.”
“Does your mom know?”
“About Trinity? She’s heard me talk about her, but not that she’s Trans.”
“Is that why Sara isn’t a big deal?”
“No… Geesh, Dad, why would that have anything to do with it?” she complained.
“IDK… Maybe you’ve been exposed to this idea that someone could be Trans, have a friend who’s Trans, and, like, you’re just more in tune to what both Sara and Trinity are going through. That’s all I thought,” I countered.
Jen stared at me a long moment, then said, “See that guy by the sign?”
I turned to look. “The black kid?”
“That’s not what I asked…”
“Wrong guy?” I asked, looking to see if I’d missed some signage on the wall elsewhere.
“No, right guy, but I don’t see the color of his skin, just a guy who’s in my AP Biology class that’s a DJ, dating a guy on the football team, and is super nice to everyone. I don’t see Sara as anything but a woman trying to live her best life; being Trans isn’t what defines her or Trinity for that matter.”
Okay, I deserved that. I was about to say something to that effect, but I noticed Denise and Gary were almost upon us.
“Gary, Denise… Great concert, eh?” I asked.
“It was,” Gary offered. “Good to see you, Brad… I’m going to bring the car around,” he said to Denise and left us after she’d squeezed his hand.
“Jen, can you give your father and me a moment?”
“Not if you’re thinking about making a scene,” was her reply.
“I don’t think that’s on the agenda, Jenny,” I said quickly to head off any explosive reaction from my ex-wife while getting a ‘death’ stare from my daughter while I was trying to keep the peace.
Thankfully, Jen left us without anything further to say besides she was going to ‘hang’ with Trinity for a minute.
“What’s up?” I asked Denise when we were alone.
“Tuesday, I don’t want Jen involved with the mediation session.”
“Okay, but I do, and I think she can handle it.”
“With your coaching her this weekend?” she asked.
“I don’t need to coach Jen on anything. Do you even listen to your daughter? I mean, like, have a conversation about some topic and really just listen to her?” I complained.
“Is there a point you want to make?”
“Yeah, you might want to pay attention to the things she’s saying, thinking, and feeling are important. Not just about this issue we’re having, but all kinds of things. She’s very much thinking beyond her sixteen years of age,” I stated.
“I do listen to her… To the sixteen-year-old girl who’s enamored by video games and boys and watches cartoons still every morning before school. Are you trying to say I’m not plugged into what’s important to our daughter?”
“No, but you’re causing Jen unneeded stress and worry by chasing this thing down with Sara. I promise you it’s not playing well with her…”
“Noted, but you might want to consider that same idea having that drag queen around Jenny,” she said before turning to get Jen and head out.
I’d have told her to fuck off, but could only stew. I watched her gather Jen, Jen giving me a little wave, and made my way out of the auditorium.
[---]
Three days had passed, and the amount of contact I’d had with Sara was far less than I was hoping for. I hadn’t seen her since Tuesday night, and I wanted to believe she wasn’t still considering putting the brakes on the idea of us dating, but it was hard to not have that thought repeat over and over again while I was missing her.
Even Jenny noticed I was moping around Saturday before we headed over to The Shops at Chestnut Hill to figure out getting her some heels for a dress Denise had bought her to attend the ‘Christmas Formal.’. Jenny pressed a few times, but I had said everything was fine.
“Know who’d totally rock these booties?”
“You?” I asked skeptically thinking we’d come looking for heels and I was going to get sucked into buying a pair of ‘booties’.
“No! Sara… You know her shoe size?” Jen asked.
“Ah… Afraid I don’t kiddo. We haven’t gotten that far, you know, the exchange of shoe sizes and all that,” I replied comically.
“Yeah, not sure I buy that, Dad.”
“What does that mean?”
“I saw the way she looked at you the other night; that’s not a ‘you don’t know her shoe size’ look,” she said with a shit-eating grin.
“Okay, we about done here?” I asked, trying to sway the conversation.
I watched her pull her phone out, check something, and put it back in her purse.
“Those black pumps from the first store we were in, those are the ones I think. Can we go back and get those and then get something to eat? There’s a pizza place I hear is pretty good in this mall,” she said with some enthusiasm I had no way of keeping up with after being drug around far too many stores.
“Sure… Let’s get the shoes and a gooey cheese full of meats pizza...”
“Or how about we do something vegetarian?”
I just rolled my eyes at her in reply.
[---]
We entered Frank Pepe’s just after 6 PM and were told we’d have about a ten-minute wait, fifteen tops. It took less than a minute, though, for me to get a surprise—someone wrapping their arms around me from behind.
“Sara? What are you doing…,” I saw the smirk and head nod towards Jen. “You did this?”
“I might have reached out on Facebook Messenger that we’d like to see her,” Jen replied.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“You joining us?” I asked Sara.
“No, you two are joining me. I’ve got us a table already; just waiting on you slowpokes…”
Dinner had been a whirlwind of laughs, a little serious talk about current events to keep it spicy, and a whole lot of ‘boy’ talk between the two girls at the table. Watching these two girls giggle and joke, mostly at my expense, really had buoyed my spirits, especially since it felt like Sara and I seemed to be back in that groove we’d been in pre-Denise blowup. Getting to sit next to Sara, to hold her hand for a good part of the evening, had made it an even more connected night for me.
I realized I really needed this time with her and to what extent I’d missed being around her the last couple of days. We were walking from the restaurant to our cars a little after 9 PM with full bellies and at least one of us with a fuller heart. There was a nice hug exchanged between Sara and Jen, and I got a quick kiss and a hug that would need to last a couple of days.
“Pretty sneaky, Jen,” I’d said as we were pulling out from our parking space.
I could see Sara’s car pulling away from two aisles over, and I had learned on the walk out to the cars that it was planned so we’d be in the same general area after dinner.
“I like her, Dad… She kind of just fits you, know what I mean?”
“I think I do, kiddo...,” was my answer.
[---]
I’d texted Sara Sunday morning about coming over after Jen headed back home. The reply was she was working until 4 PM but had committed to going to a kids birthday party for one of her friends. I told her to enjoy, was then invited to go with her, accepted after some convincing, and was told to be ready for a quick drive-by pickup at 4:30 PM.
“Hey,” I said, smiling at Sara after getting in her car at exactly 4:31 PM, kissing her, and buckling up.
“Hey yourself…” she said, wasting no time heading out to some neighborhood between our respective residences. “So, I probably should tell you where we’re going, huh?”
“A kids birthday party, right?”
“Yes, that, but… We’re heading over to Megan’s place; that's not going to be weird or anything?” she asked, sounding concerned.
“No, of course not… I know Megan and her girls, Kelly and Breanna, right? Which one is having a birthday?” I asked thinking I probably should have known this.
I couldn’t tell you their ages, but I knew their names, the trouble they’d gotten into with scissors and cutting their hair last year, and maybe a few other stories. Was I just oblivious to remembering something like their ages or birthdates? I know Megan had probably told me, but my interactions with her were just part of my routine. Did I care or did she mean as much to me cruising through life as my Peloton?
“Breanna’s; she’ll be six on Tuesday. I’m her godmother, and, yeah, I owe a lot of my success in life to not only my mom but Meg’s too. She sat up with me a few too many times, talking me off a few hundred ledges over the years. She’s like the sister I never had,” she explained.
“I’m happy to go; I enjoy Megan, and I just want to be with you, so it’s a win-win plus a bonus.”
“Thank you,” she said, reaching over to take my hand.
[---]
The party turned out to be a lot like the ones we’d had for Jenny when she was Breanna’s age. Way too much sugar being ingested, too many activities where it felt like we were herding cats, and some tired adults by the end of it. When we arrived back at my place, just before 9 PM, I’d asked if Sara wanted to come up.
There was hesitation before she said, “I would love that, but I’ve been up since 4 AM, have been on my feet most of the day, and I’m mentally beat. I barely feel like I got to talk to you tonight; I’m sorry about that...,” Sara said taking my hand.
“We talked. Come on, it wasn’t that bad… Plus I got to talk with people about you, chase kids around; it’s all good.”
“Yeah, more like those friends of mine were checking you out and wondering why you’d want to be with me,” she said jokingly.
“I didn’t get that feeling from anyone. In fact, I got told a few times how lucky I was, and I have to agree.”
Sara spun in her seat, got her hands behind my neck, and pulled me in for a kiss that gave me no doubt how lucky I really was. When she broke the kiss, she leaned her forehead against mine.
“You sure you’re okay with me calling it a night?”
“Absolutely… Café in the morning though, right?” I asked and delivered a tiny peek on her lips.
“Wouldn’t miss it…”
“Text me when you get home?” I asked.
“I will… G’night.”
[- Keys -]
Sara had beaten me to Café Duro, which wasn’t much of a surprise—she generally did, but what was a surprise was seeing a small bouquet of flowers sitting on the table with her. While getting coffee, it was killing me to not ask Megan about them as she went on and on about how much fun the girls had with me last night, how she appreciated my jumping in and helping out, and to pass on that her girls wanted to know when I was coming back with Auntie Sara. It took a lot of self-control to squash the jealous guy routine trying to freeze my ego out and not say something stupid about the flowers.
Wasn’t giving a woman flowers kind of her man’s job? Was I her man? Did Sara think that or tell others she was seeing me? We were seeing each other, right? Was there some point we’d be or make that official?
I got no support from the retired guys after getting my Americano, though I did get a question about the ‘Twenty-five’ rule. I explained it as basically how much you wanted to live on in retirement yearly, multiplied by twenty-five, to come up with what you’d need in retirement savings before pulling the plug. Certainly just a gauge and they were well beyond needing a gauge since they were retired. I’d asked why they were asking, and it turned out to be a question one of their kids had asked them about.
They thought I’d have an opinion I would offer up about it and did—stressing ‘guide,’ not steadfast rule. Glad I could help, guys! How about setting me up with your kid to manage their assets? I considered asking that, but let it go because I had a terminal case of ‘flowers’ on the brain.
“Morning…,” I said, leaning in to give Sara a quick kiss before sitting.
“Hey…”
“Flowers, for me? You shouldn’t have…,” I joked.
I doubt it sounded like I was joking, but I’d tried awfully damn hard to be playful about it and not show I was bothered that someone had given her flowers. Wait! Megan? A thank you for ‘Auntie Sara’ from the girls? Shit!
She looked at me for a moment as if contemplating something, smiled, reached into her purse, and pulled out a card, placing it on the bouquet, and slid everything over to me.
“I was kidding… Who are,” and I saw my name on the card, looked up at her as she wagged one brow at me playfully. “Really?”
“Just wanted to say thank you for yesterday, for helping out at the party, putting up with a herd of screaming little girls for most of that, and gracefully accepting my turning down coming up last night,” she said, reaching over to put her hand on mine, before adding, “You can read the card later...”
It took a second to process what she’d said…
“I, no…. Really, I was happy to help, and it was fun. Seriously, I had a really good time,” I replied quickly. “I’ve never had anyone give me flowers before; I’m a little, like, shocked, but thank you… It’s kind of cool.”
You couldn’t grind the smile off of my face if you tried.
“Well, I’m glad to be the first to have done that then,” she said, smiling back at me.
“You want to do anything tonight, dinner maybe?”
“I’d love to, but I have that group thing. Usually goes ‘til 9, and by the time I get home, my brain is moosh… Rain check?”
“Absolutely,” I began, but felt like I needed to ask, “You’re not still worried about tomorrow, are you?”
“Would it help to lie and say I wasn’t?” she asked, but I knew exactly what she was trying to say.
“Lance seemed pretty confident the mediator is going to blast Denise for pushing this as a frivolous waste of everyone’s time,” I offered.
“Are you still going to have Jenny speak?”
“Yeah, she’s agreed to speak, though I’ve caught some crap for that, and you know what? I don’t care that Denise is pissed at me about it.”
“But, she’ll also be disappointed in Jenny… I, I don’t like being a problem for Jenny or anyone for that matter,” Sara replied softly.
“You are not a problem; come on… Jen sees the world a lot more clearly than I did at her age. Everything is going to work out...”
[---]
Not typical, but Sara left the café before I did. We’d talked a bit while I researched the futures, which, along with everything else I was seeing, indicated a rough day for the market. I found that annoying, because nothing of significance had occurred over the weekend, though the president-elect did spend a bunch of time yammering about the current president setting us up to get dragged into WWIII. What a moron! And to think his dribble could manipulate the market so much! What were people thinking?! THINK!!! Don’t just react!
No sooner had Sara exited the café, after a very nice parting kiss, I was tearing into the card she’d given me:
Brad,
Hey, just a little note to thank you for being you when you’re with me. I know chasing a bunch of little girls around yesterday probably wasn’t something you wanted to be doing, and I promise you I’d like to have been doing other things with you, but Meg’s appreciates us helping out.
I like to think I’ve got things pretty well situated in my life, but in reality a lot of that’s an illusion, and I’m pretty good at maintaining it for those that I cross paths with. Since meeting you, I find I’m more comfortable with myself, worry less about how others perceive me, and that’s certainly made an impact on my career recently. I know I’m doing the work and putting in the effort, but I think a lot of that newfound confidence I’m tapping into is because of you and how you make me feel safe and okay to just be myself.
I know tomorrow is going to be stressful not only for Jenny, but you too. I know I’ve apologized for that a few times, and you’ve been very kind and supportive about it not interfering with us being together. I find myself addicted to you, so if the ruling is we need to put things on hold, I want you to know I’m going to fight like hell to keep you in my life no matter what. Just saying!
Hugz!
Sara
I stared at the card, reread that last bit again, and couldn’t help but smile. My phone vibrated. I’d received a text, and that smile got a little bigger.
Sara: You good?
Me: Not sure what you’re talking about.
I couldn’t help but razz her a bit. It took a full minute for her to reply, and I was beginning to worry I shouldn’t have joked about knowing what she was asking.
Sara: Oh. Thought you’d have read the card by now; sorry.
Me: I did, and I’m going to avoid any twelve-step programs.
Was I pushing it by being so flip? Should I have just said I was happy she wanted to stick around?
Sara: Are you now? Well, that makes me happy. (*smiley face emoji*)
Me: And I’m very happy to have the opportunity to make you happy. (*heart emoji*) Talk later?
Sara: It’s a date!
[---]
I finished my research routine, gathered up my things—and my bouquet of flowers, talked to the retired guys for a second—got told they’d never gotten flowers before from their wives, and made it to work by 8 AM. After a few calls, which ended up turning into selling some shares of stock for a client and rolling those proceeds into T-bills, Ken popped his head into my office.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
He looked behind him to Marty’s office, looked to be considering something, stepped into my office, and closed the door.
“Talked to Marty after work Friday, and he mentioned you’re seeing a Trans woman.”
I nodded and was happy I hadn’t detected anything unusual in his tone, just a long-time friend trying to get some clarification. He’d given me friendly grief that morning after I’d been with Sara, but it wasn’t anything like what Marty had thrown at me.
“You two have a falling out? I mean, he sure made it sound like he’d stepped in it pretty good with you.”
“His concerns about my dating Sara could have been presented differently,” I replied.
“Well, who you decide to see is none of our business. I know you know that, but I just wanted you to hear that from me. Marty probably said some shit about the business, but he knows better, so don’t go thinking either one of us would ever question your commitment to what we’ve got going on here.”
“Thanks for that. I appreciate knowing you’ve got my back.”
“Yeah, no problem, but he does too… Look, the LGBTQ+ stuff isn’t something he’s plugged into, and his ignorance on that likely was annoying to say the least. Give him some rope, okay? I talked to Lisa, and she wants to have everyone over for dinner at our place this weekend, if you and Sara don’t already have plans.”
Lisa was Ken’s wife and someone I really liked being around—Ken too, honestly; both of them I’d consider some of my closest friends. When Denise had filed for divorce three years ago, Lisa had been supportive, a sounding board, and listened to me beating myself up over failing at my marriage on more than a few occasions. The invite for dinner was her trying to olive branch the divide between Marty and me. Knowing Ken didn’t have an issue with Sara and he was willing to help straighten out Marty was reassuring to me.
“Sounds good; let me ask her what she’s got going on. She’s a nurse and has shifted her focus to working in the OR, so her hours are kind of wonky. Get back to you this afternoon?” I asked.
“Perfect…”
[---]
I’d hopped in the shower to finish up my nightly routine and had just started washing my hair when my phone began ringing on the vanity across from the shower. I knew it had to be Sara, so I tried to flush the suds from my hair enough to at least answer the phone—which I’m sure probably looked comical. A slug's trail of water and soap was left from shower to vanity as I tried to grab it, prayed it wouldn’t got to voice mail, and fiddled with answering it – wet fingers and all by the fifth ring.
“Hey…”
“Ah, what are you doing? What’s that noise?” Sara asked.
“I’m in the shower,” I said, retreating back to the shower with phone in hand and holding it outside the shower door to keep it from getting any more wet.
“Really? I should have FaceTimed you,” she said, giggling.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that and asked, “Wanna give me like 5 minutes and call back?”
“No…”
Not the answer I was expecting, and I was momentarily concerned.
“Something wrong?” I asked, probably sounding worried or at the least trying to hide I was worried.
“Can I ask you one simple question?”
Okay, something was definitely wrong, even though she’d just giggled all cutesy at me. She didn’t sound particularly angry or upset, but maybe when we’d talked at lunch about dinner this weekend at Ken’s, she’d had a change of heart? I told her what I thought dinner was, a ‘make nice’ attempt between Marty and me, plus everyone getting to meet her. Did she not want to meet my friends? I’d met several of hers yesterday and I thought that went well. Did one of them not like me and say something to her?
I turned and got a hand on the shower's control and turned the flow of water off.
“Is this about dinner at Ken’s?”
“No… My question is who do you expect is going to wash your back?”
“My back?” I asked, but knew what was going on quickly – she was messing with me! “Oh, well that’s a funny story. See this girl I’m into? She couldn’t come over, so I reached out to a high school crush I had, and she’s…”
I didn’t get to finish my shtick before being interrupted.
“Wanna let me in? I was able to get into your building; I’m at your door. I think I’d like to kick that woman’s ass,” she said softly.
“I should probably get you a set of keys,” I said, grabbing a towel, setting the phone down, and getting wrapped up in it. “Be right there…”
[---]
At my door was a conservatively dressed and very attractive woman who quickly slipped into my condo after I’d opened the door. She was just as quick to get her arms around me once inside the door, and when it was closed, she backed me into said door and was kissing me passionately. Her hands began to explore, touching gently, caressing sensually, and after a few moments of us enjoying that interlude I was being led to my bedroom, then the bathroom.
The towel I’d been wrapped in was removed, I was encouraged to get the shower situated, asked where there were candles, and left there waiting for Sara’s return. A few minutes later she entered the bathroom naked, carrying two battery-operated candles, turned the light off after setting them on the vanity, and joined me.
I got my arms around her after closing the shower door and said, “This is certainly a pleasant surprise.”
A tight hug and a quick kiss that said she was happy that I was happy she was here. When we broke, she was looking at me curiously.
“What?” I asked.
“Offering to get me a set of keys, that’s kind of a big step, isn’t it?”
“Would it be?”
“No, no, no… Answer my question first,” she said playfully.
“Are we together?” I asked, staring at her, trying to read her mind.
“You tell me…”
“I’d like that to be what we’re doing, figuring out at whatever pace you’re comfortable with if we complement one another.”
“Would we have to mesh on every aspect?”
“I’m not sure I understand that question, but if you’re saying we both have to like mustard on burgers or hot dogs, the answer is no,” I replied, though not as confidently as I thought I should have and smiled weakly at her wondering what she would say to that.
I’d never want to limit her in any capacity. Hell, Jenny was my shining example of pouring my desire for her to be a strong independent woman some day and she was well on that path. I certainly wouldn’t want to be with someone who ‘had’ to feed me and opinion on something or expected me to think or feel the same way about something. Ugh!
“Oh, well that’s a deal breaker,” she said, though her smile said she was screwing with me again. “Mustard absolutely belongs on a burger and hot dog. Not sure I could be with a man that didn’t…”
I was done with talking and purposely kissed her to shut her up as my hands greedily squeezed her ass.
[---]
It was probably one of the quickest showers I’d ever shared with a woman and I’m pretty sure the reason for that was we had other desires besides washing one another’s backs. As it happened last time Sara had been here, I was encouraged to get comfortable in bed and she’d join me in a minute. I’d go out on a limb and say it was maybe thirty seconds before she joined me in my darkened room, the door to the bathroom left open and the fake candles doing little to illuminate the bedroom.
I watched her naked form climb into bed, promptly straddle me, and with some slow, careful guidance of my shaft by her hands I was inside of her before I could comprehend there’d be no ‘foreplay’ tonight. Fine by me!
My hands were encouraged, actually brought from where I’d had a light grip on her waist up to her breasts as she rocked her hips slowly to take me in and then nearly out. She moaning when I pulled at her nipples had her increasing those movements of her hips with me inside of her. Her hand dropped to her pussy a few seconds later and there were additional sighs and whimpers as she rubbed her clitoral area rapidly – all while rolling and grinding her hips delivering the most intense pleasure for me.
To say I was in awe of this woman on top of me, her raw sexuality, her going after her own pleasure while knowing full well she had me wrapped around her fingers and was providing me as much or more, would be the understatement of the year. I could feel the shivering throughout her body as she’d hit what I can only assume was an orgasm. It was likely less than a minute later I was cumming and she rode my pulsing cock to another full body convulsion that made her fall forward, get her arms around me, and squeeze me so tight I wasn’t sure I could breath!
When she let loose her death grip on me it was to do nothing but try to soak up every ounce of what we’d just shared together. I know that’s what I was doing and God did I feel amazing right now!
“You good,” I whispered, hugging her tighter and kissing her neck.
“That wasn’t obvious?” she asked sounding out of breath.
“Oh, I wasn’t asking about ‘that’ specifically, but if I were, well I’d want you to know I loved every damn second of that…”
“Then I’m happy I decided to come over,” she whispered back as me, moving her hips awkwardly to get my waning cock to finally slip out of her.
I could feel her whole body relax after she’d done that.
“You know what Jenny told me?”
“That’s random,” she started saying, paused and finished with, “Not a clue…”
“That you ‘fit’ me, I feel like that’s pretty insightful, because I feel like you do.”
“No matter what happens tomorrow?”
“Absolutely…”
Author's note: Might not be able to post the next, likely final, chapter to this story until the week after Christmas due to other obligations (not to mention I haven't crafted a single word of that). I apologize in advance for that and will try very hard to get you something. Hugz!
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Legally -]
“Before I speak to Jennifer, I’d like to make sure I’ve reviewed and understand completely an important item I was not able to find in the original divorce decree provided,” retired Superior Court Judge Andrew Clark, our mediator, said to the four of us in the room. There was, of course, a fifth, a stenographer who was taking notes, but she was out of the way and clicking keys quietly as he spoke.
Denise’s lawyer, Wayne Nett, assured Clark his office had supplied not only him but also Lance a copy of the court-recorded decree from three years ago. I watched Lance write something on his notepad and point at it. It was a single word—‘Idiot’. I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about Clark and assumed it was…
“Excellent, and thank you for confirming that. Could you please point to where in the decree either party stipulates anything in regard to Parent A not leaving their named child, Jennifer Lynn Styles, in the supervised presence of Parent B while they are with Person X? Likewise, is there anything to the effect that the unsupervised presence of Person X is not to be allowed access to named child Jennifer Lynn Styles if said Person X has a prior conviction for being a child predator or person with a relevant history that could, would, or might endanger said named child?” Clark asked.
“There are no such stipulations,” Nett answered since Clark was looking directly at him.
“I see, Mr. Nett… Would you mind taking a look at this?” Clark said, passing him a single piece of paper. “Please summarize that for me.”
Nett skimmed the document and looked over to Lance and me, then back to Clark. I watched Denise take the piece of paper, read the first few lines, and glare in my direction. I knew what she’d just looked at; this mediation session was about to get ugly.
“This wasn’t provided to us pre-mediation. Is Mr. Styles filing his own change as a counter to Mrs. Lamb’s in this mediation session?” Nett asked dryly.
“I haven’t been notified of that yet,” Clark said, looking to Lance and me. “I believe this is what they call a ‘shot across the bow’ since nothing has been filed or requested. Until we know Mr. Styles’ intentions, though, for the record please summarize that document for me.”
“It’s an arrest record for Gary Michael Lamb, dated fifteen years ago, but I can assure you Mr. Lamb did community service, has sought treatment, and does not partake in the consumption of alcohol any longer,” Nett stated as confidently as he could.
“Noted,” Clark said, flipping through some paperwork, finding what he was looking for, and sliding that over to Nett. “And this document, a quick summarization if you wouldn’t mind.”
We all watched Denise’s lawyer skim the new piece of paper, slide it back to Clark, and state, “It’s a background check by the Massachusetts State Patrol for Sara Ann Connelly.”
“Ms. Connelly being the person Mr. Styles is seeing that Mrs. Lamb has objections about – according to the answer given by his lawyer. Is there anything relevant in that background check?” Clark asked.
“A parking ticket five years ago on Portland Street,” was the answer returned.
“I said relevant, as in why we’re here today, Mr. Nett. A parking ticket five years ago near TD Stadium in downtown Boston hardly qualifies as relevant, unlike an arrest for driving while intoxicated and a minor charge for battery on a police officer for resisting arrest,” Clark concluded, again looking at some paperwork in front of him for something.
The look on Denise’s face, while not something others might pick up on, told me she was pissed and getting very close to opening her mouth to protest. I kept thinking—DO IT! Show this mediator how much you’ve gone off the fucking rails! You want to draw battle lines? Welcome to the big leagues!
Denise hadn’t told me about Gary’s DUI or slap on the wrist for resisting arrest. Did she really think coming at me for seeing Sara wouldn’t involve digging into her man? I wonder if she’d reconsider this stupidity we were now in if she knew we’d uncover Gary’s past and I could push for my own decree modifications and protections of Jen.
“I’m going to save you the trouble of looking at Mr. Styles' background check the State Patrol provided his lawyer and tell you there’s nothing on it. Are we clear?” Clark asked.
“Yes…”
“Alright, I’ll meet with Jennifer, and we’ll reconvene to see what we can do about the idea one parent feels the other has exceeded the boundaries set in the decree. Then we’ll discuss what constitutes harassment and necessitates legal protections for a child. After that we’ll see if the filing party can offer perspective, separating any of their preconceived notions, biases, and their emotions so we can come up with a definition of obligations as it relates to this previously filed decree. Are we clear?”
There was a round of ‘Yes’ delivered from both lawyers as Clark stood and headed to a room where Jen was sitting with who we’d been told was a recorder for that part of the mediation session.
To this point Denise still hadn’t said a word, but I knew it was coming. She was refusing to look at me and was solely focused on the TV screen in the room. We could see Clark enter the room with Jen and introduce himself. He then explained what the recorder's job was and sat.
Lance leaned over and whispered, “Don’t provoke her; the recorder is still allowed to record even without the mediator present. Stay focused on the TV, even if Denise speaks. Let me do the talking if she does. I’m certain this guy has made up his mind already, but he’s paid hourly, so this is just a money grab—wasting time interviewing Jenny. Got it?”
He was looking at me for an answer and I nodded that I understood. No problem; I could ignore my ex-wife easily enough, and I wasn’t going to rock the damn boat as she had with this stupid attempt at barring me from seeing Jen without supervision if I was going to continue seeing Sara.
I was impressed with how Lance had played this thus far—the background check on Gary had been a surprise piece of his preparation, and after getting it back from the state, he’d asked if I wanted to go after the same sort of protections as Denise was trying to hit me with. I’d told him no, but as Clark had said, we’d lobbed one over her bow, and that should let her know I could bite back if she wanted to continue playing this game.
I hadn’t minded Lance requesting a background check on me, but I didn’t like that he’d requested to do one on Sara. I’d asked her if it was alright, and she’d said she didn’t have a problem with it. Didn’t mean I had to like it; I already knew she was a good person—though I’d misjudged Gary since I hadn’t known about his DUI arrest or that additional charge.
“If you need anything from me tomorrow, just call,” Sara had said to me last night after we’d gotten rid of a few days worth of frustrations and desires from not seeing each other for a few days. It was certainly a pleasurable evening in that regard, but I hated spilling onto her this crap Denise was pushing.
As we lay there coming down off our highs, she offered to send me her resume, which I’m sure she thought was a joke, but did after she’d made it home last night. It contained her job history, schooling with notation of being on the Dean’s list at Boston College, and some of her volunteer activities. It had made Lance’s day when I’d forwarded it to him this morning—after asking Sara if I could.
Sara was the proverbial ‘Girl Scout’ in every sense of the word; she just happened to be Trans to achieve that. And God damn it, that shouldn’t fucking matter! Denise was being a fucking bitch about all of this shit, rather than just talking to me about it so we could get it figured out like adults, like we’d done a few other things concerning Jenny over the past three years!
[---]
We were all watching Jenny on the TV now, and I went from feeling angry to feeling nervous about putting her in this position. I needed to trust Lance’s judgment, and he’d said her speaking today would be crucial. God, I hoped so…
“Jennifer, would you mind stating your full name and age for me?” Clark asked.
“Jennifer Lynn Styles, I just turned sixteen,” she replied.
“My grandson is fifteen and wants to drive pretty badly. I’m afraid he wants to be like those Fast and Furious drivers, which isn’t something I’d like to know about honestly. Do you have your driver’s license?”
“My learner’s permit.”
“Do you practice driving with your dad?”
“Every weekend… He’s pretty hard on me; he doesn’t let me get away with not paying attention,” she said, smiling at Clark.
How is it she’s so relaxed? I’m a freaking ball of nerves, and she’s talking to this guy like it’s no big deal.
“Tell me about your dad.”
“He’s levelheaded, I think; I admire that in him. He’s fair, very focused, and works hard for the people he invests money for. Don’t ask him to dance; he’s not good at that.”
Clark couldn’t help but laugh, yet the conference room we were watching from remained silent. That did make me smile, though, because I was always trying to get her to dance with me while playing what she called ‘oldies’ music.
“Noted, we’ll try avoiding having any dance-offs in the conference room today. How about your mom?” Clark asked.
“She’s strong-willed and doesn’t let me slide, especially with being in the orchestra. I play the clarinet.”
“I played the tuba, if you can believe that,” Clark said in a very friendly manner. “What do you think of your mom’s husband, Gary?”
“I like him; he compliments her. Ying and yang, I guess. They’ve got a solid relationship; he buys her flowers a lot, and they hold hands when we go out, like to the mall or whatever. I feel like he loves her and makes her happy. That’s all I want for either of my parents, for them to be happy.”
“Does Gary let you slide?”
“No, but he's not as tough as my mom,” she chuckled.
“Do your parents drink?”
“I don’t think either drink that much. My mom will have wine sometimes when we’re out to dinner and occasionally at home. Dad maybe a beer at home, but I can’t remember him ordering one when we’ve gone out,” Jen stated.
“How about Gary?” Clark asked.
“He’ll drink wine with my mom at home, sometimes a beer, but he doesn’t drink if we go out. Pretty sure, but I don’t pay that much attention to that,” she replied innocently.
Clark spent the next fifteen minutes asking generic-sounding questions about both Denise and me. Sometimes Jen’s answers didn’t make either of us look like parent of the year candidates, but that was Jen—telling it like it was from a sixteen-year-olds perspective, and we had to realize she was having a frank conversation with Clark about her parents for him to get a read on us as parents. I felt pangs of guilt and shame when they talked about the divorce, what she thought had happened, what might have gone wrong, and how she felt about that.
She told him I had been career-focused—which sounded like something Denise probably had fed her way too many times over the past six, eight years, and likely a lot over the past three since the divorce was finalized. She said her mom had become disillusioned and sad, and I’d let the routine of work and providing for our family cloud my judgment and priorities. I was sure she got that last snippet of an answer about ‘judgment and priorities’ from talking to me about the divorce a few times over the past three years.
I always wanted to be truthful with her, so I had told her my thoughts on it when she’d asked me a year ago. She was a smart kid; I knew that, and I never wanted to insult her by bending the truth or reality of what she went through. I’d stressed while I was absent it never meant I didn’t love her. I knew that was a hard concept to accept and knew it probably wasn’t completely understood, but I felt like telling her the truth aided in healing my mistakes with her.
“What can you tell me about someone who might be confused about their gender?” Clark asked.
She gave him a condensed version of the definition of the word transgender she’d probably seen on the internet—short, not all that impressed by the look on his face after hearing what she had said. I felt like she had more passion about the idea that someone could be Trans while talking with me about it and tried to channel that idea to her from a room away.
“Alright, but what does it mean to you? Like, do you believe someone could be born male but be a female?”
“I do; I think that happens more than we realize, but kids don’t know how to diagnose that on their own or are afraid to seek help. They know something is off early on and can’t pinpoint it, but it’s there. They know they're not like other boys or girls, and that brings on a lot of shame, guilt, and fear of angering or disappointing their parents, family, and friends. It’s huge. I know all that happens, though,” she replied thoughtfully.
“How?”
“I know kids who are Trans... We’ve talked about it.”
“How well do you know the person your dad is seeing?”
“I’ve met Sara a few times; she’s very nice, and I like how she’s smoothed out his edges a little.”
“Edges?”
“He’s calmer and more relaxed, I think. Not so rigid, like, ‘At 10:03 exactly, I’m going to open the freezer and pull out some chicken to thaw for dinner’,” she said in a funny voice. “I think he’s trying really hard to be a better man because of her, not repeat past mistakes. They have something going on, a connection; I can see it, and I’m happy he’s exploring a relationship with her. I think she makes him happy.”
That was hard to hear, the ‘rigid’ comment, but I kept my focus on the TV, though I could see Denise had glanced at me. Nope, you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing that that stung a little. Yet, in my mind, I couldn’t complain at Jen for what she said because it was the truth, and I didn’t want to fuck up a potential relationship with someone I absolutely felt a connection with.
Could I explain it fully if asked—the connection? No, but this was still new, and we were early into understanding what had drawn us together.
“So, nothing about your dad seeing Sara raises any concerns for you? Have you talked to Sara about her struggle with her gender?”
“No, like I said, she’s very nice, and we kind of connected too, I think. I haven’t asked about how she made the choice to transition. I think we connect because of my dad, but even if they weren’t trying to figure out this dating thing, I’d still want to be friends with her. She’s interesting, funny, and just a girl like me…”
Clark was watching her and squinted just barely at her, “Do you question your gender?”
“No,” but she realized what she’d just said a moment ago and scrambled to make herself clear. “Oh, no… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Yeah, I was just trying to say I think she’s no less a girl than I am or a woman than my mom, grandma, and nana are.”
The conversation between them shifted to Denise and what this mediation event was about. Clark explained it and what the possible outcome her mother was looking for.
“I don’t agree with the need to have my time with my dad supervised. I’ve told my mom that, but she’s not listening. Sara is not remotely who my mom thinks she is.”
“Can you explain that?” Clark asked.
“I don’t know exactly; it’s like she’s maybe caught up in the political insanity and hate thrown at people who are Trans right now. The push for laws and limits—that’s crazy and I know she’d fight any of that if someone were to try and lay that kind of thing on her. Sara isn’t a drag performer or someone whose crossdressing—she’s a woman, identifies as such, knows who she is, and is living her life to her fullest.
“My Trans friends aren’t Trans because it’s something cool to do or an easy existence or they want attention. They’ve told me it’s the hardest thing they’ve ever done because it freaks most of society out and there’s this crazy backlash that’s not even justified. I don’t agree with the president-elect's stance or anyone else’s for that matter when it comes to controlling another’s life choices. Abortion, being Trans, needing a heart transplant – why do people think they can control those things for others? I think we should just let people be themselves.”
“What about someone who is addicted to drugs? Do we as a society step in?” Clark challenged.
“We should, but I feel the connection between that example—someone needing help because they are destroying their lives because of an addiction that is killing them or could kill them—is very different from someone who questions their gender identity and takes matters into their own hands to make their life bearable. My friend Trinity told me that finally knowing what was going on with her, being diagnosed with gender dysphoria, not only save her life, but gave her purpose. She tried to commit suicide, getting care for being Trans saved her she said.”
Jen had just shown she comprehended everything about the bigger picture, and I was feeling extremely proud of her. When had she grown up so much? How had I missed this ‘adult’ in her? And of course I felt guilty I had missed realizing she had grown up somehow right under my nose and was so...
“Jennifer, I’d like to commend you on a number of things. You’re certainly mature beyond your sixteen years of age. I feel like you gave thoughtful and insightful answers to some pointed questions. Is there anything else you’d like to say?” Clark asked her.
“No, not really... I love both my parents very much, and I know they love me and just want the best for me. I’m sure there are plenty of scary things out there they want to protect me from—like driving, if you ask my dad,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I want both my parents to be happy, and in the absence of that, maybe bend a little and be good human beings to others and each other. That’s it, I guess.”
[---]
It took Clark less than a minute to return to the conference room we were in after he wrapped up interviewing Jenny. He told everyone to take a break, use the restroom if needed, and be back in here in ten minutes. Lance left the room to use the bathroom, and I pulled out my phone to text Sara, finding a message waiting for me, but since my phone was on silent, I hadn’t gotten it.
Sara: ??
Me: On a break, going good, I think. Jen just spoke; I am super proud of her.
Sara: I told you, she’s impressive. Credit to good parenting. The mediator has got to see it takes two committed parents to accomplish that and you both have Jenny’s best interest at heart.
Me: Thank you.
Sara: For what? Telling you how it is? Hang in there; let me know how it goes.
Me: No, for being there for me. I’ll hang in there and ping you when we’re out of here.
Sara: Don’t leave me hang’n! (* smiley face emoji *)
[---]
Everyone was back at the conference table on time, and Clark looked to be checking his notes before wanting to begin speaking. Satisfied, he looked around the table and began.
“This request to modify the decree, as I see it, involves Mrs. Lamb’s concern for the well-being of Jennifer as it pertains to Mr. Styles’ choice to see someone within the LGBTQ+ community, a state-recognized class of individuals who legally have the same rights as non-LGBTQ+ persons. Might I remind you, Mr. Nett, it was back in 1974 that same-sex partnership became legal in this state. Not that this relationship is as such—same gender, but I likely don’t need to remind you of the protections offered someone within those classes.”
“Understood,” Nett replied.
“To further that point, in November of 2018 this state became the first in the country to support transgender protections by the will of the people,” Clark stated.
I hadn’t known that and looked at Lance, but he shook his finger at me on his pad of paper ever so slightly. Got it—keep my mouth shut—not that I had anything to say exactly. I was just trying to understand the two legal points Clark had mentioned and how they fit or would screw Denise in this stupid reopening of the decree.
“The state granted same-sex couples the ability to adopt, and those who were transgendered could change their legal gender without undergoing sex reassignment surgery. The state also became the 16th U.S. state to ban conversion therapy on LGBT minors in April of 2019. Mr. Nett, in light of the progressive environment of this state, I’m curious as to how it is you’ve counseled your client to press for a change in the decree knowing these things."
Nett looked anxious to speak. “The 1641 legal code enacted by Nathaniel Ward prohibiting sodomy is still on the books.”
You Motherfucker! I began to stand up, but Lance was quick to get his hand on my arm and growled softly at me, “Sit…”
I was giving Denise the death stare of all death stares. I wanted to… Wait! I pulled the pad of paper in front of Lance to me, grabbed his pen, and wrote:
She and I did that once! WTF!
He took the pen and scribbled over that so it couldn’t be read and then wrote:
Let it play out.
I could see Clark had an unhappy look on his face. Was he mad at me or Nett? Could I be patient and wait to not blast that asshole of a lawyer?!
“Apart from some musty law from the time of our forefathers, that has been ‘judicially emasculated’ and rarely enforced or even quoted, do you have something meaningful to provide? I know you realize that is not illegal between consenting adults Mr. Nett… I’m certain the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that law unconstitutional and it doesn’t apply to why we’re here today and I take offense you’ve even brought that up,” Clark countered.
“For same-sex partners,” Nett pressed again.
“What does that even mean? Did you miss my pointing out that the protections for those in the LGBTQ+ community are the same as those not in that community?”
“I believe you know the law is used commonly in the prosecution of those who’ve committed sex crimes. Also, the nation’s sentiment towards those who are transsexuals is that it’s a mental disorder,” Nett began, but Clark interrupted him.
“You and I both know any sodomy-related sexual assault sentences invoking that law are an additional penalty in time or monetary damages added to the typical sentencing guidelines due to the aggravated circumstances. Most are plea bargained out of the final time served ruling. And we’re talking sexual assault, not said act between consenting adults.
“Let’s be honest here: that law exists, certainly, but it holds little sway and has limited use or bite. I’ll let you finish, though, but know this you’re not helping your case with that argument and I’m insulted you’ve brought it up. Oh, and one more thing, I’d like to know whether Mrs. Lamb is in any way associated with the practice of medicine, specifically a field such as psychiatry. Only with that will I hear her opinion on whether someone who might suffer from their gender dysphoria and identifies as transgendered has a mental disorder,” Clark challenged.
“No, Mrs. Lamb does not practice in a medically related field,” Nett stated.
“Continue…” Clark prompted.
“Thank you. As I was saying, it’s commonly felt those who feel they are conflicted in their gender identity and want to be transsexuals have a mental disorder,” Nett began.
I was waiting for Clark to say something to that, but when he didn’t, I nudged Lance. He wrote on the tablet a single word, ‘Wait’.
“The medical care given to someone that believes they have a gender identity crisis has not been studied very well and further exacerbates these individuals’ conditions,” Nett stated.
“If I may, do you have research to back those statements up?” Clark asked.
We watched him slide a packet of papers to Clark and to our side of the table.
“I’ll take a moment to review this,” Clark stated.
I watch Lance slide the packet to me, wondering why he wasn’t going to even look at it. I flipped a number of pages that looked like doctor diagnostic bullshit to me. Five minutes of silence dragged on in the room, and Denise looked pleased to have the opportunity to rub this crap in my face.
“Alright, Mr. Nett, continue,” Clark stated.
“Gender incongruence is classified by the International Classification of Diseases (ICD), and that allows these transsexuals access to gender-affirming care and mental health counseling without bias from their insurance companies. Even the World Health Organization (WHO) agrees with the ICD about the need for mental health care for those who consider themselves in an intense state of persistent gender incongruence. And the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) has stated people who experience gender incongruence can be given the diagnosis of ‘gender dysphoria’—which again validates their need to seek mental health care, and insurance companies can’t deny that care. We contend that it is in the best interest of protecting Jennifer that there should be limits placed on exposing her to someone with a clear, diagnosed mental disorder, which supersedes any missing language within the original decree covering this exact situation,” Nett concluded.
My heart sank, and I wanted so badly to get up and leave. Was this why Sara had tried to warn me off? Had she seen this coming or experienced this before, or had someone she’d known been subjected to this crap?! Had she tried to get me to consider how difficult it would be to see her with all of society dead set against giving her a chance to live her life or think she couldn’t because she had some kind of mental condition?
Had I dug my heels in because I’d been alone for so long and Sara had been so easy to want to get to know? Did I think I was saving her in some way?
“Anything more?” Clark asked.
“No, but as this is a mediation, I fully expect I’ll have a chance to counter Mr. Allen,” Nett said, looking at us across the table.
“Mr. Allen, would you like to make any points here?” Clark asked.
“I would, thank you. I’d begin by stating it’s commonly known that a psychological state is considered a mental disorder only if it causes significant distress or disability. I have sworn statements from three different psychiatrists who agree with that statement. I can provide those, or we can Google that and throw it up on the screen.”
When there was no complaint, Lance continued. “Ms. Connelly is a graduate of Boston College, who I’ve confirmed on the second page I’ll hand out, was also on the Dean’s list for academic excellence,” Lance stated as he passed out her resume and another page that likely contained something from her school about the Dean’s list.
I got both pages and could see he’d redacted portions of it—like her address, email, phone number, and former places she’d worked.
“Ms. Connelly is currently a practicing nurse at Boston General and has been for a number of years. The idea she’s suffering from any mental incapacity is insulting and...,” Lance was interrupted.
“Does Ms. Connelly seek medical care in regards to her gender-affirming care or mental state?” Nett asked.
That caught him a stern look from Clark. He’d absolutely caught one from me, and it was taking every ounce of self-control I could muster to not rip into this pompous asshole!
“Do you?” Lance asked.
“Do I what?” Nett shot back.
“Have a primary care doctor?”
“I’m not on trial here,” Nett replied smugly.
“This is not a trial, Mr. Nett. Answer the question, please. I, for one, have a few doctors I see,” Clark stated.
Annoyed, Nett gave in, “Yes, of course.”
“Not that tough a question,” Lance said, smiling. “Gender-affirming care has been heralded as saving lives; that’s a fact and an easy thing to Google right here and now if you question that, Mr. Nett. I even think Jennifer mentioned her friend Trinity told her something to that effect.
“You presented a lot of ‘mental state’ information as to whether my client is putting his daughter in harm’s way, but did you listen to her interview? Jennifer knows both her parents want to protect her, but there are going to be instances where that’s not possible—like driving, for instance. Ms. Connelly is no more a threat to her safety than Mrs. Lamb’s husband of just over a year now is.”
Lance pulled a series of pictures from a folder and slid them to Clark. I knew what they were, as they had been provided to me via a mutual friend of Denise's and mine. I’d complained to that friend about what Denise was up to and had mentioned Gary’s DUI. That’s how the pictures became part of Lance’s presentation for today’s session.
The pictures showed Gary and Denise at their wedding last year, someone from the wedding party holding a bottle of champagne and pouring that into glasses for the newlywed couple, them then toasting one another and drinking from the glasses. There was another picture of Gary’s empty glass afterwards and a picture of the bottle being moved to refill his glass. Damaging? Sure, but there were five other photos of Gary with either what appeared to be a mixed drink or a bottle of beer in his hand while at their reception.
Clark slid the pile of pictures to Nett. He didn’t look happy about what he was seeing.
“I only have a few more things to point out. The original decree does stipulate that each parent is to protect their common child, not to mention it’s a standard portion of any decree the state takes very seriously. By all accounts, each parent has done that adequately since the divorce was finalized three years ago. My client's dating habits should not be in question here though. He’s seen two women briefly over the past two years—certainly not a revolving door of potentially bad influences or a pattern of exposing Jennifer to needless danger”
I noticed Nett was glaring at Lance for the bombshell the pictures contained and which parent was more likely endangering Jenny since Gary and Denise started dating and up until now.
“There is no endless parade of new partners who appear and then disappear; in fact, I believe it was Jennifer during the interview process that mentioned she encouraged her father to see if Sara and he were even compatible. And while introducing a new partner to a child is well within a parent’s right while with the child, the other parent cannot dictate who will see their child or when without a real threat being evident.
“Mrs. Lamb’s reaction to her ex-husband's choice of dating partner resulted in a yelling match between the two of them where she demanded he stop seeing Ms. Connelly. I have a sworn statement to that effect from Mr. Styles' business partner, who witnessed one side of that conversation briefly,” he said, sliding it across the table to both Clark and Nett. “Her actions exhibit resentfulness and anger, possibly even her being insecure about Ms. Connelly for some unknown reason…”
“That’s not even close! He’s seeing a man who insists on dressing as a woman!” Denise scoffed as if disgusted to even have shouted those things.
Nett was on her quickly, telling her to not speak. Lance waited, but I think that pause was him trying to bait her to dig herself a deeper hole. He could have provided a recording of that call, and we with us, but Lance wanted show her having made the call was interfering with my employment beyond just me. If Nett had objected to Ken’s statement being offered as proof of her lengths of badgering me we’d play the audio since all calls were recorded at my office.
“The exposing of Jennifer to things, people, or something that might be inconsistent with one parent’s values could play both ways here. When Jennifer was asked if either of her parents had bad-mouthed the other, her answer was ‘No,’ at least not in her presence. Mr. Styles has told me that was one of the things they agreed upon, as parents, was to not disrespect the other parent in front of Jennifer. Mr. Styles seeing Ms. Connelly, a Trans woman, is a real-life situation not covered in the original divorce decree, and she poses no immediate danger to Jennifer.
“Rigid rules added to the decree now, after three years of successful parenting—which involved many compromises and discussions about raising Jennifer together—may not fit Mrs. Lamb envisioned outcome today. The decree does not state at what point a child should be introduced to a new partner or the length of time into a relationship that should happen or dating exclusivity or when the ex-spouse is to be notified of a new relationship or when that new partner is permitted to stay overnight at the ex’s home when the child is staying over. Jennifer is beyond needing to be babysat, so demanding the right to approve any babysitter in the current decree is well past being needed, and I believe both parties were flexible about that—though Mr. Styles never did have anyone other than himself watch Jennifer when he has his allotted time with her.
“When a spouse seeks a child custody agreement modification, it should be in the best interest of the child. Ms. Connelly is not a criminal, nor has she been convicted of any crime or enumerated criminal offenses that a court would be concerned about. Mr. Styles has been counseled by me on a Protection From Abuse Order (PFA) in regards to Mr. Lamb’s drink…”
“That’s bullshit, Brad! You know Gary isn’t an God damn alcoholic!”
“Mrs. Lamb! You will refrain from speaking unless directed to do so by me! Is that understood? Clark barked at Denise, slapping his hand on the table for emphasis. He turned to look at me, “That goes for you also, Mr. Styles.”
I nodded; I understood.
“Only preliminary discussions have happened with my client, but it is of note that in most cases the state could forbid all or unsupervised contact with Jennifer by Mr. Lamb. That could result in Mr. Lamb being forbidden from contacting Jennifer at their home, school, or any workplace she might have until she turns eighteen and beyond. There are other avenues we could look into, such as a Protection from Intimidation (PFI) Order. It would mean Mr. Styles would likely end up being awarded the primary caregiver, a reduction of support, possibly the alimony amount also, and a requirement for supervised visitations for Mrs. Lamb.”
“I think we’ve had enough ‘shooting across the bow,’ Mr. Allen unless you’re about to make a specific request of change to the decree of your own on behalf of your client,” Clark chided.
“Understood, the point for any of that is Mrs. Lamb’s counsel may not have advised his client of the consequences of a frivolous waste of my client's time,” Lance challenged.
“Noted, Mr. Allen… Mr. Nett, would you like a moment to consult with your client?” Clark asked.
“Yes, if we could take a small recess,” Nett replied.
[---]
The ten minutes of waiting for Denise and her lawyer to return felt like thirty. Lance had stepped out to make a call, and I’d checked my phone to see if Sara had said anything more—she hadn’t. Clark and I watched as everyone returned to the room at about the same time, sat, got situated, and waited for him to speak.
“Where are we at, Mr. Nett?” Clark asked.
“My client is willing to amend her request for supervised visitation for Mr. Styles, but would like to request mandated counseling with all parties to come up with a clearly defined parenting plan to level set expectations of those things Jennifer is exposed too. While not binding, it would be an appropriate next step given the nature of Mr. Styles’ current relationship,” Nett stated.
Clark looked to Lance and me.
“We don’t feel that’s necessary. Mr. Styles has abided by every portion of the original decree, and it’s clear he’s not about to put Jennifer in danger needlessly. He’s happy to discuss parenting issues with Mrs. Lamb as they have the past three years and doesn’t feel a third party mandate is appropriate at this time. Also, there will be no discussions entertained about any limiting of his rights. At this time Mr. Styles is not considering filing for any protections for Jennifer from Mr. Lamb as he feels Mrs. Lamb has her best interests at heart—that is against my recommendation, but it may be something looked into in the future,” Lance offered.
“Thank you… Anything more either of you wish to add?” Clark asked. When he got head nods he continued speaking, “My ruling, if you had not rolled back your intentions, Mr. Nett, is there would be no need to change the original decree. You’ve presented nothing that I or any court this petition was presented in would consider Mr. Styles has needlessly put Jennifer in danger – unlike the questionable behavior of Mr. Lamb. I feel Jennifer, while only sixteen, does understand the issue that’s brought us together today and clearly does not have an issue with Ms. Connelly or her father having relations with Ms. Connelly.
“This proceeding today would be evidentiary in the future, but you both know this already. And finally, I’m a bit disappointed we’re where we’re at today and trying to make a case to limit an ex-spouses ability to see whom they choose to see personally. That isn’t something I would have let be governed by a divorce decree without substantial evidence one or the other parent was needlessly putting their child in danger by who they allowed around their common child. I would have entertained suggested courses for Mr. Lamb’s continued access to Jennifer – within reason.
“On that note, if there’s nothing further, I’d like to thank you all for…,” Clark was trying to finish up his closing remarks, but Lance interjected.
“If I may,” Lance began and caught an irritated look from Clark. “There was an unnecessary financial burden placed on my client; we’d request your consideration for compensation by Mrs. Lamb.”
“I was wondering if you were going to bring that up. What’s your number, Mr. Allen?” Clark asked.
“Billable hours will amount to a roughly eight-thousand-dollar invoice I’ll be presenting to Mr. Styles. Plus there are those shared costs for your services,” Lance offered.
Clark considered the request for a moment, “I’ll award you five thousand, along with the cost of our mediation session – all to be paid by Mrs. Lamb.”
“Thank you,” Lance said as he closed up his portfolio, stood, encouraged me to stand, and we walked out of the room together.
[---]
“How did it go?” Jenny asked anxiously when she saw me in the hallway after we exited the conference room.
“Good, everything is fine, honey,” I replied trying to ease her angst I was picking up in her face and tone.
“Okay… You’re smiling so that means what?”
“Nothing is changing, so we move forward with a little more consideration for your mom's and my positions on parenting you.”
“Is she going to want to do that, like, allow you to see Sara?” Jenny asked, surprised.
“She can’t prevent me from seeing who I want to see, so she’ll have to figure out dealing with Sara or whomever… Might take her some time, but we’ll get it worked out, nothing for you to worry about, okay...”
From down the hall behind me I heard, “Jen, let’s get going…”
Denise’s voice was fairly level, with no outward signs of anger or annoyance in it, but I was pretty sure she was still fuming and not wanting that to spill over onto Jenny. More likely to have me know she was pissed it hadn’t gone her way in the end.
I got a quick hug and a kiss from Jenny.
“You have any problems, you call me, alright?” I coaxed, looking at her seriously.
“I will… Tell Sara I said ‘Hi’, okay… Love you, Dad,” she said before walking away.
“Will do kiddo, love you more…”
[---]
“You realize I was prepared to battle for a lot more back there,” Lance said as we walked out of the mediation offices into a chilled and gloomy Boston afternoon.
“I know, and I appreciate that,” was my reply.
“Why? Why not go after her?”
“I’ve told you the divorce was my fault. Stupid as it might sound, I feel some responsibility still to not fuck her over any more. I loved her once and know she’s got Jen’s best interests at heart. Sara, or any woman I choose to see, is something she’s going to have to adjust to. I just don’t feel like I need to be a complete ass about everything that pisses her off, and quite frankly, she’s been easier to deal with the past year with Gary. Jen’s got a schedule and routine, and while I’d love to see Jen more, she needs her mom too and I’d never want to bar her from her Denise or have someone babysitting the two of them like Denise wanted for me.”
“You know this isn’t the last time you’re going to get crapped on for seeing Sara?”
“I know,” I began, but noticed something in his tone. “You worried about something?”
“No, of course not, you know that. Just saying there’s a lot of intolerance out there, and you’re going to get doses of it that will test your resolve. Looks, veiled comments, whatever... Being Trans can’t be easy and I’ll bet dating someone who is Trans isn’t as simple as it should be.”
“Sara’s warned me and I got a bit of that already from Marty. I’m just trying to navigate my way with her, but I can’t stop thinking about her constantly,” I replied quietly.
“You’ve got it bad, buddy,” he said, smiling.
“Guess I do… You think Jen’s going to be alright?” I asked.
“Yeah, she’s impressive, Brad, seriously.”
“Agreed… I’m certainly proud of her.”
[---]
My text to Sara was simple and contained a smiley face emoji and a picture of me standing next to her car in the hospitals employee parking lot. It took less than fifteen seconds to get a reply which said: OMG! BE RIGHT THERE! DON’T MOVE!
::: --- :::
Author's note: Still got some life issues I'm dealing with, nothing crazy, but sucking my time away from writing. I'm working hard to bring this one to a conclusion. Thank you for hang in there with me.
Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this story if it's done anything for you. If you comment, I will reply.
If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can and have fixed many an “Oops!” after posting a story (Thanks to All for those assists – very much appreciated). I'm still growing as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued.
Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Relief -]
“Okay, so you’re smiling; that’s a good sign,” Sara said as she was walking towards me ten minutes later.
“Yeah, it went our way... Jen and Lance were so composed, me – I was a wreck,” I said as I gathered her in my arms and instantly thinking to myself that this felt good.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I leaned in to kiss her, and when I pulled away, I said, “I am now… That was stressful, though; I don’t want to do that again anytime soon.”
“I’m with you on that. It was stressful for me too… I’ve been worrying about you all morning; good thing I wasn’t in the OR; I’d have been a mess,” she said with a little giggle, but her face told me the giggle was her coming down off of being nervous or maybe just relieved. “Are we celebrating, or do you feel like celebrating?”
Her focus was on me, my feelings, and my needs, but did she know I had everything I needed at this moment in my arms? I couldn't help but smile back at her.
“I’ve seen that smile before. What are you thinking, Bradley?” She asked in a comical voice using the proper version of my name as if scolding me or thinking I was up to no good.
“That I just want to be with you.”
It was the truth, and I was about to say that, but she raised a brow, and I couldn’t help but take her in fully.
“Is that because I make you happy?” She asked maybe a little too shyly, so I couldn’t help but pick up on her fishing for some affirmation.
“That and more…” I smiled.
“Right answer, mister! Dinner, my place, six-thirty?” She asked, giving me a quick peck.
“Wouldn’t miss it—float me an address and I’ll see you soon,” I requested and kissed her properly before we separated to get on with the rest of our days.
[---]
I got to work just after 3 PM and told Ken and Marty I’d basically won and would tell them more after the markets closed and I got caught up on any calls I’d missed. Once in my office I found I had a dozen voicemails to get through; the next to last one of those was from Denise, left twenty minutes ago, asking that I call her. Shit!
“Everything alright?” I asked as soon as she answered.
I was hoping she and Jenny hadn’t started to argue about today’s events.
“Yes, Jenny is fine, but I kept her home from school so she could decompress. I just wanted a chance to discuss the mediation…”
Okay, reasonable action—have Jen take the day to relax after the stress of meeting with the mediator and seeing her parents getting all legal on each other. I can live with that. Her wanting to talk about the mediation? Not something I was interested in doing right now. She sounded like she was out, so at least this conversation would be contained to her vehicle and not spill over onto Jenny at the house if it went to hell.
“Would it be possible to do this another time? I’ve got clients I need to speak with, and right now I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”
“Look, I’m not going to apologize, not now or later or ever, so you can wipe that smug look off your face you had earlier, Brad.”
“I’ve got no smug anything on my face, and up until your message, I had no particular look on my face other than my ‘I’ve got work to do’ look. What do you want from me?” I complained.
“Caution when allowing ‘our’ daughter around this,” she caught herself from saying something inappropriate, “person you’re seeing. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
It took a lot of restraint for her to swap the word ‘person’ for whatever insulting identifier she wanted to lump on Sara. She might have sounded like she was playing the innocent, but I knew better.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Gary’s DUI? Seems like something I should have been privy to these past couple of years you two have been together,” I countered, though kicking myself for egging her on and not insisting we talk about stuff later instead, like after work later.
“Who gave you the pictures, Alice? No, I’ll bet it was Wade; I never really liked him. He’s gay, you know…”
“It doesn’t matter who gave me the pictures, Jesus! Does Gary drink when you two are out and with Jen? That seems like it would be something you should be more focused on than who I choose to see.”
“Of course not; he learned his lesson, so don’t go getting all righteous with me.”
“Righteous? Please… You know what? I’m trying to figure out how someone I used to respect has lost their ability to empathize or look objectively at someone’s situation in life without malice being the driver. This isn’t you, or at least the woman I was married to. I can’t see this attitude originating from Gary, so it’s really confusing to me why you’re so unwilling to give Sara the benefit of the doubt.”
“You know damn well the whole tranny way of life is nothing but fetish sex, and I don’t want any of that shit around Jenny! Can’t you see she’d be a temptation for someone like your… You know, ‘friend’ to do something that harms her.”
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but Sara isn’t a threat to anyone. I’d trust Sara with Jen alone, and you complaining to me about her sure sounds like you don’t trust my judgment. That’s insulting, given Gary’s history.
“And, you do realize that Trans-identifying people are less than a couple percent of the total population? I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to someone who’s Trans. Is there fetish or sex happening? Sure, just like straight regular porn – which we’ve both watched together, so I don’t understand this ‘porn’ complaint of yours. I’ll bet porn for someone who’s Tans is a very small percent of those people who are Trans, so to lump them all into one bucket? Come on, you’ll find more porn bullshit from those who identify as being straight male and female than Trans identifying people.
“Do you know how stupid what you said sounds? If you’re this worried about any Trans influence on Jen, you might want to consider homeschooling her or putting her in a damn bubble for God’s sake,” I complained.
“Yeah, well that’s something Jenny and I will be discussing—hanging out with those kids who are Trans. And back to my point,” she began, but I started talking over her.
“Please get there, because I’ve got work to do.”
“I will, but first, you know these people revert back all the time, like this is just a game to them, and they get off on tricking men into...,” she didn’t get to ramble on because I interrupted her again.
“You said you have a point? Want to get to it, please?” I begged, sounding annoyed, I'm sure, because I was nearing the end of my rope with her.
“Fine, I’m going to tell you again: you need to be aware of the ‘person’ you’re with and allowing them around Jenny. I don't want that 'person' alone with her, understand? If they do anything to harm her, I will hunt them down, Brad, and it will not end very well for him, I can promise you that!” she barked into the phone.
Congrats, you misgendered my girlfriend; why am I not shocked? Guess what? You still don’t get to dictate who I see or allow around Jen!
“Understood…” I said, pausing so she’d get that I heard her before dropping a bomb on her she never seemed to remember. “You realize all my office calls are recorded, right? It’s because legally we don’t want to be caught in some situation where a client said to sell ten shares of Tesla and we sell ten thousand of their Target shares instead. You just threatened Sara, Denise...”
“Fuck you, Brad, and your boyfriend too!”
The line went dead before I could say anything more, and I was left scratching my head as to what had just transpired and why I’d even bothered talking to her in the first place. I did, though, have a high level of confidence that that would be the last call she’d make to me on my office. Maybe I should consider talking to Lance about filing for a greater custody percentage of Jenny. This attitude she had kept sparking new embers to burn up my respect for the person I once knew and loved…
[---]
“She called? What for?” Sara asked, surprised.
I was surprised I’d even mentioned it and now was regretting I had. Damn you Ricky Martin!
“I’m really not sure, but she rambled, and it was pointless to engage with her. I should have known that,” I replied, knowing full well I’d bent the truth of what happened.
“Okay, but like, give me one thing she threw at you; maybe I can help with understanding her position.”
“Can we set this aside for another time?” I asked, drawing her into a hug as we sat there on her couch after a dancing lesson.
Dinner had been good, though it was DoorDash from some Mexican restaurant close to her condo, and we had to reheat some of it after it arrived. We’d talked about the mediation session while eating, and I spent a lot of that conversation focused on Jen’s interview. When I mentioned Jen telling the mediator I couldn't dance, that led to a bit of fun.
"How can a man with six hundred or more records not be able to dance?" she asked.
"I don't know, it just wasn't something I did. I've got no rhythm."
"Are you saying you can't even slow dance?"
"Isn't that just hugging with music in the background?"
That got her giggling, and then she got a conspiratorial look on her face combined with a wolfish grin.
"Come with me," she encouraged and led me by my hand to the living room.
"What, you're going to teach me to dance? Now?" I asked, smiling and sounding very skeptical.
"I want to see this lack of rhythm, because in another room... Well, you've got what I’d consider perfect rhythm," she replied with a seductive grin.
I felt a little flush and embarrassed but couldn't help but smile at hearing that. I considered telling her I very much enjoyed her ‘rhythm’ too, but I didn’t want to sound like a pervert or crass. Should I suggest we should go practice that kind of dance? Augh!
"Okay... Alexa," she called out, and after the 'ding,' she said, "Play La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin..."
The speaker parroted back her request, and the music began playing a few seconds later.
I watched as she took my hands and said, "We're not going to move our feet, just our arms. I want you to just be all loosey-goosey and let me move us."
I did as requested, skeptical this was going to give me any sense of rhythm to the up-tempo Latin beat of a bubblegum dance song that came out when I was probably still in high school.
"Why this song?"
"It's a repetitive beat, see...," she said, pulling/pushing our joined hands back and forth. "See, easy... Just like this, right..."
"I'm not doing anything," I complained.
"Sure you are; feel our movements with the beat," she said before singing along with the chorus, "Liv'n La Vida Loca..."
God damn, she was cute! She could so effortlessly make me feel alive and want her, all of her.
"When I step forward, you're going to step back. Same, following my lead with our arms," she said before stepping forward, and I was slow to engage with my cement filled shoes.
When she stepped back, I felt like she was pulling me and apologized, “Sorry…”
“We’re not done here... Loosen up those arms for me… Yes, just like this,” she said, pulling and pushing my arms to the beat. “Now a step back… See, you’ve got it. One more time, but step to me… ‘Liv’n La Vida Loca… Liv’n Lav Vida Loca…”
I did as requested, and she seemed pleased. We did this for the entire song, and when it ended, kissed and then had retired to the couch. That’s when I’d said something about Denise being ‘loca’ this afternoon and having called me. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I obviously wasn’t thinking!
Of course Sara wanted to know about the conversation. I was trying to take back what I’d said, and here we were now sitting on her couch with me wanting to be done talking about Denise, at least for today.
“How about this: share one thing she said, and I’ll,” she thought about what she wanted to say and finished with, “You can ask me anything you want, and I’ll give you a truthful answer.”
I smiled back at her, “Don’t I already get that?”
“I think you’ve got questions you’d like to ask but are maybe worried I’ll take offense or you think you might hurt my feelings if you asked. I don’t have much to hide, to tell you the truth, and I’m not afraid to share with you; I trust you.”
Those words hit home and hard, and they made me feel a bit soft inside.
“Like, what would you be willing to share? Not that I have any burning questions or specific question that is burning a hole in my head.”
“Ah… I see what you’re trying to do, mister… No, you first, then I’ll let you ask away.”
“What would I ask?”
“Anything you want… Quit stalling,” she replied smiling and giving me that cute raised brow look of hers.
I sighed, but only because this still wasn’t what I wanted to be doing, sharing with her the crazy from someone I’d been committed to in the past and was a total psycho this afternoon. I’d rather continue to embarrass myself learning to dance than admit I had any connection to Denise right now.
“Okay, one thing… Ah, so she… She said something about those who are Trans un-transitioning, no ‘revert back.’. That’s not true, right?” I asked.
“It would be a pretty small percentage, but there are some who do de-transition. I couldn’t do it, nor would I want to, and I’d bet you’d get a ninety-eight percent response to that idea for ‘not’ wanting to go back to the crazy people experienced prior to transitioning when they knew they weren’t living life as their true selves,” she stated.
“Denise was very… Like angry, saying stupid stuff, and all I wanted to do was get off the phone. I only returned her call to make sure Jen was alright, ya know...”
“She’s a bit confusing, I’ll give you that, and I’m glad to hear at least Jenny was okay. Did she say anything else?”
“Just making a point of still not being happy I’m seeing you. Oh, she said being Trans is about feeding the porn industry. Well, not in so many words, but basically that being Trans is all about ‘sex’ and the only focus. I told her that was nuts because there’s way more CIS porn crap out there.”
I felt pretty good about using the acronym CIS in such a way that it rang true considering what I was telling her.
“You’re probably right about the amount of CIS porn out there compared to the Trans-related stuff available. But,” she paused for a second to fix her eyes on mine, “the demand for that kind of thing is as big as any other kind of porn, so there are plenty of Trans folk with OnlyFans accounts or doing actual porn. It is what it is, though, in the end—porn—and absolutely not anything you’d find in a healthy relationship. There’s a lot of money to be made, though, with that stuff; don’t ever doubt that, and that’s why some people who identify as Trans sometimes do it. I think it’s about the quick cash and, secondly, for the ego hit, the attention, in my opinion at least. The idea that stuff could haunt then later in life isn’t considered and kind of sad.”
I was watching her closely; she seemed bothered by the mention of porn.
“I wouldn’t judge…”
That made her face snap back alert, and she was quick to say, “Oh, no… I’ve never done any of that. The closest thing to sexy I’ve posted was a picture of me at a beach in a bikini after, well, after I took care of that remaining male part of me. I’m not ashamed of having posted it or anything, but I’ve never thought of myself as pretty enough to do porn…”
“I’d disagree on the ‘pretty enough’ comment; you’re beautiful in my eyes,” I said, lifting her chin since she’d looked down after her comment and studying her eyes before leaning in to kiss her.
When we broke the kiss, she smiled that smile I loved seeing and took my hands.
“Thank you… Okay, so you shared; my turn, I guess. What would you like to know?”
I still didn’t have anything pressing I thought to ask about, though I did wonder if I asked to see pictures of her when she was younger if she’d be willing to show me. When I got the tour of her condo, I’d asked about the various pictures of her with people, like her mom, friends, and even one of her dad—though she’d said he passed when she was twenty-six due to bladder cancer. I knew enough not to ask her about her ‘dead name’ – though was curious…
“Nothing is off the table; I’m serious. Whatever you want to know, so don’t get all PC on me or noble…”
“Fine… I think, well... What’s your biggest fear about having transitioned?” I asked.
It seemed like a good question, not too tough or personal, and I was curious if there was something about having made such a permanent change that she worried about something in particular.
“Oooo… You met with my psychologist before coming over, huh?” she asked with a little giggle.
I nodded I hadn’t, but knew that was pointless because she was messing with me.
“So, transitioning is different for everyone that does it, but the fear of being alone the rest of your life afterwards is never far from your mind because you’re not what society is comfortable with… That’s a pretty big fear for me. I’ve got body image issues related to my weight, and I worry that I’ll balloon up and look ‘manly.’ I worry about hair loss a lot… I know there are amazing wigs to combat that if it happens to me, but I’ve never had to do that in the past, so it’s something I worry about when I look at my hairbrush on occasion and see a lot of hair. Stupid, I know, but something that kicks my dysphoria monster, my confidence. I’ve got plenty of insecurities I work really hard to keep buried or within manageable ranges.”
“Well, I can assure you I find you plenty pretty, and I like everything about you,” I said softly, squeezing her hands.
She stared at me for a long moment before speaking, “You probably don’t have any idea how much saying something so simple makes me feel, do you?”
“I didn’t say that for any reason other than it’s the truth and how I feel.” I got that out but felt like I’d stumbled a little while trying to do it right.
“Are you saying you like me?” she asked shyly.
“I kind of thought that was obvious and didn’t need a PSA announcement,” I offered, smiling.
“Make a note of this: women like hearing those things.”
“Noted,” I said before taking her in my arms and kissing her to let her know I ‘liked’ her.
[---]
The next couple of days were spent making adjustments to my usual routines. Tuesday night, after having ‘won’ the mediation, I’d stayed at Sara’s condo until about ten-thirty. I made it home and got five hours of sleep before I was up and joining my morning spin class, before joining her later at the café a couple a few minutes later than usual. That Wednesday and then Thursday she’d spent the night and my morning routine was modified, one of those mornings pleasurably with her instead of my spin class – so we’d both gotten our heart rates up. The other morning we’d hurriedly rushed to get going because we’d overslept somehow, so no spin class, and we’d arrived at the café later than usual.
She’d come over prepared for her own morning routines with a small duffle bag of clothes, makeup, skin care items, and her own hair care suite of products, brushes, flatiron, and hairdryer on those days. My bathroom now had a few of her things in it and I kind of liked seeing her toothbrush next to mine.
Our showing up together Thursday morning late hadn’t gone unnoticed. We got comments from Megan and the couple retired regulars, but it didn’t seem to faze either of us. Megan had told me Wednesday she was happy to hear about the mediation and then said something to me I found interesting.
“Not sure what you’re doing with Sara, but keep it up.”
“I don’t think I’m doing anything special,” I’d replied.
“Yeah, well, keep doing it…”
“Did she say something to you?” I asked a little worried because, to this point, Megan and I hadn’t really shared much in regard to what Sara and I were doing together. Had she been talking to Megan?
“No, and that’s the part I find interesting about you two,” she’d started, but I gave her a look that said I was totally confused with this conversation now. “She’s only been in one long-term relationship, and even in that one she knew it wasn’t going to last, but clung to it harder and longer than she should have. With you… Well, she’s been very different, more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a while, definitely more confident in herself, and happier than I’ve seen her ever. I really love seeing her like this and thought I’d pass that along,” Megan had said in a conspiratorial tone.
“I’m happy she’s happy.”
“I think you might be too?”
I reached for our cups of coffee after paying for them and just winked. I might have been smiling pretty good at her question.
[---]
“Dad?”
“Be right out,” I called from my bedroom.
I’m sure I heard Jenny ask me something else from somewhere out in the main living area of the condo, so I replied, “Huh?”
“It can wait,” she yelled, likely annoyed we were trying to have a long-distance conversation rooms apart.
“Hey kiddo,” I greeted her in the kitchen after finishing up putting laundry away and got a quick hug. “How was the game?”
“We lost; what’s new?” She complained.
“Ah… Did you at least have fun?”
“Guess so… What’s the Peloton doing out here?”
“Thought I’d switch it up,” I answered, smiling.
“Oh, the old ‘switch it up’ because you don’t want to disturb someone sleeping in your room in the middle of the night to pedal your frustrations away?” She sort of asked but mostly stated with a shit-eating grin.
“Ha, ha… How was school, besides your football team losing tonight?”
“Okay, I got a report I need to ChatGPT for next Wednesday…”
“Yeah, not happening… You know your teachers can smell that AI-generated stuff from a mile away,” I scoffed.
“Not if you are extra creative in the prompt you supply it with,” she stated, pleased with that answer.
“Still a big ‘No’ from this parental unit…”
“Mom doesn’t have that opinion.”
“Don’t care and think you’re plenty smart enough to ace whatever you put your mind to. You don’t need that AI stuff,” I coached. “How is your mom doing anyway? You didn’t have much to say about her all week. Are you two getting along?”
“She’s not happy with you, but what’s new... We’re fine, though she did insist on having the ‘Beware of Trans’ talk with me. She was less insulting than I thought she’d be and I’m not going to ignore my friends. I listened to her and do not agree with any of her position. Is Sara coming over tonight?” she asked with a little enthusiasm.
“I’m not surprised she’s still miffed. I got the same talk, if that helps any.”
“I’m sorry about that… Can’t be easy,” she said, looking a little sad.
“Not your fault, kiddo…”
“Sara?”
“She picked up a later shift today to get some time in the OR, so she said to say ‘Hi’ and wanted to know if you’d be up for early coffee or dinner tomorrow.”
“Absolutely, dinner—I’d like to sleep in, though. You can go meet her at O-dark-thirty if you want,” she said with a smile and then stopped to consider her next statement. “You know she could spend the night. It’s not like I don’t know what you adults do behind closed doors. Just keep it down, though…”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Damn kid, too smart for her own good and a wise ass sometimes.
[---]
My Saturday morning started much like yesterday had, up at 4:30 AM, eating and drinking some water, riding for thirty minutes, taking a shower and getting ready for the day, and meeting up with Sara at the café.
“Morning… You miss me?” She asked smiling, but I think she only asked that because I’d turned around to look her way a couple of times while in line waiting for my coffee.
“That obvious?”
“Maybe a little, but it makes for a nice way to start the day,” she said, rubbing a foot on the outside of my left leg for a moment and then reaching across to squeeze my hand.
I liked that she didn’t remove it after the squeeze.
“Withdrawals…”
“Jenny not up to a 6:30 AM start?”
“Nope, but she’s interested in catching some dinner, though. She… She said you could have spent the night; we’d just need to ‘keep it down.’.”
That elicited a giggle from the beauty sitting across from me.
“I’d be up for that, you know that, though I can’t say I wouldn’t have trouble staying quiet.” There was a knowing smile that accompanied that statement. “Probably best to let Denise’s ire calm a bit before we do that and Jenny accidentally says something.”
“Probably the smart move, but I don’t like that very much. I like seeing you more than a couple of minutes in those mornings we’re not waking up together,” I said, turning my hand so I could hold hers. “I moved my Peloton to the living room—that move wasn’t lost on my daughter.”
“Won’t be on me either… Thank you for doing that. It means we could shower together, you know, since I’m up at 5:30, and that’s about the time you finish your morning routine of staying healthy.”
“I like the sound of that… What are you studying this morning?”
“Anesthetic effects on recovery time, it’s dry, but another one of those things I need to file away and likely never need to recall,” she chuckled. “Seriously, though, the anesthesiologists are more in tune and responsible for this stuff, thankfully.”
[---]
When I got home, I peeked into Jen’s room, and it looked like she was still asleep. I was pulling the door closed when I heard, “I’m awake… How was Sara?”
I opened the door and stuck my head in. “Disappointed you didn’t want to get up at O-dark-thirty to grab some coffee, but happy you wanted to grab dinner.”
“Not believing that… She’s a smart girl; she knows when sleep takes precedence, I’ll bet,” she complained mildly, finally rolling over to look at me. “My guess is she suggested the Peloton get moved, right?”
“Actually, that was my idea… When I told her, she was happy about it, though.”
“I’m sure.”
“You want breakfast?” I asked.
“I’ll figure something out. Are we driving?”
“If you want… Oh, Sara said you need to figure out where we’re going tonight.”
“Too early for requests, Dad...” she moaned, but I knew she was just goofing.
“Yeah, well, get up and let’s get you behind the wheel. Here’s an idea—you could ask ChatGPT for a local restaurant recommendation with good reviews.”
“Haha…,” she groaned and rolled over.
“I’ll be around, ready to go when you are.”
“Mmhummph…” was my reply as I shut the door.
[---]
The driving lesson didn’t get underway until just after 11:00, and thankfully Jen was wide awake and prepared, because while out, someone didn’t stop at a stop sign on a side street and nearly hit us. I may have reacted inappropriately to the woman driving, flipping her off and uttering, ‘What the fuck, lady!’ That slip got me a snarky reply from Jen, ‘Language, Dad…’ I may not have laughed or liked taking my own medicine at the time, but when I’d told Sara about it, there were plenty of giggles, and I might, might have chuckled about it—finally.
Jen was an adventurous eater, which I think she got from me, so tonight we were sitting on the floor on decorative rugs with a couple of large metal platters set in the middle of us eating Ethiopian food. No forks, no plates—just our fingers, some kind of flatbread to scoop items together so we could shovel delicious food in our mouths. It was fun and the conversation lively.
“Does the hospital use AI for anything?” Jen asked, before taking a sip of tea I wasn’t too keen on since it was darker and more bitter than I cared for.
“I’m sure they’re looking at how to implement it; certainly there’s use of that in medical research going on, but we’re not as research-focused—though our cancer care is thought of as being one of the top places to get treatment on the east coast,” Sara replied.
“Dad won’t let me use ChatGPT to do a paper I need to get done,” Jen complained playfully.
“A lot of ‘gotcha’ issues to look out for with AI result sets. I’ve done some research, and some ideas they’ve returned repeat themselves later in the results, just worded slightly different. Super annoying,” Sara offered.
“You use AI, Dad?”
“It’s rare, but I have a few times. I just don’t like reading perfectly grammatical void of a human's thought process results. It’s dry and annoying,” I replied.
“Wonder what ChatGPT would have to say about the ‘Gulf of American’ idea?” Jen asked with a bit of a giggle.
“Or Canada and Greenland as a states?” Sara tossed out, shaking her head.
“I think even without any AI assistance, we know the guy heading for office is ‘off’ by a few brain cells,” I chimed in.
“Trinity is worried about her being able to continue to get access care, aren't you?” Jen asked Sara.
“I’m a good ways down that road,” Sara began. “They can try to roll that stuff back or restrict it, but they’re going to run into problems enforcing it legally I would bet. I could be impacted, but kids will suffer if we deny them care – that’s my biggest fear. If she’s got stuff set now for care now, she might want to ‘stock up’. Her doctor is going to know. If she hasn’t filed for a gender marker change, she might want to consider that before they try to lock it down and it becomes more painful to get. No fear mongering or anything, but it’s not going to be the way it was under the last president.”
The conversation drifted to other topics, and eventually the two large pizza-sized platters were picked up and a custard dessert was delivered. It was just the right amount of sweet after eating a savory main course. Thankfully we got spoons for eating it!
On the way out of the restaurant, Sara complimented Jen on the choice of restaurant as we walked Sara to her car.
“Thanks, ChatGPT, and someone in my biology class mentioned they’d eaten here and it was good. Are you coming back to the condo?” Jen asked Sara.
I was about to step in to encourage that, but Sara said, “I’d like that too; it’s just I’ve got an earlier morning than usual in front of me with a 6 AM assist for a gallbladder removal—otherwise I would. Rain check?”
“K…,” she said, doing something that surprised me—stepping into a hug with Sara.
Sara turned to me after the quick ‘girl hug’ event, saying, “Thank you for dinner. No coffee in the morning, but I’ll see you Monday.”
“Absolutely…,” I said, giving her a quick peck and hug.
[---]
In the car and on the way home, it didn’t take long for Jenny to start probing.
“I like her…”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I replied.
“Were you in doubt?” Jen asked.
“No… I’m just glad you two get along. Anyone I decide to see knows you’re my first priority, so that Sara buys into that really makes me happy.”
“So you like her, like a lot?”
The question was innocent, but I could tell there was a real interest in where my head was concerning Sara.
“I do… I like the way she makes me feel and how she’s ‘partner’ focused,” I offered.
“Partner?”
“You know, like jumps in for the benefit of the relationship because she wants it to grow…”
“And you want it to grow?” she asked and when I took a quick look at her there was a smile on her face.
“Yeah, I’d like to keep this going if that’s your question,” I said smiling back at her quickly.
“What about her being Trans?”
“That’s not a problem… Pretty sure some smart teenager pointed that out,” I said, reaching over to pat her leg.
“Have you gotten any grief from anyone besides mom about seeing her?”
“No, not really… She’s exactly the person she appears to be, and I like the person she is. If people don’t like that, well too bad.”
“Doesn’t hurt she’s cute though, right?” She asked with a little giggle, and I could tell she was looking at me.
“Yeah, it helps…,” I answered honestly keeping an eye on the traffic ahead of us.
“What percent does it help?”
“Percent? No percent… Where are you going with this questioning, kiddo?”
She sighed audibly, “You know Aaron Temple? He lives down the street.”
“Tall kid, baseball player; his dad is a cop – that Aaron?”
“Yeah, ‘that’ Aaron… See, well, he’s… He asked Michelle to ask me if I was interested in him.”
“They still do that in the tenth grade?”
“Dad! I’m being serious here,” she complained.
“Okay, okay… I know Aaron. What’s the problem?”
“He's nice and funny; I just don’t know about the acne, like if I can overlook it…”
“Are you thinking acne in some way compares to Sara being Trans?” I asked, confused.
“No! God, Dad! That’s not it,” she barked, annoyed.
“Okay, well… If you like him as a person, I can tell you his acne isn’t going to follow him through life. He’ll have good days and not good days, right? Couldn’t hurt to just do something casual, like a movie or troll the mall together, and give him a chance to show you who he really is.”
I was hoping, without saying so, that I’d taken the same advice from her about Sara.
“Okay… Can I go see a movie tomorrow with him?” she asked?
“I don’t see why not,” I smiled.
::: --- :::
Author's note: Don't ask me how I managed this get this chapter done with all that's going on in my world. There are probably one to two chapters left in this tale and you'll get a few answers to close this story out. Is it happily ever after? Stay tuned!
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If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can and have fixed many an “Oops!” after posting a story (Thanks to All for those assists – very much appreciated). I'm still growing as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued.
Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Sparks -]
Me: Jen is going to the movies with Aaron Temple from down the street. I’ve talked to Paula, Aaron’s mom, and she’s aware.
Denise: I know the Temple’s. Is she meeting him there?
Me: Yes, driving herself, then after the movie Jen is coming back here to get her stuff and heading home. I’ll have her ping you when she’s on her way.
Denise: And when she gets to the movie and leaves there also.
Me: I’ll pass that on.
Denise: OK
I stared at my phone, shocked. No complaints, no unreasonable demands, and no mention of Sara. This was starting out to be a good…
“What did Mom say?”
I looked up to see Jen dressed as nicely as she’d looked for dinner last night when we were out with Sara. You like this boy, don’t you – I thought to myself.
“You look nice…”
“Daaad…,” the oft-repeated complaint from my sixteen-year-old daughter, annoyed at me, floated across the kitchen like a scratch in one of my favorite records.
“She wants you to let her know when you get there and leave.”
“K… Was that it?”
“Yup, all she said.”
“No snarky comments about Sara?” She asked, giving me her ‘don’t lie to me look’.
“No… You want to see?” I asked, reaching in my pocket for my phone.
I wasn’t going to tell her I was as surprised as she was with that exchange or that I had expected it would have gotten uglier as she was assuming.
“Nah… Do you have a second to proof my initial draft for that report?”
“I’m sure it’ll take more than a ‘second,’ but I’ve got time.”
I watched her open her laptop up, maybe scrolling in some application, and set it down in front of a seat at the kitchen island. I sat, began reading, stopped to get a pad of paper and pen, before I sat back down.
“It’s in ‘Mark Up’ mode; you can just type corrections or suggestions,” she said when I looked to be focused on something and positioned my pen to start writing something.
“Oh, okay…”
I got refocused on where I’d left off and typed the word ‘rethink’ in a few places, the word ‘brilliant’ twice, and ‘not a very good argument’ after her last paragraph of summary. All told, ten minutes worth of reading and proofing—with the idea she’d have some minor corrections to do and should be well on her way to a decent grade in my opinion.
I stood to give her the seat I’d been occupying, saying, “Very good, I think you’ve captured the idea of free speech well. You argue the point that TikTok users are using the tool for expression, but I think you’re light on the whole ‘China’ connection and the security concerns.”
“If I told you this entire piece was written by ChatGPT, would you think differently?” She asked, smiling.
“No, but I know it wasn’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because there’d be more ‘China-China-China’ focus to the output,” I said, trying to mimic the way the future president liked to say the name of that country like it disgusted him and should others.
I finished my answer to her question with, “I would say AI would have balanced its output of arguments more than you did, and it would have emphasized the dangers of TikTok being a security threat, monitored use by the Chinese, and been a bit sketchy about how/why it collects data from users. I think ten different countries so far have banned its use; you should mention that and maybe contrast that idea to our right to free speech. The US could join that bandwagon—I doubt the company is going to survive the Supreme Court ruling coming up. I know a lot of companies—including my own—don’t allow that app on company-owned devices.”
“Okay, well, I wrote it,” she said, sounding dejected by likely too much adult content in my answer and not taking the bait for a ChatGPT argument with her.
“It’s good, Jen, just needs minor touchup work. Really, balance your arguments, fix a few sentences for clarity, sum it up better, and you’ll ‘ace’ the assignment,” I said, trying to encourage her.
I watched her stare at the screen, save her work, close the laptop, and stand.
“Thanks, Dad… I appreciate the help.”
“No problem, kiddo; we can look at it after the movie or later in the week. You think you might want to get going?” I asked noticing the time.
“Yeah… I’ll text you when I get there, and I’m leaving,” she said, hugging me before heading back to her room.
“Your mom too…”
“I will.”
[---]
I tracked Jen’s journey to the theater and was just about to call her because the little dot on my phone that was her wasn’t moving. At least three minutes it stayed stationary, even after a restart of the app. Eventually the dot began moving, and ten minutes later I got a message from her saying she’d made it, was with Aaron, and there was an accident she had to deal with getting around that caused her to delay getting in touch. I was grinding out a reminder to let her mom know when I received, ‘Pinged Mom’. I replied with, ‘Thank you’.
After Jen had left, I texted Sara asking if she wanted to grab lunch; I still hadn’t gotten a reply after thirty minutes or an indicator she’d seen my text, so I added, ‘Or dinner?’ just to increase my chances of her seeing I’d reached out and I was wanting to get together. Since she had a couple of personal items here, I decided I was going to make room in my closet and one of two dressers I had to see if she’d be interested in expanding her presence beyond the bathroom. Those nights she stayed over, of late, she would show up with an overnight bag with clothes for the next day.
It was time to change that, and I hoped she was interested.
Midway through emptying a couple of drawers, consolidating stuff, or bagging items for donation, I took a quick look at my phone to see if Jen was still where I thought she should be—yup. The movie had another hour, maybe a little more to go, and while I knew she’d text me when she left, I needed to check to set my mind at ease. Why? She’d always been a good kid; why the need to check? I could trust her to be true to her word—right?
Was it Denise’s attitude of late that had me doubting my relationship and trust in Jen? Damn it!
[- Fortifications -]
“Hey Brad, what’s up?”
“Sorry to be calling on the weekend, Lance. Got a second?”
“Call anytime, you know that. Nina just mouthed for me to say ‘Hi’.”
“Hey Nina… We could do this later, tomorrow when you’re in the office,” I offered.
“We’re just about to leave for a Costco run; you’re saving me money by delaying that trip,” he chuckled.
“Well, you own enough of that in your portfolio, so you’re kind of paying into its success with its price of late and, of course, the dividend.”
I heard him speaking to Nina in the background for her to check if they needed bars of hand soap before saying, “Sorry about that; I just remembered we might be low on soap. Okay, what’s up?”
“Got a call at work from Denise at work a few days ago… She was complaining about Sara, and, well, she kind of threatened her.”
“Kind of or did? I know your calls are recorded; can you email me that file?” Lance asked, sounding as if he’d instantly ‘clicked’ into lawyer mode on me, and my friend had taken a back seat.
“I can, and yeah, it was a clear threat she leveled.”
“What’d she say?”
“She doesn’t want Sara around Jen, especially alone. Thinks it’s a temptation or whatever, and if for some reason Sara did do something to Jen, Denise would hunt her down, and it wouldn’t end well,” I recanted as best I could remember her exact words.
“She knows your calls are recorded, right? You did say she called the office…”
“I think she forgot that fact, but I mentioned it to her. Doubt she’ll be calling the office ever again.”
“Alright, get me the file of the call. If it’s as bad as it sounds, then some of that work I did preparing to hit back with our own revision to the decree would be strengthened by that recording. Seriously consider what I told you about your chances for full custody, the reduction of both child support and spousal alimony, and supervised visits—not just because of Gary’s drinking history, but Denise making threats,” he outlined.
His points were all points I wasn’t oblivious to.
“Okay, I can do that, but I worry about Jen and what that change might mean or the stress it would lay on her. I don’t want Denise and my issues spilling over onto her, like back when we did the divorce. Sure, she’s older, but I don’t want her PTSD’ing or anything. I told you she saw a counselor for a little over a year, right? You know what I’m saying?”
“I do, but I’m not seeing Denise’s behavior changing; in fact, if she’s threatening Sara, that’s a bit of an escalation I’m not sure you should be ignoring. Does Sara know?”
“She does. I told her part of what we’d talked about, though I held back saying anything about the threat,” I said, probably sounding guilty about that or unsure I’d made the right decision to not tell her.
“Why not tell her?”
“I’m not sure… Her being Trans hasn’t been easy, and I… Sara’s been so supportive with Jen and me... I guess I don’t want to add to her pressures by highlighting a crazy ex-wife being a part of our relationship because the crazy keeps spilling onto me.”
Lance was slow to reply, “You think you’d lose her?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, my advice in regards to Denise is—what you aren’t changing, you’re choosing. Choose Sara, Brad,” Lance said as if he was speaking to me as my good friend and my lawyer had now taken that back seat.
[---]
Jen: Can I get pizza with Aaron? Right here in the mall, be home after that.
I looked at the app to see where she was, at the pizza place in the mall we’d gone to with Sara. Sneaky kid, already probably sitting at a table, and the pizza was likely already ordered.
Me: Sure, let your mom know what’s up.
Jen: Thanks, Dad!
Me: Say ‘hi’ to Aaron for me.
Jen: Yeah, no! lol
Me: On the road back here by 4—no excuses, AND he walks you to your car—no excuses. Understood?
Jen: K, 4, and to my car. You’re being very reasonable; Sara must be there.
Me: She isn’t, and I’m always reasonable with those who give that back to me.
Jen: I could debate that.
Me: I’d enjoy that.
Jen: JK
I knew JK meant ‘just kidding,’ but I had to look it up a few years ago when she’d texted me that one day after school. These kids used way too many acronyms to communicate.
Me: Yeah, enjoy the pizza.
Jen: Love you.
Me: Never gets old hearing that; love you too.
[- Invite -]
I’d gone back to my room to grab the couple bags of clothing I was going to donate when I heard the buzzer for the door. I hefted the bags and schlepped them to the front door, asking at the speaker who was there.
“Someone who’s missed you. Wanna let me in?”
“I’d very much like that,” I said, buzzing the front door and saying, “See you in a minute…”
I propped the door open and ran back to my room to make sure everything looked presentable. I was nervous about asking her to consider leaving more than just some makeup, shampoo, and other sundries here. When my inspection met my approval, I made it to the kitchen as the front door was closing.
“What’s in the bags?” Sara asked.
“Did some cleaning today, just some clothes to donate. Jen’s at the movie with ‘Aaron,’ the boy from down the street. Think she might like him. Word is he likes her,” I said, getting her in my arms.
“We’re alone?”
“Yeah, for a little bit, maybe an hour… Want to see what I’ve been up to?” I asked.
“Lead on…”
We walked back to my room and into my walk-in closet. I pointed out a section cleared out of about three feet worth where items could be hung up, and after pointing that out, I pulled out two large drawers that were empty.
“Think you could fill these spaces?”
“I might, but what about Denise?” Sara asked.
“What about her? She hasn’t been over here in well over a year, maybe closer to two years, and I don’t care what she thinks or if she knows you’ve got personal items here.”
That wasn’t the response from her I was expecting. I was beginning to worry I’d overstepped or pushed before she was ready to consider having more of a presence here.
Sara was studying me closely, looked to have her question for me reconciled in her mind, and asked, “There was more she complained to you about the other day, wasn’t there?”
I wanted to say, ‘No, of course not…,’ but I didn’t want to lie to her.
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, but your answer tells me my suspicion was correct. Do you want to talk about it?”
Lesson learned—don’t play poker with this woman!
“Sure…”
[- Tightrope -]
We returned to the kitchen, grabbed a couple beers, and sat at the counter next to each other. I began by going back over a few of the things I’d already told her; she listened, and then I shared the last piece of that conversation I’d withheld from her.
“She told me if anything happened to Jen, at your hands, it wouldn’t end well… I jumped down her throat hard through all of that, I promise. Look, I talked to Lance earlier, and I’m sending him the recording of the call, and he’s going to draw up paperwork to go after full custody of Jen and a few other things,” I said as if I were trying to right my original wrong of not telling her the full story.
“Have you talked to Jen about that, her potentially being required to live here full time?” Sara asked softly.
“No, but I think she’d be alright with that.”
“What are the other things you’d go after in the decree?”
“A change in child/spousal support and possibly supervised visitation for both Denise and Gary…”
Sara made a face.
“That’s likely not going to go over very well; I seem to remember you not liking getting hit with a requirement to have a babysitter while Jen was here. You know, I hate that I’m the catalyst for this pain I’ve brought on you and Jen…”
“She can’t dictate who I want to see or be with, Sara,” I complained.
“I realize that, but it puts me in a position I don’t really want to be in, and I’m affecting a lot of change on people, and some of that may not be well received,” she stated, not breaking eye contact.
“She can’t just threaten you; I’m not going to put up with that from her or anyone.”
“You realize, and I’m just guessing here, that whatever her issue is with me is likely because she’s bought into the disinformation spewed by political idiots that spreads like those California wildfires. Fear-mongering is their go-to method of recruiting followers,” she said softly.
“None of that stuff matters to me,” I countered.
“I know, but again, I’m struggling with the price you’re paying for what we’re doing together, and it weighs on me… I’m not going to lie and tell you I won’t try to cling to being here with you; I’m just not sure I can keep doing it,” she said, looking at me with eyes that pleaded for some indication I understood.
“Hey,” I reached out and took her hands. “You’re not getting away from me that easily, well, unless you really want to.” There was a hint of a smile on her face, and my heart buoyed just a little. “I’m pushing back, believe me, and it’s going to hurt. Denise is going to fail at whatever this crusade is that she thinks she’s on right now, and it’s going to be a great lesson—which in my mind is stay in your own damn lane and leave me the hell alone!”
“I hear you; believe me, I do… I realize all of that, but maybe a threat of action would be enough to back her up a little? What if you had Lance contact her lawyer in a friendly warning kind of way to say he’s drawing up papers based on her threat? The guy will let Denise know, and maybe she stews on it a little and reconsiders her pushing. It might be a subtle way to change her behavior.”
“Denise is likely to go ballistic when this drops… I know her; she’s never been one for threats or ultimatums or people trying to guide her in a direction.”
“It’s not an ultimatum, but it would get her attention,” Sara offered.
“Why not just rip the band-aid off quickly?”
“Because showing a shred of decency might play better in the long run – not only with Jen but also with Denise,” she offered, sounding confident in her summation.
We talked a little more, and when I got the text from Jen she was on her way, Sara said she was going to leave.
“Something I said?”
She put a hand to my face. “Of course not; I’m just beat, honestly, and really just want to soak in a tub, light a couple candles, have a glass of wine, and hit the sack early. Tomorrow morning, café, alright?”
“Of course… I… I wish you’d stay,” I said, leaning in to kiss her softly.
“I know, but really I’m running on empty, and that half a beer sapped me. Tomorrow after work let’s do something?” She asked, smiling, giving me a quick peck before standing and taking my hand before making her way to the door with me in tow.
At the door we hugged, there was another nice kiss, and she’d squeezed my ass playfully.
“You’ll consider bringing some stuff over then?” I asked hopefully.
“Count on it…”
[- Countered -]
My morning routine was difficult to get rolling at 4:30 AM. I hadn’t slept all that well because I had worried about Sara for most of the evening. Jen had picked up on my worry after she’d gotten home from the movie and pizza, but I was able to move the conversation to other things, and shortly thereafter she was off to Denise’s place.
At the café, Sara was as vibrant as she always was, which had me wondering if she was overcompensating so as to not worry me or show me she was still concerned about us. I asked subtly, but she assured me everything was fine, even telling me in her trunk there was a small suitcase with some stuff she’d bring over later. In the end I had to accept she was being honest with me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling we weren’t on a solid footing.
“Morning,” I said, catching the time was nearly noon, so that statement was just about in error.
“Hey Brad… So, I reached out to Wayne to confirm the amounts you pay in support were correct. He knew I knew they were already, so he asked what your intentions were, and I told him the truth: you were considering pushing for a change. No details on exactly what we’re doing, but I’m sure the message will get back to Denise that she’s crossed a line. Funny thing, though, he mentioned she’d updated her will and was going to name Gary as Jenny’s guardian should something happen to her,” Lance told me.
“What? That can’t happen, can it?” I complained a little shocked to hear that.
“No, not unless you really screwed something up. If Denise passes, Jenny’s custody would be assigned to her immediate parent. Truthfully, I think he was just posturing, and I’m a bit surprised he thinks he can make a case for that and some judge would sign off on it. I think this guy is bilking Denise with unfounded legal advice.”
“The new administration coming into play, could that give Denise any footing?”
“Possibly, but again—you’d have to really screw something up in your personal life for that to even be a wisp of a possibility.”
[- Partners -]
The rest of the week had gone by in a blur. The markets wanted to have faith that the new president-elect would be good for businesses when he took office—though they seemed to totally ignore his continued craziness revolving around Panama, tariffs, and deportation of millions of immigrants. Did those supporting this guy understand the cost and who was going to be saddled with that debt when all was said and done? Guess kicking the can down the road would be the legacy of this guy's political spending.
The dinner party Lisa and Ken had put together had been pushed a week due to scheduling conflicts by both Ken and Marty. Saturday afternoon Sara had come over with a couple of outfits in tow to get Jen’s help with deciding what to wear tonight. She and Jen spent easily an hour doing girl stuff in my bathroom getting ready once the final outfit had been decided on. I wasn’t allowed to see any of that course, but I heard them laughing and giggling way too much. Have to admit, I liked hearing them getting along.
When I finally did get to see Sara, she was a vision that literally took my breath away.
“Wow Dad, speechless much?” Jenny had joked.
Yeah, I was certainly speechless, and I did blather on and on about how beautiful Sara looked. That was a bit embarrassing, not because Jen was standing there watching it all, but because I’d really put my heart out on my sleeve during that bit of complimenting. When I was done with my gushing over Sara, I suddenly felt underdressed and not worthy of being seen by her side. The dinner was an informal affair, and I’d complained that I should probably put a tie on just to get a tiny bit closer to Sara’s level of perfection but was told to skip it by both girls.
“You two look perfect,” Jen had told us and insisted on getting a picture.
At Ken’s place, the reception by Lisa took a load of my worries away, especially when she’d whispered in my ear that Sara was absolutely beautiful. We were the last couple to arrive, and after introductions and drinks being procured, there was the separation of the sexes—women to the kitchen, men out to the grill. We heard the girls giggling a few times, but I was nervous for Sara and hoped she didn’t think I had abandoned her.
“Anything further on the Denise front?” Marty asked.
“No, there has been radio silence the entire week. Lance hit me up yesterday to say he’d finished all the paperwork,” I told him.
“Still not sure I understand the will designation; she can’t do that crap,” Ken said as he was turning the sizzling steaks on the grill and the flames licked the beautiful cuts of meat.
“That’s what Lance told me,” I replied, taking a pull from my beer.
“Are you going to let him file?” Marty asked.
“Sara and I probably need to talk about that a bit more…,” I conceded, which got me looks from both of them, so I explained her concerns.
“I like her,” Ken said after I’d told him her thoughts on the subject. “She’s not out for blood but will fight if backed into a corner—that’s reasonable, and she’s considering Jenny.”
At the dinner table, all three couples were incredibly relaxed, engaging, and we all laughed a lot. That was likely due to the wine, beer, and alcohol being consumed—but it did help my nerves that everyone was treating Sara like she was an old friend. The conversation flowed without any of the strain I’d thought might be there, given Marty had been an ass when I’d clued him into Sara being Trans.
In the hour it’d taken to eat, not once had the idea that Sara was Trans was brought up organically. I wondered if Lisa had grabbed a few minutes with Marty before we arrived to put her foot down and let him know she wasn’t going to put up with any crap tonight.
“Well, if everyone is done, let’s have the ladies retire to the living room, and us guys will clear the table,” Ken said.
“Fine by me,” Lisa stated, sliding out from the table and encouraging Sara and Marty’s wife Valerie to join her. I watched her kiss Ken quickly and usher the girls out.
The guys made fast work of clearing the table, got to hear the girls laughing a few times about something celebrity-based, we think, and eventually joined them in the living room. Two more hours of conversation ensued, and it was Sara who brought up the first real mention of the Trans topic after Marty had said something about the president elect was going to make it hard for illegal aliens to continue to reside here and how that was going to screw the farming industry.
“He’s after more than immigrants; those who are Trans are going to suffer,” Sara stated.
“How so?” Valerie asked interested.
“Access to gender-affirming care, possibly rolling back secured protections. It could trickle down to legal documents that declare who I am,” she replied.
“I don’t get the motivation,” Lisa stated.
“Smoke and mirrors, give his base something to fear and hate, make false claims like mutilating children’s sex organs so they can propagate the narrative that someone like me is mentally afflicted. It’s sad; I know of three Trans girls who took their lives because they couldn’t get a handle on their gender dysphoria,” Sara said solemnly.
“Is that common?” Ken asked.
“More than you might expect…,” Sara said softly, obviously bothered by sharing that.
“Well, I for one am very sorry there isn’t more understanding of this,” Valerie stated.
After that brief foray into Sara’s and others struggles, the evening came to an end. There were hugs all around, Marty even hugging Sara and telling her it was nice to finally meet her. Yeah, I was a little shocked by that, but didn’t let it show.
When I hugged Lisa goodbye, she whispered, “I really like her, Brad. I think she likes you a lot, so don’t screw it up.”
We both laughed, she kissed my cheek, and I felt like the evening had turned out to be a success. Sara was introduced to my closest friends and they seemed to like her as much as I did.
[---]
The drive back to my place was pleasant, and we held hands for most of it and talked casually about the dinner party and my colleagues. Sara told me she really liked Lisa, and I told her about how during the divorce she’d talked me off the ledge a few times into the wee morning hours.
“I’m glad she was there for you. I get the sense you’re pretty important to both her and Ken.”
“We’re close; they stuck with me when Denise was rallying our friends early on to her side, incessantly dragging me through the mud and generally just being hurtful. I admitted when asked that I was the cause of the divorce, I think people appreciated the truth, but knew I wasn’t the devil she was making me out to be. I don’t ever want to do that again, and I won’t,” I stated.
“You sound pretty sure of yourself. Does that mean marriage isn’t out of the question for you one day, I mean, assuming you find the right person?” she asked thoughtfully.
“No, not out of the question... I’m older and wiser, certainly. How about you? Is marriage something you’d consider?”
“I’ve thought about it certainly; I just need to find the right guy,” she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek before sitting back and placing our hands on my thigh.
At the condo we found Jenny engrossed in some Prime video series, but turned it off to get the scoop on our evening. I watched the two of them slip right back into that girl’s mode and giggle about whatever story or train of thought either of them threw at each other. That is until…
“You staying the night?” Jen asked.
I looked at Sara and grinned, but she stayed focused on Jen.
“I’ve got an early morning; I might actually get in on a couple of surgeries, so I should probably go,” Sara said, sounding a bit like that’s not how she really wanted to reply.
“You’re not leaving because of me, right?” Jen asked, sounding like she felt guilty about Sara leaving.
“No,” she said, taking Jen’s hands, “If I was a few years younger, we’d stay up all night, do our nails, and talk about the boys in our lives. Your dad says you might be interested in someone?”
That got me a sharp, crisp look from my daughter, and I smiled weakly in reply.
“Dad… We just went to a movie,” Jen complained.
“That’s all I said.”
She looked to Sara, who shrugged, which was the equivalent of throwing me under the bus.
“Really?” Jen said, looking at me.
“Okay, I told her you might like Aaron… In my defense, you looked really nice for the movie last weekend, so I assumed, well, you know,” I replied, and that sounded like I was backpedaling.
Sara was smiling, which seemed odd to me, but I figured out soon enough they were both messing with me when Jenny burst out laughing. They’d talked this out earlier I was told and I was set up brilliantly by my daughter – and girlfriend.
“Hahah, very funny, you two,” I complained.
“Can’t you stay?” Jen pleaded. “We can mess with him some more.”
“As fun as that would be, I do need to get going. Thank you for the help this afternoon; I really appreciated your take on this outfit and the help with my hair,” Sara said, gathering Jen in for a hug. “And you… Wanna walk me out?”
“Sure…,” I said liking that these two were getting along so splendidly.
[---]
“She knows…”
“What?”
“She saw the room you made in the closet for me and asked about me spending more time here,” Sara explained.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth and that I was going to keep more clothing items here for convenience.”
“Did she ask about you moving in or whatever?”
“She did, but I said we were taking it slow. She’s not stupid, Brad. She knows her mom would likely throw a fit if that were to happen…”
“Would you move in if I asked you?”
I had asked that question before thinking it out fully and was kicking myself because the timing probably wasn’t right. I wasn’t drunk; I hadn’t had but two beers all night, but this was something I’d thought about a lot, especially while cleaning out my closet.
“You’re cute, you know that?” Sara said, smiling. “How about we table that until we know what Denise is going to do about you possibly filing for a change in the divorce decree?”
Was she being too logical or realistic with me about my request?
I was about to say something, but she stepped closer, got a finger to my lips to silence me, and said, “I think you know the answer to that question, or at least I hope you do by now. Let’s talk about this after work tomorrow.”
There was a very sensual kiss delivered after that request, and afterwards I agreed we could talk about it tomorrow, but I did make the point of saying I needed to escape feeling like I couldn’t live my life because it might piss Denise off.
“I agree… I don’t want memories keeping you locked in the past or worrying about repeating some mistake with me or walking on eggshells because of me. We can and will adapt to whatever is thrown at us, but let’s see what we’re up against first,” Sara said, hugging me, giving me a quick peck, and getting in her car.
[- Nothing -]
“Still nothing, huh?”
“Yeah, nothing,” was my response to the question.
“And you two have talked this past month?” Lance asked.
“A couple of times a week, which is totally typical, but she has yet to ask me about you drawing up papers for a change to the decree or the threat your reaching out to her lawyer obviously was...”
“Very strange… Did you ask her about the change to her will?”
“No, it… It wouldn’t, like, it didn’t feel right to ask. You said it wouldn’t go anywhere if she passed, so I didn’t press,” I whined my answer and felt like I’d dropped the ball in preparing for Denise’s next crazy offering—though she’d been unusually silent the past month with her crazy. “Besides, Jenny will be eighteen in less than two years, so the point is moot, right?”
“Likely, but I’d sure like to know what’s going on with that or why there wasn’t any pushback. It’s not like her. If we move on the decree, it’s straight to court, no mediation—we let a real sitting judge decide, not some mediator out to make a buck. We’ll show we’ve gone that route twice already; the ruling the last time was in our favor—though they’d withdrawn the attempted change, and we push we want a judgment based on her recent actions,” Lance coached.
All I could think about was how the last thirty-three days had been oddly quiet on the Denise front and how ‘normal’ my life felt of late. Sara was spending more time at my place than not and had agreed to move in once we knew what Denise was really up to. She refused to stay over on weekends when I had Jen, which might have put a little wedge into their relationship—though thankfully they were about the same giddy, giggling girls when together and hadn’t let that become an issue between them.
Life was good, like really good, with Sara around more, and I was well into a new routine that wasn’t so rigid. She’d asked me once whether I was just living or alive. I assured her I wanted to feel alive like this every day, pushed, and challenged to be a better man. Her answer to that had been humorous, but I got the message loud and clear.
“Good, because that’s how I want to live my life… Well, minus the ‘better man’ thing. Been there, done that, and don’t want to revisit that,” she said giggling about the ‘man’ part.
If the last thirty days were any indication, it was entirely possible we could have a future together, and that gave me hope. This weekend we were going away to Cape Elizabeth, Maine, to stay at a bed-and-breakfast inn to celebrate her birthday. It would be our first trip together away, and I had something special planned.
The time away required Denise to agree to keep Jenny for the weekend. When I asked her about that she wasn’t quick to agree, but there really wasn’t that much pushback either.
“You’re going away with your friend?”
“Yes,” I replied, expecting the bomb to explode because I’d cut the red ‘Yes’ wire instead of the blue ‘No’ one.
Shouldn’t have mattered who I was going away with, and if she’d have complained anymore, I’d have mentioned I had taken Jen twice last week because she wasn’t feeling good and Gary was away on business. She’d asked me to do that because she didn’t want Jen getting sick with her semester finals right around the corner. We could be reasonable with each other when we wanted, so I appreciated after her ‘friend’ question she’d agreed without any further complaining.
[- Prescription -]
“Hey you… I was just thinking about you,” I said all cheerily while sitting in my office watching a mild market correction swing to the negative after a good start to the day.
“Hey yourself,” Sara replied.
I got the feeling something was up judging by her tone.
“What’s up?”
“Did Jen talk to you at all this morning?”
“Yeah, the usual ‘Hey Dad – love you’ text I usually get after I text her, why? She say something to you?” I asked, confused.
The two of them texted daily, generally ‘Hey’ and ‘Have a good day’ type stuff. I got those daily also and appreciated that my teenage daughter did that—reached out to stay connected to not only me but also Sara.
“Yeah, but I’m a little worried, she had some questions for me this morning…”
My heart sank.
“Like what? Is something up with her and Aaron?” I asked, knowing I sounded overly worried.
Jen and Aaron had been dating for a couple of weeks now, and my first thought was they’d been intimate and…
“No, but… Okay, just so you know she’s fine, but she asked me about a prescription medication called Temodar. Guess she was looking for something in Denise’s bathroom and came across the bottle, did an internet search, and wanted to confirm why her mom might be taking it.”
“I’ve never heard of it… What’s it for?”
I was both relieved and concerned—Jen didn’t have any immediate problem, wasn’t in any trouble or hurt, but whatever this medication was sounded problematic for Denise if I was picking up how Sara was being gentle about telling me what was going on.
“It’s got only one use that I can tell, and that’s for brain tumors, specifically glioblastomas, which are rapidly growing cancerous tumors. I’m really sorry, Brad…”
“Did you tell Jenny that?” I asked, concerned.
“Initially no, but she’d already researched the use, so her asking was just her trying to confirm what she’d found out…” When I hadn’t processed everything I’d just heard quickly enough, she said, “Maybe you should reach out to her, and then Denise… This weekend might not be a good time for us to get away. I can call and cancel if you want. We can get away some other time, alright?”
I was hearing everything she was saying to me, but my heart was breaking for Jen. I didn’t know what any of this meant for Denise, but I wasn’t cold and heartless enough to wish something like this on her – if in fact this medication’ only use was for a cancerous brain tumor.
“Yeah, alright… I, a… Okay,” I stammered. “Thank you. Let me make some calls, and I’ll get back to you later.”
“Sure… Hey, I’m here for you; don’t forget that…”
“I know… I’ll talk to you in a bit,” I replied before ending the call.
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Explained -]
I waited until Jenny’s lunch period to try and call her and it went straight to voicemail. I’d texted her after the call from Sara to ask her to call me when she went to lunch, so when she didn’t call I was worried. When I tried Denise’s phone I got the same response – straight to voicemail. I texted her asking if she could call me when she had a moment, now even more worried that I couldn’t get either of them to communicate with me.
To satisfy my own curiosity about Denise’s possible health issues I did what Jenny had done, searched the web for the Temodar drug and what the tumor it treated, glioblastomas. The list of symptoms was long and ranged from headaches to vomiting to seizures to memory loss. I hadn’t heard of Denise having any of those issues via Jen, but it was possible she could be hiding any of those from her. Denise had a history of migraine like headaches, but there was no correlation I found in any research between that and a brain tumor.
There was mention of possible ‘mood or personality’ changes. That wasn’t something I expected to find, but it could explain some of Denise’s behavior of late. The woman I met in college was not the woman I’d been dealing with these past couple months – scorned or disappointed in me ex-wife or not.
Treatment options were limited due to most cases being graded at ‘4’, in regard to severity, upon discovery / diagnosis. Surgery was an option, with the hope of removing as much of the tumor as possible so as to keep it from growing. I read nothing encouraging about the removal process being able to stop the spread of the cancer cells to surrounding healthy brain tissue. The only bright spot to surgery was it reduced the pressure on the brain of the growing tumor and sometimes lessened symptoms.
Radiation therapy and chemotherapy were the next courses of treatment, along with taking the Temodar drug. There were a host of immunotherapy and targeted therapy techniques that could be employed to slow the cancer’s progression after initial treatments were done, but they were focused on quality of life, not necessarily eradication or beating the disease. From all I’d read I wasn’t sure what course of action Denise was going to take or if she’d even consider asking me for help at all or had a plan for Jen, other than that stupid change to her will which wouldn’t hold up in court.
Statistically speaking her chances of beating this type of cancer was less than ten-percent and regardless of how much she’d tried to hurt me lately I didn’t want her to suffer with this disease. There was mention that this kind of cancer wasn’t hereditary, which was a relief to read and something I hadn’t considered – I certainly didn’t want Jen living in fear she might get this form of cancer. I needed to get…
“Hello, this is Brad Styles,” I said nervously answering my cellphone and seeing it was from Jen’s high school.
“Mr. Styles, vice principle North, just calling to inform you Jennifer has left for day after a call we got from her mother, Mrs. Lamb. I generally wouldn’t be calling, but she seemed quite upset, and I thought you should know,” the female voice informed me politely.
“Thank you, I… Well, we got some unfortunate family news and she’s taking it very hard. It’s possible she’ll be out the rest of the week. We’ll get back to you tomorrow to let you know,” I answered.
“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. I hope Jennifer is going to be alright…”
[- Switzerland -]
“Hey Brad, come in…”
“Thanks, how’s everyone doing?” I asked Gary.
“As well as can be expected… Denise is in the kitchen,” he said after closing the door and leading me in that direction.
I wasn’t sure what I’d be walking into coming over to Denise’s to check on Jen, but when I saw her she looked as she did the last time I’d seen her – except maybe a little tired and obviously had been crying.
“Hey…,” I said softly when Denise looked my way.
“Not sure I have the energy for this right now,” she replied deadpan and as if my being here annoyed her.
“I just wanted to make sure Jen and you were alright, see if there was anything I could do.”
“We’re still exploring our options,” Gary said, which got him a ‘look’ from Denise and he didn’t say anything more.
“Alright, well the offer stands. Is it alright if I check on Jen?”
“She’s not going with you,” Denise snapped.
“I know, I just want to check in with her,” I replied softly.
“Go ahead,” Gary said placing a hand on my shoulder.
I took that as him encouraging me to go and do what I’d come here for – check on my daughter. I didn’t wait for another volley from Denise and turned to go find Jen. At her room I knock softly, and peeked in the door.
“Hey kiddo…”
When she saw me she jumped up and rushed to get into my arms. The last time she cried this hard, this broken hearted, was when we’d told her we were getting a divorce. I wanted to take this pain from her, but couldn’t and freely shed a few tears with her, while doing my best to try and calm her, and steady my own emotions.
“Look… There’s new medicine and techniques for battling cancers like this coming out every day, all hopes not lost,” I cooed. “Your mom is one tough woman, so you can believe she’s going to fight like hell, okay…”
We stood there a long time without saying anything. Jen would seem to have gotten control of her emotions, but would slip back into sobbing after expressing something depressing or heartbreaking about this whole situation.
“It’s not fair,” she whined finally.
“I know, I know… She’s going to need you to be strong, me too. She’s got a fight to win, so we gotta be there for her, okay…”
We spent the next twenty minutes talking about how we could help her mother and when she seemed talked out I gave her a gentle hug and kissed her forehead. I mentioned I’d told the school she might not be there the rest of the week and to let her mom know if she didn’t want to deal with it tomorrow or the next day.
“You need anything, anything at all, call me – don’t text me – call,” I said looking deep into her eyes.
“I will…”
“Promise?”
“Daaad, I will…,” Jen complained with a weak smile as a parting gift, along with saying, “Love you.”
“Love ya more,” I said and left her to head back to the kitchen.
Denise wasn’t in the kitchen any long, but Gary was when I entered.
“How’s she doing?” he asked when he saw me.
“Better, but she’s hurting. Look, I wasn’t kidding about helping in any way I can. Probably not what Denise wants to hear right now, but yeah… Let me know alright?”
“Sure… I, if you could slow any legal actions you might have planned that might quell some anxiety and stress around here,” Gary suggested.
“I don’t want to do anything legal, but she can’t dictate my life,” I replied as gently as I could.
“I get that, but I think being replaced by your friend right now is troubling her, if that makes any sense.”
“Sara isn’t interested in taking anyone’s place, Gary. Truthfully as Jen ages we’re going to become less her parents and more her trusted advisors. Sara and Jen are friends, but there’s respect also and a trust being built between them. I wish Denise could see that Sara isn’t a threat to her always being Jen’s mom,” I tried saying, but the ‘complaint’ in what I’d rambled was maybe a little obvious.
“Your friend, Sara, isn’t a typical woman Brad, you have to know that. Denise’s feelings on who your friend really is can’t be something you haven’t experienced from others,” he stated a little too smugly for my liking.
“What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”
“Do I need to spell it out? Born male and masquerading as a woman, I mean come on… No one would care if you were gay, but a…,” he stopped speaking when Jen appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.
I looked over at her, then back to Gary, before saying, “How about we just focus on Denise getting better, supporting her through whatever treatment option she’s going to take?”
I was fuming and had Jen not shown up would have ripped into him. What few shreds of respect I had for this guy were now completely gone. Was Denise’s attitude of late coming directly from him?
“Agreed, and with that in mind we’ll need Jen around, so call your lawyer off,” he replied sounding mildly annoyed now.
Fuck you Gary! Is this shit all just a game to you?!
“What are you two talking about?” Jen asked.
It was obvious this asshole was all about throwing me under the bus in front of Jen, but I needed to keep her from seeing that.
“Nothing honey… Just talking about supporting your mom,” I stated.
“Are you filing for a change or something in the divorce thing?” Jen asked.
Fuck!
“Everyone uses the legal system Jen, your parents are no different and we’ll do what we think is best to protect you,” I said trying to add reason to the idea of legal actions being something that might happen.
“Like why? Why are you guys doing this again?”
“To protect you, sweetie...”
“Your dad wants full custody Jenny, that’s what this is about,” Gary said calmly.
“Dad?”
“I think your dad was just about to leave, Jenny,” Gary said taking a step in my direction as if he were going to show me out forcibly.
“We’ll talk this weekend Jen,” I said getting an arm around her in a half-hug. “Nothing to worry about, promise…”
“You’re not going away with Sara?” she asked surprised.
“No, another time,” I said turning for the front door.
“But, what about the ring?” she asked.
Augh! Not the slip I needed from her right now…
[- Honesty -]
I made it back to the office in time to work with three different clients regarding their accounts and projected income in retirement based on their projected expenses they calculated and gave me. All three left satisfied with my presentations and hopeful their savings would last well into their nineties with a continued strategic investment in the market. These couples weren’t typical, so I was riding a bit of a high as my work day came to an end.
When the last of those meetings was done I checked my phone for any messages, there were two.
Jen: I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m so sorry Dad.
Me: No worries, it’s not an engagement ring or anything. Your mom know?
Jen: Yes (*sad face emoji*)
Me: It’ll be fine.
Jen: Am I going to be living with you?
Me: Nothing is changing. Don’t worry about any of that right now. We’ll talk Friday night.
The other message I’d received was from Sara and was a reply to my message I’d sent before going over to Denise’s house.
Me: Jen didn’t do so good after talking to her mom about that drug. Went home from school, I’m going over there. Ping you later.
Sara: Sorry, hope that goes well. Home late?
I hit the ‘Call’ icon when I got in my car and it was Bluetooth connected to my phone after starting it.
“Hey…”
“Hey yourself… Want me to pick something up for dinner?” I asked.
“Gotcha covered, just come home,” Sara replied.
“I’m heading that way now.”
When I entered my condo I could smell sweetness and cooked bacon in the air. In the kitchen was a mess, a couple pans on the stove – one empty and the other with scrambled eggs in it, a bowl with what I assumed was pancake batter, and I could see the oven light was on. I wasted no time getting my arms around Sara, getting a much needed kiss and affirmation she was there for me, and her hugging me was desperately needed after what I’d gone through earlier today.
“Breakfast for dinner?” I asked.
“I can’t cook much else, though I’d failed that first time trying to cook you pancakes,” she said smiling, letting me go to get our plates situated with food. “How’s Jenny?”
“Little broken up, but I assured her we were going to make it through this.”
“Denise?” she asked tentatively.
“About the same, but I got shit on by Gary.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were in the kitchen and talking, then Jen popped in and he told her I was pursuing legal actions.”
“Good grief, what an ass-hat,” she complained.
“Yeah, pretty sure Denise’s attitude and behavior is being initiated through him. He said she’s afraid you’re looking to replace her as Jen’s mom or something to that effect,” I complained.
“Wait, did Jen hear that? That’s not… No, I’m… I don’t want to take anything away from Denise!”
“I know… No, Jen hadn’t caught that part of our conversation thankfully. And I explained what I thought our role was in Jen’s life anyway, I mean hell – she’s going to be making her own choices soon, so he’s just being a fucking idiot…”
I felt bad about cussing, but this whole situation had my blood boiling.
“Of course she’s going to make her own choices and the ‘adults’ in her life will be mentors. I mean, my mom has always been my sounding board after I went off to college and through my transition.”
“I told him we’re all destined to be exactly that, think I used the word ‘advisors’, but he’s so dense he probably doesn’t get it,” I complained.
“Anything else?” she asked while loading a plate for me with a couple pancakes, bacon, and eggs. I watched her set it down on the kitchen island, and go grab some milk from the refrigerator.
My hesitation to answer that wasn’t missed, and a raised brow was given to my lack of a response. Augh!
“Gary made some comment about me being gay and you being a man masquerading as a woman,” I replied sheepishly.
“I’m a woman, always have been, and always will be. His opinion on anything involving me is irrelevant,” she stated, maybe a little forcefully while setting her plate of food down and sitting on the barstool next to me. “You know what I’m going to say next…”
“If it concerns any of this stuff being brought on by you and whatever else, I can handle it – promise,” I said taking her hand, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Not the point,” she whispered.
“I know, but we each bring stuff to this relationship, and we’re working it out right?”
“I don’t like the scales are a little tipped… Don’t you think?”
“Because of the crazy I bring, yeah…”
“Haha, not funny, Bradley.”
“Ooooh, I like it when you talk dirty to me,” I said, chuckling because of the look she was giving me.
“You’re a dork… My dork and I love you… I mean love your, you know, like style…,” she said but tried to switch the words up as if embarrassed for having slipped. She turned her attention to the plate of food in front of her, moving the scrambled eggs around absently on her plate with her fork.
Two months into this relationship and given all we’ve gone through, all she’d done to flip my life around from just living it to really feeling alive, yeah – ‘love’ was something I was feeling for her and I was happy to hear she felt what we had was elevated to that level.
“Funny thing about love is it generally goes both ways, and I’m not opposed to saying that’s how I feel about you, being with you. I love you too, Sara, I hope you know that…”
[---]
Last night had been liberating. Not just because there was amazing sex involved, but because we each understood the gravity of the four letter word we’d shared at dinner – even though it might have slipped out by accident. Tears were eventually shed after the declarations. We both knew that’s what we were feeling for one another and it felt good we were past that pebble in our collective shoe and were marching onward with more comfort in step now.
My morning routine beckoned at its usual witching hour and afterwards we shared a shower that may have involved a ‘happy ending’ for both of us. Later to arrive at the café than usual, coffees in hand, we began our usual research and studying routines, until…
“That’s interesting,” Sara said reading a text on her phone she’d just received.
“What?”
“My mom just texted me asking us to dinner Sunday evening.”
“Okay… Is that a bad thing?” I asked smiling.
“No, but… Okay, so I might have told her we’d made a declaration last night,” she began saying but I butted in.
“Ooooh, a declaration? I hope you didn’t provide any details about the specific amount of noises we were making during that declaration.”
I was promptly kicked under the table, though not as forcefully as she could have kicked me.
“You’re no comedian, you know that, right?”
I shrugged my reply, but couldn’t help but chuckle also.
“Are you okay with meeting my mom?” she asked with more concern than I’d expected from her given the events of the last twelve-ish hours and the ‘L’ word being shared.
“Of course I am. From what you’ve told me she seems to be a very wise woman, just like the one sitting across from me,” I replied taking one of her hands and seeing her blushing at my reply.
She was quiet for a moment and I was beginning to worry my joking had gone too far or something else wasn’t sitting right with her. Was meeting her mom going to be a problem?
“I don’t think you understand how something as simple as…,” she stopped speaking to grab the napkin under coffee cup and used it to dab her eyes.
I panicked, “Hey… I’m sorry, I was just…”
She held up a hand to slow my roll.
“You really don’t get it do you? You have consistently told me or said things to me that validate me, me as a person, as a woman, it’s…”
She looked down, the napkin was now pressed into her eye sockets and she was doing her best to not sob, but losing that battle.
I got up quickly to switch chairs so I could be next to her, and got an arm around her.
“I guess I don’t get it, but I’m happy to be doing that for you, alright? Hey, can you look at me, please?” I asked and waited a few seconds for her to do that without crying some more. “I love you, okay… I can’t promise I’m going to say the right things to you every time, but you and Jenny mean everything to me and I’m going to do my best to make both the women in my life happy.”
[- Walls -]
“Hear her out, Brad,” Sara said softly, placing her hand on my forearm in an attempt to calm an explosive reaction I was sure to have without hearing the full story.
I wasn’t sure that was the best way to move any conversation forward tonight with Jen about her mom or my thoughts on needing to make changes to the decree. I was concerned with Jen’s tone and the attitude I thought she was giving to Sara when I walked into the condo because their conversation in the kitchen sounding strained. Jen was standing across the kitchen island from us with her arms crossed not looking pleased with either of us at the moment.
“I can do that, be reasonable, but we’re going to lose any attitudes,” I said looking at my daughter seriously.
“Mom’s sick, Dad… Like, very sick and if she’s going to get her brain operated on she’ll need me around, but you want to drag her back to court?!” she barked with barely a degree taken off of the attitude I had just asked to be turned off.
“That’s not what I want, but we do need to prepare for your care through when you turn eighteen and if your mom isn’t able too as she’s been doing all these years. We don’t know how your mom is going to respond to any treatment or surgery. She hasn’t shared what she’s doing in regards to surgery, so this is the first I’ve heard of her considering brain surgery. Will she need someone to care for her, absolutely,” I stated and Sara jumped in before I could ramble any further.
“Jenny, if she does do the surgery she’ll be in the hospital for about a week to recover enough to then be moved to a rehab facility. Any brain surgery involves some rehab and relearning things we take for granted. Best case she’s there for a short stay, but it could be longer. And then if she moves on to chemo and radiation treatments that’s going to be a lot for her to deal with.”
“That’s not what she told me was going to happen,” Jen countered, though she had softened her tone and maybe sounded concerned getting that last bit of information from someone who might actually know a little about what was coming since healthcare was Sara’ expertise.
“Okay, well maybe she’s got some other arrangements made? That doesn’t mean your father can ignore your care,” Sara stated.
“Are you doing this because of Gary?” Jen asked.
“No, but you realize he’s not happy about me seeing Sara and your mom’s bought into that. That’s not your mom, never has been, Jen. She’s always been supportive of people and their struggles, you know that.” I sated.
“I know… I know that’s what the mediation was for, right?” she asked softly.
“Before I answer that, tell me what you think of Sara,” I replied.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sara said elbowing me gently, though speaking directly to Jenny.
“No, I think we need to know,” I said looking at Sara, then back to Jen.
“What am I supposed to say?” Jen asked.
“The truth, what you feel,” I replied.
“I like Sara, she’s a good person, and I think she’s good for you,” was her reply after a short pause.
“What about for you? Do you think Sara is good enough to be around you?” I asked.
“Of course! Really, Dad?” Jen whined.
“Would you be surprised if I told you we loved each other?” I asked.
That got me a snap of Sara’s head in my periphery looking my way, but I didn’t bother to look at her.
“No, anyone can see that,” Jen replied and smiled for the first time since I’d walked in.
“Yes, the whole reason for the mediation was because Gary and your mom don’t like the idea I’m seeing Sara and they are worried about her being around you. Is that reasonable?”
“Of course not… Why? What’s their problem?” Jen complained.
“Sara being Trans, maybe your mom is jealous you and Sara will have a relationship that’s different from hers and yours,” I offered.
“She’s always going to be my mom, that’ll never change,” she said quietly.
“You’re right and Sara knows she’s not your mom,” I looked at Sara for the first time since the ‘love’ comment and she nodded I was correct. “We’re adults, we have some life experiences and you’re getting older, so that means you’ll be out on your own soon, college or whatever. Our roles will change to advisors, so mom will be mom and I’ll be your dad, but there won’t be any grounding you or dictating we can do – just advising. Hell, you’ll be considered an adult and doing your own things in less than two years, two years!
“But, until then, my role as you dad is to protect and provide for you, so going after full custody is what I think needs to happen – but I’m open to discussing that with you because I respect your opinion and feelings.”
There was a long pause in the conversation before Jen spoke. I gave her that because I knew she was processing everything. I was happy she’d dropped the attitude and seemed to really hear what I was saying.
“This isn’t fair, Dad… Not to you or mom or Sara…,” she began saying before breaking down in tears.
I got her in my arms and just held her, saying, “I know… I wish your mom wasn’t in this fight kiddo, I promise you we’ll support her as best we can and as much as she’ll allow us, okay…”
[- Mom -]
Thankfully the rest of Friday’s evening went a lot smoother. There were a few more tears shed, but by the time Sara and I went to bed, Jen was on board with my reasoning for filing for a change in custody. Jen had one request, a chance to talk with her mom about it before I filed. I pushed back, but Sara convinced me her request was part of her buying into my plan and it couldn’t hurt given the strength of my position given Denise’s condition, upcoming treatment, and chances of beating this disease.
I gave in, but was wary about what Jen would eventually say to her mom.
Sara spent the night both Friday and Saturday after getting an earful from Jen about leaving when she had said she was going home. Jen wasn’t being a brat about it, but had pointed out the cat was out of the bag, so what was the point of Sara going home if on any other given night she’d be staying anyway. Each of those mornings I accompanied Sara to the café before getting back to Jen – who was sleeping still when I return around 8AM.
Sara had picked up shifts since we weren’t going away this weekend, which gave Jen and I some quality ‘hang-out’ time and a chance to get a birthday present for to give Sara. She had left Sunday afternoon before Sara got home, but had left a card with the pair of booties we’d seen a month ago when shopping for shoes for her autumn formal. I asked how she’d known Sara’s shoe size and was told it was easy – she just looked in my closet for everything she needed to know.
My kid was too damn smart for her own good and I needed to up my parenting game, especially if she was going to be staying with me more if the decree change was approved.
Were the shoes, ‘booties’, a hit? Absolutely! In fact Sara insisted on a FaceTime call to Jen right after opening the box and trying them on so she could see them and she could properly thank her. While Sara was gushing about wearing them tonight to her mom’s for dinner Denise unexpectedly walked through the background of the call and that had the call wrapping up sooner than expected. I can only imagine the grief Jen got because of that, though hoped it wasn’t too crazy.
Sara apologized to me about having made the call and texted Jen an apology too, but I told her there was nothing to apologize for. If Denise had a problem with that it was on her. Their paths were bound to cross eventually, it is what it is and I was done tiptoeing around Denise when it came to my relationship with Sara.
Our drive to Boston’s North End, or as the locals had nicknamed it ages ago - “Little Italy”, Sunday evening took longer than I thought it would. Finding a place to park was difficult, but we lucked out and pulled into a spot a block away from Sara’s mom’s place. She lived in a federal-style row house that looked to have been remodeled recently, though contained the original hardwood flooring and crown molding accents from the 30’s. The home, the neighborhood, spoke to her mom being financially secure and fit all Sara had shared with me about her mom.
Mrs. Connelly was both gracious and a damn good cook. She insisted I call her Carol, but I struggled with that all night. During dinner the conversation had been pleasant and light, but I sensed that I probably could have been more engaging. I did have other things on my mind, namely Jen speaking with her mom about a change in custody.
After dinner we retired to the living room and a couple photo albums were drug out, which Sara complained mildly about.
“Oh don’t give me that, there’s nothing in these Brad hasn’t supposed or wondered about,” Carol chided her daughter.
“Really, mom? Couldn’t we play cards or something?”
“I’d be up for a game of cards,” I said, but added quickly, “After I look through this album.”
The album in my lap contained a mix of pictures of Sara between the ages of eight and twenty-seven, and while some of the younger ones were of her as a young boy I felt like I could see the girl trying to escape. I wondered if others saw that or sensed it.
“Did you have trouble in school? I mean, it looks like you could have been mistaken for a girl with that hair, your posture,” I remarked.
“She did, but it wasn’t until she was fourteen that we had our first ‘Something is wrong with me’ talk,” Carol answered. “Kids can be pretty brutal and I’m just glad she told me she was having troubles dealing with being a boy, but questioning that.”
“And after that point?” I asked, though knew some of those details.
“Getting her the right care made all the difference. The summer she started puberty blockers and began HRT, well, I decided if this was what she needed to be happy we were going to make a fresh start and we moved here. New school, new friends, and everyone knew Sara as who she is now.”
“No one ever found out?” I asked – that wasn’t something that Sara had shared much about with me in her early life.
“Oh my goodness, of course, but thankfully her school – a private school – was pretty supportive and strict with those who wanted to be idiots. Sara didn’t participate in gym class,” Carol began saying but Sara interrupted her.
“Thankfully, I’m not sporty at all,” she said with a little uncomfortable giggle.
I gave her a look that said I didn’t buy that statement given how ‘physical’ we could be together and had been. Her eyes widened as if to warn me off from making any cracks.
“No she wasn’t, but you did run for a while. I think I’ve got some medals and trophies from some 5K and 10K events you entered,” Carol said, standing, and then asking if we were ready for dessert.
When Carol left us, Sara asked, “You okay? We can leave if you want.”
“No, I’m good, just Jen having to deal with Denise has me a little worried. I’m sorry babe, this isn’t the way I wanted your birthday dinner to go or the entire weekend. We should have been in a BnB,” I complained.
“We can do that another time, it’s really not something I’m concerned about, and I’ve had a good birthday, other than having to work – which I probably should have just kept to the plan to be off this weekend. Look, I know you’ve been stressed,” she said taking my hand, “And, well, thank you for tonight, for agreeing to meet my mom on short notice. She can be a little much…”
“She’s awesome… I’m happy we did this and I got to hear some stories and see pictures of you as a kid – which is pretty neat.”
“That doesn’t bother you, seeing or hearing about my life before becoming the real me?” Sara asked concerned.
“No, of course not… I feel like you’ve let me in and told me everything I need to know.”
“I told you I didn’t have anything to hide from you, but you realize some of this stuff is difficult for me, right? Like, reliving parts of my childhood that weren’t so pretty, those left some pretty significant scars.”
I closed the photo album and set it on the coffee table, “I’d never discount any of that… I just appreciate you’d let me in, to see all of you, those things that make you the woman I love,” I said leaning over to kiss her just as Carol had reentered the living room.
“Oh, if you two need a moment,” she said smiling as both of us were quick to make it appear there was no PDA going on while she’d been away.
“Mooom…,” Sara complained and my heart melted a bit because she’d sounded a lot like my own daughter’s complaining tone to me.
“I think I like you two together,” Carol said setting a tray down with three plates with slices of cheese cake on each and what looks like some kind of blueberry topping.
“Really mom?” Sara complained again.
Yup, exactly like my daughter gives it to me, I thought smiling.
[- Ring -]
On our way back to the condo Sara and I talked a bit more about how the evening had unfolded. One thing she’d mentioned was that her mother shared a couple years ago that the summer she began puberty blockers she knew that would end the existence of her son. She’d mourned the loss, but was happy to have her daughter willing to live a full life and more comfortable in her own skin.
I hadn’t considered anything like that, the mourning, but it made complete sense. I’m not sure what losing Jen would do to me, so I think I got how that might have affected her mom. I’d give up anything for her to just grow up happy and was glad Sara had that kind of support from her family.
I also learned that not everything leading up to the woman Sara was today had been all rainbows and lollypops. Her mom’s parents and sister’s side of the family was accepting, but her father’s wasn’t at all. Her dad had passed a while ago and it was only because her mom had a good job within the Port of Boston as a VP of logistics with good benefits that her transition was so easily supported.
She explained most Trans folk struggled to pay for care or HRT or even surgeries to keep the dysphoria demons at bay. I figured it wasn’t cheap to transition, but had no idea how lucky she had it compared with the majority of Trans men and women out there. She touched briefly on the president elects rhetoric and what that was going to mean to the Trans community, ending with the opinion he wasn’t what this country needed and it was going to cost people’s lives.
In my condo, with the clock ticking on this birthday, and us needing to get up early for work – we didn’t waste time getting undressed and into the shower. It was fun and I was certainly aroused, but the focus in my mind was getting to bed to advance any mutual arousal relief we had built up in the shower.
I knew her routine for preparing involved a lubrication step she generally did out of sight. I was a little surprised when she followed me straight from drying off to bed without lingering behind to prepare. Dang it! Did that mean nothing physical tonight?
I climbed into bed wondering if that was it and I should just get up and get her present, when she climbed into bed. That’s when I noticed the bottle of lube in her hand. She was naked as I was, but had a wicked smile on her face as she climbed over me and straddled me.
“Okay…,” I queried, with a hopeful smile.
She said nothing as she tilted the bottle at her breasts and dribbled a few drops, reaching down for my hand to encourage me to rub those drops around. Between my doing that and her making very pleasant noises while I caressed her breasts, pulling at slippery nipples - she was loading her hand with lube and after capping the bottle shut she wrapped a slippery hand coated in lube around my very erect cock.
HOLY FUCK!
Slippery breasts and cock lead to us to eventually being out of breath and holding each other as we were coming down from our collective highs.
In my ear she whispered, “Happy birthday to me…”
I squeezed her a little tighter, replying, “I got you something, let me get a towel first…”
She sat up, “The shoes though… I thought…”
“Those were something Jenny wanted to get you. Hang tight, I’ll be right back…”
I grabbed a towel from the bathroom closet and gave it to her, and then went to my closet to get her gift. I returned with the little box, turned the bedside lamp on, and handed her the box.
She looked surprised and maybe wondering if there was a bigger meaning to the box that obviously contained a ring, but was usually delivered without a certain question attached. When I just smiled back at her she slowly opened it…
“Oh my God! It’s… Oh God! How did you know?!” She exclaimed.
“I was clued in by Jen and when we went shopping for your shoes, she saw it and insisted you’d like it because we’ve seen you wearing some earrings and a pendant that are similar.”
“Braaaad…,” she began and leaned over to kiss me. “I love it… My mom’s family is originally from Ireland and I just love Celtic knot jewelry.”
“I hope it fits… Jenny said she’d gotten you to try on one of her rings and we had this sized up one to a 5.5, I think…”
I watched her try it on the ring-finger of her right hand, it slide right on and it seemed to fit perfectly. She was studying it, smiling, and looked up at me.
“You’re too good to me…,” she croaked, pulling me into a hug.
“Think it’s the other way around,” I countered.
“Are we going steady now?” She asked with a little giggle.
“I certainly hope it’s that and more…”
[- Agreements -]
Denise: Do you have time today I could stop by your office today?
I’d received that text shortly after the markets opened and after my morning exchange of ‘Hey’ texts with Jen. I’d asked her how her mom was and got from her that they’d talked, without Gary around, and it had went well. No details were shared which was frustrating.
She said she was going to school today. There wasn’t enough in our exchange to clue me into what Denise wanted with me this morning, in person. For a second I considered reaching out to Lance for advice, but decided this probably meeting was a clarification meeting of what I’d talked to Jen about regarding custody, so skipped making that call.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, after greeting Denise in the lobby of our offices and escorting her into my office.
“Today, it’s been a good day, so far,” Denise replied.
“Can I ask what you’re planning to do treatment wise?” I asked that gently and from a place of genuine concern on my part.
“That’s partly why I’m here, to settle some things with you amicably before I start trying to beat this shit.”
Her tone wasn’t edgy or containing any of that annoyance I’d experienced last week directed at me. That was a good sign, but it was early and I’d seen her flip the script on me in a nanosecond, so wasn’t counting on this not getting contentious. She had a treatment plan and I was going to reiterate I was going to be there to help as much as I could.
“You know all I want is you to beat this and for us to focus on what’s best for Jen. She’s an amazing young woman and that’s mostly due to you being her mom, which will never change and no one wants that to change,” I offered kindly.
“I understand all that, Brad. Jenny assures me your friend has no interest in taking my place, which I have a hard time believing,” she countered.
“Why would she? Why do you think she’d want to do that?”
“To be in your good graces, fulfill some fantasy about ‘motherhood’ they all seem to have, to be a vindictive bitch… I don’t know this person, Brad, and you having them around Jenny is confusing because they’re life isn’t exactly the norm and this relationship seems so unlike you.”
‘Friend’, ‘They’, ‘Them’, and ‘They’re’ – at least she wasn’t misgendering Sara. She’d labeled her offhandedly as a ‘bitch’, so that was some progress, right? Wouldn’t it just be easier to say her damn name? I had a thought for second this was a mistake – agreeing to meet with her without Lance here or someone else sitting in on this – after processing her last statement. Should I pause this? What did she mean by that crack ‘so unlike you’?
“None of those thoughts you have about Sara – who isn’t a ‘they’ or ‘them’—are remotely some hidden motivation of hers or some design to get in my good graces.”
“Why is he with you then?” she asked.
I shook my head after cringing inside, but held my temper, replying, “She is with me for me, and I’d appreciate you dropping this idea you’ve got that I’m with a man or I’m gay or Sara isn’t a woman to her core. And before you go all biological crap on me, I’m not going to put up with this from you, her name is Sara and ‘she / her’ will do, or we’re done here, please...”
I’m sure I sounded as though I was pleading, but there was an element of ‘Beware I’m nearing my breaking point’ in what I’d just said.
Denise was studying me, possibly gauging after all these years and all those fights we’d had about me being an absent husband or father if she could still push me around.
“Fair enough, I’m sorry…”
I wasn’t sure I heard that correctly, but quickly eked out, “Thank you…”
“I’ll try to do better, but I’m not completely comfortable with your friend being allowed around Jenny. It might be what you want, but I get the right as her mother, to be leery and skeptical of people she’s in contact with. You understand that, right?”
“I do, and I’m as protective of Jen as you are and wouldn’t knowingly put her in harm’s way. You know that, so let’s leave Sara and Gary out of this conversation for a moment and get back to what’s best for Jen.”
”Why do you think you should have full custody?” Denise asked.
“Until I found out about Gary’s DUI and you threatening Sara, I didn’t have any thought of going that route. She’ll be eighteen in less than two years, and none of this decree stuff will mean a thing after that—except for my picking up the tab for college—which I’m totally fine with.
“Then you had your will changed to name Gary as her guardian if you passed before she was eighteen? The chances that would be honored in court are minuscule, and Lance can’t believe you paid to have that done or pushed for that. Was it Gary that sparked that?”
“Doesn’t matter…”
“I think it does… Money? If you pass, does he want to keep collecting the support I pay you? That’s the only thing that explains him pushing that. Is Jen being a meal ticket his motivation?” I asked, full-on complaining evident in my tone.
“Of course not… He cares for her and I’d want him in her life if I die,” she protested.
I paused to let that idea sink in a little more before replying, “If your wish is, should you pass, that he not be kept from her, I’d allow him to see her, just not unsupervised. I’m sorry, but if you pass this split in custody ends, all of it ends. You understand that, right? Your lawyer has explained that’s how it works 99.999% of the time, right?”
She nodded. And I was relieved he wasn’t filling her head with bullshit and that Gary had some legal footing he could sue me or get something over on me if she passed.
“You’ve got some major treatment options to get through, right? So what are we doing to make this easier on you and protect Jen’s interests?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I talked with Jen about flipping our custody agreement around because it's going to be a rough couple of months for you if you do the brain surgery route first. Jen said she was okay with that, but wanted to talk with you first. I wouldn’t ask for supervised visits or anything like that, just so you know. I’m assuming your talk went well enough and that that’s why you’re here this morning.”
She nodded.
“I’d like to offer she’ll be with you on weekends, until that’s not possible or only Gary is available to keep tabs on her, and I’d get her during the week – just a straight swap in physical custody. We’d leave the spousal support alone because you did sacrifice to get my business off the ground and I owe you that, but we’d need to have the child support cut to two days worth instead of five as it is today.
“And Jen can come over at any time – just like you’ve allowed her to come over to my place since the divorce was finalized. I’d never keep her from you and I appreciate you’ve never kept her from me – though tried that with that last mediation we went through,” I said with a slight chuckle.
She nodded again as if she agreed with all I’d said. She looked tired to me all of a sudden, maybe defeated. I was worried about her, this wasn’t the fire breathing ex-wife I was used to dealing with.
“We can call Lance and talk this out with him now. He can get it put together, and sent over to Wayne if you want…”
“No, just do it and have him pass it on to Wayne,” she conceded.
“You’ll beat this, and I will have him put something in this change that says we’ll flip this back to the way it was when you’re back on your feet,” I said trying to be encouraging.
“I think you know what my odds are for beating this, Brad… I appreciate you saying all that, but realistically this will probably be our last legal battle. Thankfully,” she chuckled.
“I’m hoping it’s not,” I said smiling. “I’ll miss you trying to beat up on me.”
She smiled, stood, and made her way to my office door. I joined her and felt like I needed to hug her, so I did.
“Jenny and I are here for you; don’t ever doubt that…” I whispered while holding her.
I felt her tighten her arms around me, huff a defeated breath, and let loose of me before she walked out of my office.
::: --- :::
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Rachel M. Moore
[- Decree -]
I’d texted Sara that Denise wanted to meet this morning. Her reply was for me to hear her out, but to hold my ground. There was also a heart emoji added to the end of that text, and it surprised me that something so simple made me feel pretty damn good. After the meeting, I texted her back:
Me: Did as you suggested, and it went better than expected. She’ll accept a swap in custody until it doesn’t work out for her caring for Jen. Then Jen will be with me full time.
There wasn’t an immediate reply or indication that the message had been seen, so I figured she was in the OR and assisting still—which is what she told me her morning looked like when we walked out of the café before heading to work. I pulled up Lance’s number and dialed it.
“Hey, Brad,” he said when he answered.
“Busy?”
“Working on a few things, but I’ve got time. What’s up?”
“Denise has a serious health issue that’s recently come to light, and we’ve talked about Jen’s custody,” I was beginning to say, but he interrupted me.
“How serious are we talking? I mean, if she’s willingly talking about you taking on custody, it must be pretty serious.”
“Yeah, a cancerous brain tumor, not something you want, and the survival rate is pretty bad,” I said solemnly.
“Oh, shit… Hey, sorry to hear that, bud. What did you guys negotiate in regards to Jenny’s care?”
I told him what we’d discussed and when done asked, “Can you do that, get it written up and over to her lawyer?”
“The straight flipping of the custody parameters, along with the difference in child support amounts, will be easy enough to draft. I can’t inject in that the idea of ‘hope’ she recovers and the idea no one would contest it being reverted back at some point if Jenny isn’t eighteen by that time.”
“I thought that might be a long shot, but I had mentioned it to her, so that’s why I asked.”
“The simplest track for this is writing it up without mention of reversing it at a future date should she recover. When presented, I can explain the purpose of the change, and if you two want to shake on it being reversed at some point, like a gentlemen’s agreement, that’s the best move—though technically not legally binding for something like this. She’s got to know you’re not out to screw her, especially given that joke of a mediation we did last month and the ridiculous will change.”
“Yeah, likely she knows all that. How soon do you think we can get it in front of her lawyer and then a judge?”
“The earliest I can get it to Wayne is the end of the week. If he listens to Denise’s instructions and signs off on it quickly without any revisions or a bunch of bullshit posturing, we could probably get in front of a judge the week after that possibly. I can talk with a clerk I know downtown to see if she can slide this in someplace since it would be quick, like less than fifteen minutes quick, for a judge to sign off on. No contesting, no need for everyone to be there; it should be simple enough. If I can get Jenny to write a letter of support and her being okay with the change, that would help grease the skids. Oh, have her mention knowing her mom’s health issues are prompting this; it’ll help,” he replied.
“Jen could do that; I’ll get her on that today. Let’s do our best to make all this happen quickly…”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, and after a pause asked, “How’s Jenny doing? Are you alright?”
“Jen’s struggling with her mom being sick, no concerns about the change or being with me more. I’m… I feel for Denise; it’s going to be a difficult couple of months, if not more. Thanks for asking.”
“Is the push on getting this done quickly because of her health, or are you afraid she’ll change her mind?”
Denise changing her mind certainly was a possibility, but having this done sooner than later would be the smart move, at least where Jen was concerned. Gary was a wildcard, and if there was some idea in his head motivated by money, money I was paying for both child and spousal support, I didn’t need him gumming up this agreed-upon change by getting in Denise’s ear. Truthfully, my biggest concern was making sure Jen had some stability in her life while her mom was seeking treatment.
“I just want to make this easier for Jen…”
“Where’s Sara at with this?”
“She’s supportive; I think we’re good,” I replied but wondered about his question.
“Good to hear… Anything else?”
I mentioned being worried about Gary and why I had those concerns. Lance assured me Gary had no legal claims to any monetary support I provided should Denise pass and reminded me that the agreement to pay spousal support had been my idea and was voluntary—not court ordered. I didn’t have to do that, and had Denise even sought support, it would have been an uphill battle for her, and she’d have likely been given a smaller sum than agreed upon—which is why it wasn’t contested by her lawyer in the divorce proceedings.
“You’ve done all the right things when it comes to Jen, Denise, and the divorce, believe me…”
“I don’t take well to failing at things I commit to… You know that.”
“I do, but your marriage didn’t fail due to lack of love. Life happened, focus was diverted in support of your family, and it takes two people to make it work and fail. You need to stop beating yourself up for that. I hope you’re not feeling like this health issue she has is something you could have prevented.”
Lance and I had been friends since college; he knew Denise's and my story better than most, and his insight just now might have hit the target closer than he knew. I knew I couldn’t have prevented what was happening to Denise, but it didn’t mean I didn’t care or wish there was more I could do to help her get through this.
“I hear ya…”
“I feel like Sara’s been a bright spot for you after a long stretch of grinding out a paycheck and maybe feeling guilty about how things ended with Denise. Look, all I’m saying here is for you to take the lessons learned with Denise and make sure you don’t lose sight of what’s important—that’d be Jen and Sara, right?”
The only other people who would care enough about me to talk to me like this were my parents, Lisa—Ken’s wife—and Lance. Sara probably wouldn’t be bold enough to call me out on something this early in our relationship, but if we got a few more months under our belts, she’d absolutely give it to me straight. Was I risking what Sara and I had while trying to make up for my past failures with Denise? Shit…
“You’re right, fuck… I’ve fallen on my sword enough, huh?”
Lance chuckled before saying, “Yeah, a few times. It’s noble and all, but just don’t let that become a character flaw. You’ve got a life to live, dude. I’m not saying don’t be compassionate or caring, just be reasonable, alright?”
“Yeah, I’m hearing you, I promise... Thanks, man, you and Nina have been great friends, and I think I needed that little reminder right now. I love you guys…”
“Right back at ya…”
“You want to get back to me when this heads Wayne’s way?”
“I’ll ping you.”
[- Confirming -]
“Did you take something?” I asked as we lay there in bed, my arms around Sara as she snuggled in closer.
“Yeah, a couple of Tylenol after I showered… They’ve been in my purse forever, though, so I’m not sure they’re going to do much,” Sara replied.
She’d made it to my condo after I’d gotten home and was close to finishing up preparing dinner for us. She was certainly later than usual, looked tired, and was probably relieved I had dinner going. She told me she’d had a rough day and a headache—though blaming that on probably needing to get her contact prescription upgraded.
“I hate eye exams… All that ‘better like this’ or ‘better like this’ stuff? So annoying,” she complained while we were eating.
After dinner we’d talked about our days, and I told her more about meeting with Denise. She listened, seemed interested, and asked a few questions, but I felt like maybe something else was up. When I asked, she blamed her headache, and shortly after that we decided to call it an early night—even though she had tomorrow off.
When she was done showering, she seemed a little livelier, though she had crawled into bed wearing one of my old t-shirts and looked like she was ready to shut down for the night. I went through my normal nightly routine and was snuggling with her twenty minutes later, still feeling like there was more going on than a long day and headache.
“I think I’ve got a bottle of ibuprofen in the bathroom if you want to switch it up…”
“Too late now, already took the Tylenol. If I’m still suffering later tonight, I’ll get some, promise,” she said, kissing my cheek. “Lance didn’t have any concerns with the request to switch the decree up? Are you worried about any of that?”
“No, he seemed good with it, just can’t put in verbiage that isn’t enforceable legally. I just want it set before she starts any treatment and can’t commit to setting Jen’s care up. The less I have to deal with Gary, the better; that’s my biggest worry.”
“Gotcha… I can see where that makes sense, the ‘enforceable’ angle. The more I hear about Gary, the more I’d be worried also.”
“My thoughts exactly… Can I ask you something?”
“That sounds ominous…”
“No, but… You know I’m happy, right? I want you to be happy too and to say, I mean, tell me when you’re not.” I got all that out way too quickly, and I’m sure it sounded like I was nervous or scattered about my intentions for asking.
Sara shifted in my arms so she could see my face; there was concern on her face, or maybe it was curiosity on her part as to what point I was trying to make.
“You doubt I’m happy?” she asked.
“No, but with all this craziness with Denise, I don’t want that screwing up what we’re doing together…”
“Do you love her still?”
“No, but while some of this stuff she’s dragged me into lately is crazy and sucked for both of us, I can’t say I hate her either. We were together almost nineteen years, and I care about her and what’s happening to her. Jenny was the greatest gift she ever gave to me, and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to make up for failing as a father. I can’t get that time back, and it sure seems like she’s growing up so damn fast.
“I couldn’t ever be with Denise again if that’s what you’re wondering. Too much has happened, and we’ll never be more than friends, barely that I’d bet most times, if any of that makes sense. I just don’t want to make those mistakes I made with her with you, and I pray you’ll kick my ass if I stray from making you happy. That’s really all I’m saying.”
She lay there next to me, watching and listening intently while I dumped all that. When she didn’t immediately speak, I was worried.
“I’m not worried you’re still in love with Denise, if that helps. I think you’ve paid your dues, though, at least with all you’ve told me about your two’s relationship. You need to understand, though, that you were half of a relationship that didn’t work out and couldn’t be fixed for whatever reason. You get to move on, Brad; we all do.
“If I had a concern, it would be that you are not able to leave the past where you left it and maybe are afraid to make mistakes going forward. No one’s perfect; I’m certainly not. We’re going to make mistakes; I can promise you that. If we make those on accident, not purposely to hurt the other person, then we’ll be fine. That’s my take on Denise,” she concluded.
“You realize how easy you make it for me to love you?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea,” she said while tracing a hand down my chest and awakening that part of me she so easily could arouse below my waist. “Let’s just keep making it easy for each other to feel that way, okay?”
There was a gentle tug, and I may have shifted a little as she kissed my shoulder and smiled, and I held my breath as her face followed the same path her hand had taken.
[- 911 -]
I’d just pulled the lasagna Sara and I had made yesterday from the oven when my cellphone began buzzing in my pocket.
“Hey you, what’s…,” I didn’t get to finish my sentence.
“Dad, you need to get over here right now! Mom and Gary are arguing. I’m scared,” a frantic Jenny blurted out without taking a breath.
I could hear yelling in the background and tried to think of the best way to handle this on the fly.
“Can you get out of there safely? Like, maybe get over to Aaron’s house? See if his dad is home and would be willing to stop down there, at least until I get there?” I barfed quickly back at her.
Sara was looking on worriedly, had heard Jen frantically asking for help, and whispered, “Just call 911…”
“Jen, should we just call the police?” I asked, sounding a little more in control.
“I’m not leaving, Mom, Dad,” she whispered.
I could hear Denise shouting something in the background. Fuck!
“I’d rather it if you were out of there, Jennifer. Please, just slip out of there and get over to Aaron’s. I’m on my way…”
“K…”
The line went dead, and I began moving for the front door, explaining what Jen had told me, with Sara right behind me.
“I heard most of that,” she began, “Call 911, Brad… If this is some kind of domestic dispute, you do not want to be in the middle of it,” she complained.
“I don’t want to be involved, but I can’t leave Jenny in the middle of that. I’ll call Aaron’s mom on my way over there,” I said, grabbing my coat and keys from the table just inside the front door, giving her an ‘I’ll be back soon’ look as best I could in my rattled state.
“Okay, good… But I’m going too! You can’t expect I’m going to sit here and worry about this shit, Brad!”
“Sorry… Yeah, I get it, let’s… Yeah, let’s go…”
[---]
We’d made it to the main boulevard down the block from the condo when my phone began ringing. It was an unknown number, but I pressed the connect button on my steering wheel anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Brad?”
“Yes…”
“This is Ray, Aaron’s dad. Just calling to tell you Jenny’s here; she’s safe. I put in a call for a wellness check on Denise given what Jenny has told me. Look, for de-escalation purposes, do not go over there. Let the BPD make contact and see what they can do to defuse the situation. Just come here and get Jenny, alright? Are you hearing what I’m telling you, Brad?”
“Yeah, ah… Okay, we’re about eight minutes out. I really appreciate you looking after Jenny for us.”
“No problem, see you in a few…”
“Thanks, Ray...”
I killed the call.
“She’s safe; let’s get there safely,” Sara said softly, putting a hand on my shoulder to emphasis her point.
She was right, of course; I was driving erratically and needed to get a handle on my emotions. Jen was safe, the police were en route, and there wasn’t much else I could do besides get us there safely.
[- Safe -]
We pulled into Aaron’s driveway and were getting out as a police cruiser passed by us and slowed to a stop in front of Denise’s a few houses down the street from us. They weren’t in any hurry to get up to the door once parked, and had Ray not opened the front door, I’d have waited longer to see them make their way to her door or yelled at them to get a move on it.
“Good to see you, Brad,” he said with an outstretched hand. “They’ll call me after they’re done; come on in; I think Jenny will be happy to see you.”
I introduced Sara, and we followed Ray inside to the kitchen, where the kids were gathered: Jen, Aaron, and Jacob—Aaron’s little brother. Paula was supervising the herd, but when we walked in, Jen bolted to get in my arms and was crying.
“I… I don’t know what his… His problem is…” she huffed.
“She got the decree changes today, Jen… Maybe she hasn’t discussed it with Gary yet. Whatever it is, I’m sure the officers over there will get things calmed down,” I replied softly.
Jen looked at me and then peeled herself from my arms to hug Sara.
“You did the right thing by calling,” Sara cooed, pushing her back so she could look at her. “That was very brave and smart of you.”
“Thank you for taking her in,” I said to Paula and walked over to Aaron to shake his hand. “I appreciate you being there for Jenny too.”
“Yeah, no problem, Mr. Styles,” he replied.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?” Paula asked.
“No, thank you though,” I said and looked over to Sara, who was hugging Jen again. She shook her head, indicating she was fine.
“Jenny said Denise has a brain tumor?” Paula asked after a long moment of silence.
“Yes, something just recently discovered. She’s gearing up for treatment soon,” I replied, but I noticed Ray was staring at Sara. “You okay?” I asked him when he caught me looking at him and wondered what his issue was.
“Yeah, but I feel like I know you or have seen you someplace,” he said, looking at Sara.
“I get that sometimes,” she replied as Jen and she stopped hugging.
“No, like… Wait, you’re a nurse? That’s it… Six months ago one of our detectives was shot in the leg, and we were visiting him at Boston General—you came in while a bunch of us were in his room,” Ray said, excited about figuring out where he’d recognized Sara from.
She was smiling. “Yes, I seem to recall the one motorcycle officer saying something about wanting to get a sponge bath.”
That got Ray a glare from Paula. He was quick to explain it wasn’t him and they were just messing with Sara.
“That sounds like harassment to me,” Paula said, still glaring at Ray.
Aaron and Jacob were laughing under their breaths. Ray was about to defend himself a little more, but his cellphone began ringing.
“Yeah…”
We watched the one-sided conversation, which included him asking the officers to inform Denise where Jenny was and that I was also here.
“Right…,” a long pause as Ray listened, “I’ll do that… Yeah… Gotcha… Sure…”
We all watched him hang up and set his phone on the kitchen island.
“Okay, everyone’s fine, no domestic violence or anything like that. Sounds like Denise was a little rattled, worried about where Jenny had disappeared to, but saw her texts saying she was here and Brad was on his way. Gary might have had a bit to drink tonight, and they’ve asked him to find someplace else to stay for the night to cool off.
“They warned him to not come back tonight, saying tomorrow afternoon is the requirement. No calls or texts to Denise or Jenny in the meantime also. Probably should have mentioned they add you to that list of ‘do not call’,” he said, looking at me.
I nodded; it wasn’t necessary as I doubted Gary would want to talk with me.
“They need about ten to fifteen minutes to get him situated with some clothes and personal items before they escort him out and give him a ride to wherever it is he thinks he wants to sober up. You can take Jenny home to Denise after that,” Ray concluded.
[- Confrontation -]
“Mom!” Jen yelled from the front door as she entered and disappeared from sight.
The police were gone and so was Gary. We hung back in the car, though Jen had said we should come in before she rushed off to find Denise inside.
“It’s probably not a good idea for you to rub me being here in her face,” Sara said softly. “I’m not up for a yelling match with anyone tonight. Everyone’s nerves are raw, so maybe you should just go in and say whatever, and then we should leave when you’re comfortable Jenny’s alright, yeah?”
We were both watching the open front door for any movement, and I reached for my seat belt to do as Sara asked just as Denise and Jenny appeared at the door. They were waving for me to come in; at least that’s what it looked like.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, looking at Sara, squeezing her hand, and exited my car after turning it off.
At the door Denise looked as tired as she had Monday in my office, but there was also relief showing through, and even a little smile—though it didn’t stick around very long. Had she seen Sara in the car and that’s what made that disappear?
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, just a misunderstanding,” she said, looking like she didn’t want to expand on that with Jenny standing there with us.
“Okay, I’m just glad you two are alright. I thanked the Temples for taking Jenny in,” I replied.
“I texted Paula my thanks,” she paused to look around me at Sara sitting in my car. “Jenny said Sara was with you; she could come in if you want.”
I was at a loss for words. She’d not only used her name but even said ‘she’ when referring to her. I had to wonder if she was doing that to fuck with me or maybe it was for Jenny’s sake. I recovered quickly, though, and got out that it’d been a stressful evening for everyone and we were here to just make sure Jenny and she were alright.
“I’m fine, Bradley, but I’d like to meet Sara and thank her for looking after Jenny,” she said, sounding incredibly reasonable—though that sounded crazy to me for obvious reasons.
What the hell?!
“Another time, okay,” I stated and looked to Jen for a moment for help or to get a read on what she thought about that.
Having taken my focus off Denise for that brief millisecond prompted her to engage her feet for some unknown reason and move past me standing on her stoop. She was now heading towards my car at a quicker pace than I’d expected. I was a step behind her when I got my ass in gear and was asking her to stop the entire thirty feet to my car, telling her this wasn’t the time for this. She ended up at the driver’s side door quicker than I’d realized, trying to get the door open, but I was preventing that with my body.
“I just want to meet her and thank her for helping tonight,” Denise said gruffly, not looking at me and singularly focused on Sara sitting in my car.
“Mom…”
“Denise!”
Jenny and I had called out to her at the same time. She seemed determined to confront Sara and was ignoring both of us. We didn’t need the neighbors getting an earful of cats fighting to go along with the extrication of her husband by the police tonight! Fuck!
“I’d like to thank you,” she said loudly towards Sara through the window, “For being there for Jenny. I appreciate that you would do that for her.”
I could see the confusion on Sara’s face as she looked at me for some indication of what she should do. Her hand moved to the seatbelt, unbuckling it and then she was opening the car door, and stepping out before I had a chance to complain.
No! What are you doing!
For a long moment, the two women stared at each other across the roof of my car.
Oh shit! Oh shit! Jenny had moved next to Denise, and I was about to say…
“You’re welcome… You have a beautiful daughter, and she means a lot to me, even in the short time I’ve known her. You already know she means the world to Brad, and you’ve both done a great job preparing her to be an intelligent, strong, and confident woman,” Sara said without looking bothered one bit by Denise pushing this impromptu meeting.
I don’t think either Jen or I took breaths as we waited for all hell to break loose. I looked back and forth between Sara and Denise.
“Thanks, she’s going to be something special. Alright, well… Nice to finally meet you, put a face to a name, and I hope we can maybe chat sometime over coffee. Jenny says you like Café Duro. I’ve never been, but I’d be happy to meet you there sometime,” Denise offered.
“I’m usually off Tuesdays and Wednesdays; Jenny can give you my number. I’m happy to meet with you,” Sara replied.
“Sounds good,” Denise said and turned to me, “Thanks for being here tonight, Brad. I have the signed decree change inside if you want to come get it,” Denise said, turning to walk into the house after saying that.
I looked to Sara, and she shrugged. I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak and shrugged back at her while shaking my head.
“Come on, Dad,” Jenny prodded.
What the fuck had just happened?!
[---]
Back in the car, I sat staring at the steering wheel for a good fifteen seconds before starting the car. When I started to back out of the driveway, Sara put her hand on mine still on the gear shifter.
“You okay?” she asked worried.
“What just happened?”
“I’m not sure, but if you want to tell people aliens were involved, I’ll back your story,” she said with a giggle.
“No, I mean really… That’s the craziest reversal I’ve ever encountered with anyone I’ve ever known. I mean, she didn’t misgender you or say anything fucked up to me—not once,” I stated, still in shock.
“Did she say anything else when you went inside?”
“Only you weren’t what she expected, and could see why I liked you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sara challenged.
“Nothing, it’s… Well, your hair… You’re a dirty blonde, and I really like the curls—she knows that about me,” I answered, embarrassed and thankful she couldn’t see that I was blushing maybe a little in the dimly lit vehicle.
“Really now,” Sara said sarcastically. “Curls?”
“I like what I like, and you a lot more than like… We’ve established that,” I said, smiling at her.
“For my curly dirty-blonde hair…”
“Yes, so don’t ever change it, please. Your hair is the frosting on the cupcake I can’t get enough of…”
“Bradley, Bradley, Bradley…,” she said, sounding amused and maybe happy. “So, that wasn’t how I was expecting my meeting her to go down. Am I supposed to actually have coffee with her if she asks?”
“Not if you don’t want… Look, I’m happy to run interference if that ever comes about, or maybe I can insist on being there,” I offered.
“You don’t think I can handle her?”
“Oh, God no! I mean, you’d easily best her if she went all stupid on you, but truthfully it’s probably something to avoid, right?”
“I’m not sure… Now I’m curious,” she said, sounding like she was playing with me.
“Wait, no… No, don’t be talking like that. Let’s leave crazy ex-wives in crazy ex-wives land. Really, consider the craziness we’ve been through already, tonight even, okay?”
“Did she say anything about Gary?”
“No, but Jen was there, and I don’t think she wanted to talk about him with her around,” I said, turning onto the main boulevard towards home.
“What a strange evening…”
“You’re telling me,” I said, taking her hand and kissing it, before placing our hands on the center console armrest.
[- Decisions -]
Over the next couple of days, I’d been texting both Denise and Jenny a couple of times a day to make sure everything was alright. It probably annoyed Denise, and she’d told me it was a one-off thing with Gary and her health issues were a stain on their relationship right now. Didn’t matter what she said or what excuse she offered, Jen was living there still, and I didn’t want any issues spilling over onto her.
“Hey… Is everything alright?”
“You know, I’d appreciate it if we could put the events of earlier this week behind us and you could stop worrying. I’m fine, Jenny’s fine, Gary’s fine, and my household is the furthest thing from Defcon 1, so please, no more asking—it’s getting a little old,” Denise replied annoyed.
“Sorry… I just wasn’t expecting a call from you,” I said, trying to sound less nervous—Nelly. “What’s up?”
“I’m scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning at Boston General,” she started saying, but I butted in.
“Tomorrow? On a Saturday?”
“Yes, tomorrow. My doctor didn’t like something he saw on my MRI yesterday, and he’s moved up this second treatment option.”
“I’m sorry…”
“I’m kind of over this crap, so I might as well get on it. The surgery was inevitable; I’ve come to terms with it.”
“Does Jen know?”
“I’m telling her after she gets home from school, before she heads your way for the weekend. It’s not as bleak as everyone thinks. My doctor says there’s a good chance they’ll be able to remove this thing in my head, and with the chemo/radiation, keep it from spreading. So far it’s not spread to any other organs.”
“That’s encouraging, thank you for sharing that,” I said, relieved. “You know Jenny’s not going to want to be here… So, if you want, she can stay over there tonight, and I can hook up with her at the hospital in the morning. What time are they admitting you?”
“Thank you for that… Let’s see how she does. They want me there at 7AM. I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight.”
“Well, either way I’ll be there with Jen or meet you both there…”
“Thank you… I’ll reach out later,” she said before hanging up.
[---]
Jen: Mom said I can stay here tonight if I want. I want.
Me: Absolutely, I’m fine with that. Are you alright?
Jen: IDK
Me: Your mom made it sound like her doctor was confident about the surgery. That’s huge.
Jen: Guess
Me: You should be there tonight with her, and I’m glad you’re doing that. Do you want to talk?
Jen: Maybe later.
Me: K, well, call me anytime.
Jen: Thanks, Dad. Love you.
Me: Love you more, kiddo.
I’d slid my phone over the table to Sara at the Indian restaurant we decided to eat at so she could see what Jen had sent me. Sara had done the same with her phone so I could see her exchange with Jen.
Jen: Is Doctor Jenkins a good doctor? I know you know people in the hospital and know experience matters for stuff like this.
Sara: He’s the best in Boston when it comes to dealing with brain issues. He’s done thousands of surgeries probably, so he’s very skilled. He teaches this stuff too, so believe me, your mom is in good hands. I would recommend him and seek his care if I had the same issue.
Jen: K. I’m scared that this is rushing it.
Sara: He wouldn’t have insisted on moving the surgery up from whatever schedule he’d told your mom prior if he wasn’t concerned about your mom’s health and beating this. That’s his job is to beat this for your mom, and doing it sooner than later is going to improve her chances of beating this.
There was a long pause in the message timestamps, but Jen eventually picked up the conversation.
Jen: Thx
Sara: Any time. If you want to talk, just call.
Jen: I will.
We slid our respective phones back to each other.
“Thanks for talking with her,” I said.
“If she were to look him up, she’d see he’s the best around. There are rating sites for doctors, and people even leave reviews. She’d see he’s well respected. He loses patients like any doctor; I mean, they’re not God’s, but this guy is really good. Denise is lucky to have him.”
“Is it strange to be doing this on a Saturday?”
“Nah, I’ve seen surgeries scheduled for things after 10PM on holidays… No, not unusual. But that he’s moved up the surgery means he’s worried about something he saw. You said Denise had said something about him not liking her last MRI—my guess is he felt like this needed to get done,” she said, but I sensed there was something more.
“And?”
“Yeah, well, I was asked if I wanted to scrub in tomorrow morning, but I told them I had a connection to Denise after hearing what the surgery was for and who. The hospital takes that kind of stuff seriously, so while that would have been great for me to experience, liability-wise for the hospital, not so much. Her surgery is like a ten to twelve hour affair, and they’re going to have two shifts of nurses and anesthesiologists.
“They’ll overlap for an hour between the shifts. A second surgeon—Pratt or Billings—will also be involved, though Jenkins won’t leave the OR at any time. Those two doctors are really good and more than capable of assisting or even doing the work if Jenkins wants. It’ll be a lot of robotics work and very interesting; I’d like to have been in on that…”
“I had no idea you’d been asked to assist.”
“I didn’t know until one of the nurses on the schedule had to pull out because she came down with something, so I was asked pretty much as I was walking out the door tonight.”
“Do you know more about her condition?”
“No, only what you’ve told me and the invite to scrub in on the brain tumor removal surgery. HIPAA laws aren’t anything to mess with, and I don’t need to poke Denise in the wrong way by knowing more about her condition.”
“Seriously...”
[- Waiting -]
I’d arrived early to the hospital admitting area, about fifteen minutes early, and found that Denise and Jen were already there. We were like that, never late—always early—for anything we did when we were a couple. For me, it was a constraint of my chosen career and not wanting to miss out on a stock buy or sell opportunity. Denise was just punctual and annoyed when others weren’t.
“Morning…,” I said, hugging Jen and then Denise.
Denise read my look correctly and cleared up my confusion by saying, “He’s parking the car…”
“Cool,” I replied, then asked Jen, “You eat?”
“To nervous…”
“I don’t expect you to keep her here all day, so please don’t make this your two’s day,” Denise complained.
“Sara said they’d status us a few times during the surgery. How about we hang until the first status and then leave for a bit, maybe get lunch, and then come back?” I asked both girls.
Jen nodded, but Denise said, “I can have Gary text Jenny…”
“Mom…”
The complaint wasn’t lost on Denise, and she gave in after seeing the determination on Jen’s face. Gary arrived a minute after that; it was the first time I’d seen him since he was asked to leave Denise’s place. He nodded my presence; I his existence, and that was the extent of our speaking. At two minutes to 7AM, Denise was called to the desk. I hugged her again and wished her luck. Jenny and her hugged, as a few tears streamed down their faces, and we watched Gary escort her to the desk and then through to the prep room.
Out of sight, I hugged Jen and suggested coffee in the cafeteria, though Sara had warned me it wasn’t worth it. I was hoping I could get Jenny to eat, talk out her feelings, and at some point Sara might join us. It meant less time at Café Duro for her, but she’d said she wanted to check in on Jen.
In the cafeteria, Jen was sitting quietly across from me, holding a tall cup of hot chocolate, not really smiling until something caught her eye, and she got up quickly. Sara had walked in, and she rushed to her open arms. I could only smile, stand, and wait for them to come back to the table.
“G’morning to ya,” Sara said, giving me a little peck and side hug.
“You were right,” I replied after we’d all sat, and I made a face at the cup of coffee in front of me.
“You doubted me?” Sara said, giving Jen a smile that got her to chuckle momentarily. “You should have asked; I could have brought you two real coffees.”
“I felt like hot chocolate, but this is pretty bad even for that,” Jen stated.
“There’s an espresso cart on the other side of the hospital, near the main entry that’s a lot better option. If Wanda is working, it’s a safe bet you’ll like your drink, but if there’s a guy there—skip it. A few of the other nurses have complained about him being a bad barista. That stuff isn’t cheap, so if you get a bad cup of coffee, it’s really annoying.”
I watched Jen lean to her side to look around me and turned to see Gary walking into the cafeteria. He noticed us but was at the counter getting coffee. I didn’t want to be on edge, but I was and hoped he wouldn’t join us.
“They said they’d try to update me at ten o’clock,” Gary said when he arrived at our table a few minutes later.
He didn’t sit, so assumed he was heading back to the waiting room, until he wasn’t and seemed to be lingering. In that lingering, I could see he was studying Sara—a lot more intently than I…
“Oh… You? You’re Brad’s friend?” He said, having likely seen her badge or it clicking that she was a nurse at this particular hospital.
“We’re not doing this here,” I stated with an edge to my voice looking up at him standing at our table.
“Okay, but I thought… No way, this can’t be a tran…”
He didn’t get to finish because I was out of my chair and posted up in his face, and he stopped speaking, maybe surprised by my aggression or worried I was going to hit him.
Jen, unfortunately, had moved at almost the exact same time and was trying to squeeze between us, saying loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear her, “WTF Gary! Knock it off…”
Gary took a tentative step back.
“I thought he was a tranny. Who’s this woman?”
With Jen between us, I couldn’t do anything but say evenly, “Get out of here; you’re going to make an ass of yourself…”
“Can’t wait until the president kills this gender fantasy you all li…,” Gary was saying but was spun around at the shoulder by a large and angry-looking security guard who did not look happy.
“Is there a problem here?” He growled evenly.
“Get off me!” Gary shouted at him and stepped to his left to get out of the guy's reach.
I pulled Jen to the side and stepped in front of her.
“Nurse Connelly, you good here?” The giant asked with a baritone rumble that commanded not only caution but also respect.
“I think Mr. Lamb was just about to return to the waiting room outside the robotics OR. You wouldn’t mind escorting him, would you? I think he’s lost his way.” Sara said smoothly.
“Be my pleasure,” he said, turning to Gary. “If you’ll follow me, sir,” he said, sweeping his arm towards the cafeteria exit.
What the guard had said would in no way be mistaken for a request. Gary looked to be considering his limited options but eventually began walking towards the way he’d entered. There were a few claps from those in the cafeteria sitting near us who’d gotten a show from the idiot.
“That’s some kind of bullshit, Gary!” Jen yelled at him as he walked away, her voice warbling and her fists clenched at her sides.
There were a few snickers; a few people might have commented she was right, but I needed to bring this show to an end.
Softly I put a hand on Jen’s shoulder, saying quietly, “Language, kiddo…”
“Daaad, it is! I don’t care!”
“Gotcha… This is not the place to settle this and not the time, but I promise we’re going to put an end to this,” I said to her and then turned to look at Sara.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Jen and then me.
“What for! He’s pathetic…,” Jenny complained.
“Some people are just wired that way; it’s alright,” Sara said.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” I stated. “He’s an ass, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
“Yeah, you aren’t the problem,” Jen said, stepping over to her and hugging her. “I’m so sorry about that, Sara...”
“I’m fine,” Sara said, returning the hug, “But I probably should get to work. I’ll check on you two later. Text me if you hear anything, okay?”
Jen let Sara go, and I got a quick kiss, hug, and a chance to whisper in her ear that I would handle him, we’d catch up to her later, and that I loved her.
“Let it go,” she whispered back. “He means nothing to anything we have going on, please.” She pulled away to give me a pleading look before saying again, “Please…”
I nodded that I couldn’t do that, and she walked away without saying another word.
::: --- :::
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Thanks for reading...
Rachel M. Moore
[- Insights -]
Jen and I went back to the condo to hang out for a couple of hours. My goal was to keep her from being stressed about her mom being in surgery—which sitting in the waiting room was a constant reminder—and to keep us away from Gary, at least for a little while. Before we left the parking lot, I’d gotten a text from Sara that added to my stresses of the day.
Sara: We really need to talk.
I didn’t answer her, which I know wasn’t the right thing to do, but I didn’t want to have a text conversation about standing up to Gary or for her to tell me again this was going to be the norm if I were to continue being with her. I was worried she’d suggest we end this relationship, which I knew was ‘worst case’ thinking, but I couldn’t help but go there. Even thinking that made me anxious.
I understood what came with some of this hate directed at her, though certainly not to the level she’d had to live with or how she processed her own personal sanity and safety. Regardless, I wasn’t going to be denied being with her for some opinion by someone I didn’t give a shit about. Did she not understand I knew who she was and believed in her?
“Are you okay?”
“Yup… I’m good,” I said with as much cheer as I could muster after being startled by the question since we’d been sitting quietly in the living room.
“Gary just texted me, said things are going well, and whoever told him that said Mom’s doing really well so far,” Jen said. “I texted Sara to see if she’d heard anything, and she said she heard the same thing. She asked me how you were doing.”
I’d seen her looking at her phone, but hadn’t realized she was reading a text. I looked at my phone for the time, 10:38 AM, and I wondered just how far they were into the surgery. If Sara was right and it was a twelve-hour surgery, Denise wouldn’t be done until 7PM or later tonight. Augh…
“You want to chill another hour here, maybe get some lunch, and then stop in at the hospital?” I asked.
“Sure… Are you going to text Sara?” she asked.
“I will,” I replied with a raised brow. “We’re fine, kiddo…”
“Why would she ask me if you were alright? You’re not talking to her or something?”
“She knows you’d tell her the truth, and if she asked me, I might downplay being worried. We’re talking… Come on, really?”
“You’re worried?”
“A little… I don’t want anything bad to happen to your mom, and I want her to be on her way to a healthy life after all this,” I stated.
“Sara told me the doctor doing the surgery is really good. I think that’s why I’m not freaking out more about all this,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs in a hug, and setting her chin on her knees to watch me from the couch.
What I’d give to be that damn flexible!
“I think your mom knew what she was getting by going with Doctor Jenkins. Sara told me he’s the best neurosurgeon around, so I’ve got high hopes.”
Jen looked to be formulating a question and I tilted my head in mock curiosity, which gave her the opening she was looking for to ask, “Did you worry about what you were getting into when you started to date Sara?”
Fucking Gary… Guy spews his crap, and now Jen’s worried about Sara and me? Grrr…
“Honestly, no… It’s weird, but I only ever saw her as a very attractive woman with a positive vibe, so the idea she was Trans was a bit of a shock and didn’t really matter once I got to really know her.”
“Really? Vibe? That word is so old, you know that, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, “I know, give your dad some slack, huh? Anyway, I didn’t see any ‘Trans’ vibe because there wasn’t anything to see but Sara. Pretty sure Gary missed it too, at least for a few seconds…”
“I’m not liking him very much right now… He’ll be hard to be around once mom is better.”
“Yeah, some of his ugly underbelly is shining through, I’ll give you that.”
“So… Like, you really like Sara, huh? I told you she wasn’t all complex and whatever.”
“I’m pretty sure all women, including those who are sixteen and well on their way to womanhood, are complex,” I said, chuckling after that nugget. “I told you we’ve used the ‘L’ word with each other. She has fit into my life easily and opened my eyes to what being happy can be like. I appreciate you accepting her.”
“I like her too, you know,” she complained.
“I know, I know…”
“You don’t have any ‘Trans’ concerns?” she asked all conspiratorially.
“No, but I’d never claim to understand all there is to know. Sara said everyone’s journey is different, so how she’s managed might be different from your friend…,” I was saying but couldn’t remember the girl's name and paused to get clued in on the name.
“Trinity…”
“Yeah, from Trinity’s transition. I know the president-elect’s rhetoric isn’t going to help Sara or Trinity. I think Sara worries about the effects of her being Trans spilling onto you and me. I could have done more research on what she’s gone through and how I can support her better. Then again, I’d probably have screwed that up by overthinking it. I have to admit it’s been a lot easier being me with her, the true me, and we’re learning as we go how we complement each other.”
Jen giggled at me before saying, “You do overthink stuff.”
“I’m working on that,” I complained. “Anyway, there are too many people like Gary out there right now. Ignorant people who can’t string two reasonable thoughts together without help. I hate that, and I hate that Sara gets crap from everywhere and there are very few places she can let her guard down and just be herself. That’s hard for me to accept, which is why I felt like I needed to say something when Gary was being an ass earlier.”
“He made me so mad I wanted to hit ‘em,” she replied, throwing a couple punches at nothing and then resuming her balled-up position.
“We’re not going to be beating on anyone,” I began saying, but Jen cut in.
“Oh, like you weren’t thinking about hitting Gary this morning?”
She was smiling at me, and I knew it would be impossible to lie.
“Okay, that was the heat of the moment, and I need to do better to show Sara I trust in who she is, and besides, there are other ways to go about waking people up to accepting someone who is Trans. Oh, that giant of a security guard seemed to have the right amount of Umph! to slow Gary’s roll, huh?”
“Did you see his arms?! Like… Like bigger than my thighs,” she giggled, eyes wide.
“Yeah, he scared me too, and he wasn’t even talking to me. I do like that he stepped in when Gary had gone off the rails. I’ll have to ask Sara about him; he seemed to know her, so maybe he was looking out for her.”
“If you do, can you see if he’s single?” She asked with a straight face, but when I looked shocked, the giggles couldn’t be held back.
“Hahaha… Not funny, kiddo.”
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, and my curiosity got the better of me.
“Say, what’s with your mom’s attitude lately? Have you been working on her, because the other night was a bit different than I’m used to from her?”
I’d asked that because I was truly interested in what she could tell me about Denise’s attitude of late. I watched her think quietly for a few seconds, maybe considering how she was going to reply.
“Mom knows…”
“Yeah, I know she’s known Sara was Trans for a while,” I stated, maybe sounding a little confused.
“No… I mean, yes, she’s known that, but, ugh… K, this brain thing has changed her, and she knows it. Like, IDK, she… She realizes she’s said things she shouldn’t have, like Tourette’ or whatever that outburst disease is,” she said quietly.
“Did she tell you that?” I asked, surprised.
“Ahhh, we do talk, Dad…,” she replied, sounding like I was an idiot for not realizing that. “Yeah, she said something about being rude to you about Sara and not liking that she’d done that... I think it was hard for her to admit.”
That was a surprise to hear, but it did make me feel a little better hearing that—that the woman I’d loved and invested all those years with wasn’t as heartless as I’d feared.
“Do you think Gary fed any of that hate?” I asked.
“IDK for sure, but yeah, probs… They don’t talk a lot about you when I’m around, and I’ve tried to listen in or catch them, but they’re pretty private about stuff concerning you,” she offered.
Guess Denise held to our agreement to not badmouth each other in front of Jen after all.
[- Avoidance -]
We returned to the hospital after lunch and were there just after 3PM when a nurse came out to tell us they had swapped surgical teams, though Dr. Jenkins was still in there and would be until the procedure was complete. By all accounts Denise was doing really well; all her vitals were well within normal ranges, and the nurse passed on that Dr. Jenkins thought they were about two-thirds complete.
As long as everything was looking good, I didn’t care how long this was going to take.
After the update, Gary walked out of the waiting area. He’d said nothing to us in the nearly two hours we’d been sitting there since grabbing lunch and returning. I would make my point about his behavior concerning Sara another time, without Jen around, and I hoped he modified his stupidity going forward—at least around me, Jen, Denise, and more importantly, Sara.
“Sara just texted me; she’s heading to the cafeteria,” Jen said, nudging me from zoning out on the TV and the back-to-back episodes of Family Feud playing on whatever channel it was on.
“Let’s go see her… My butt's sore from just sitting around, and I don’t think I can take another episode of this show.”
We arrived at the cafeteria a few seconds before Sara, and since we could see her coming down the hall, we waited for her to join us at the entrance. After quick pleasantries, Sara asked Jen if she could speak to me for a second alone. Jen stuck out her hand, and I graced it with a twenty and told her we’d be right in and to get whatever she wanted.
Out of earshot, Sara wasted no time getting to the point of wanting to be alone with me. I was bracing for the worst.
“Don’t do that to me, not acknowledging my wanting to speak to you about the whole Gary thing,” she said, looking hurt and unhappy with me.
“I’m sorry… You’re right. I should have at least said we’d talk tonight at home, but I feel like I know what you’re going to say. That being with you brings out the stupid in people, and it’s going to spill onto me or Jen, right?” I said softly as someone walked out of the cafeteria and away from where we were standing.
She shook her head at me before saying, “I started this journey at fourteen, though I knew way before that I was Trans and needed to right my life with what was going on in my head and I felt in my heart. Now I’m thirty-three, and I have a lot of life experiences dealing with this crap, pretty much on a daily basis. Don’t you think I know a thing or two about how my life affects people adversely?”
I touched her shoulder and really focused in on her eyes. I could see she was tearing up, and as much as I wanted to give in, I was about to double down on my position. As much as what she was saying mattered to her, not having her in my life mattered more to me.
“Do you really want to end this?” I asked softly.
“Of course not,” she said as her chin dropped, “But I don’t want you or Jenny having to deal with this shit, Brad. I can’t live with that; it kills me that I’m hurting you, both of you...”
“How do we move forward with respect to our mutual wants to be together knowing we’re going to have to contend with ‘shit’ because the occasional asshat doesn’t like that you’re who you are? And honestly, let me say again none of what others think about you matters to me. You and Jenny are all that matter, okay?” I asked, lifting her chin slowly, stepping in to hug her, and getting a weak hug in return. “By the way, I’m glad to hear you’re not ready to find the exit. Even if you were, I’ve got to warn you I’m not going to let you get away easily, God damn it…”
There was a momentary chuckle, but then a burying of her face into my chest.
“I’m sorry…”
“You’ve got…,” I didn’t get to finish my thought.
“Hey, you two alright?” Jen asked from behind us.
I looked to her, Sara not moving in my arms, and said, “Yeah, we’re fine… Just need a second; be right there, kiddo, get us a table.”
“Sara?” She asked softly, now coming over to put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m apologizing for ignoring Sara; she’d texted me, and I was putting off saying anything because I didn’t want her trying to keep me from talking to Gary,” I replied.
“I could hit him; there’d be less jail time,” Jen said, hugging us both and trying to make light of the situation.
“Thanks, but please don’t,” Sara said, getting her hands to her face and clearing away her tears.
She was trying to smile, but it was obvious she was hurting.
“What did you do, Dad?”
“I just told you I was stupid and ignored her text because we need to talk this out, not text it,” I replied.
“All of this is because of Gary?” Jen asked.
I nodded.
“That’s crap! Sara, we don’t give a damn about him,” she said with more force than I expected. She looked to know what I was going to say next and got that out before I could speak, “Yeah, I know—language, but he’s a frick’n tool, and I’m done with his crap, Dad!”
That’s my kid… So, much like her mother—headstrong, passionate, and not to be denied. I could use an injection of that energy and attitude about now.
[---]
“She’s out of surgery and being moved to the ICU,” Doctor Jenkins began saying, but saw something on Jen’s face and spoke directly to her, “Everything is fine; she’ll be there for the next couple of days because she’s been through a lot and needs close monitoring as she begins healing. If her vitals hold through the night, I’ll allow immediate family to see her briefly, but she’ll probably not regain consciousness for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Gary said. “You were able to remove the tumor, right?”
Doctor Jenkins looked tired to me, and I’m not sure he felt he could say what he needed to say in front of Jenny to answer that question.
“Yes, but it did look a little worse than I’d thought once we began. We believe we got everything but won’t know until we get some imaging later. The craniectomy performed allows us access to go back in, but we’ve got to wait for the swelling to subside. I’m hopeful we’ve removed the entire tumor, but she’ll need the chemo and radiation to make sure none of the surrounding tissue has been compromised. If the imaging looks good, we’ll get her buttoned up and move on to the next phase of treatment,” Jenkins answered.
“Thank you, doctor,” I said, hugging Jenny, because she looked to be on the edge of losing it.
“Yeah, thank you,” Gary added.
“Mr. Lamb, I’d like a moment,” Jenkins said and began walking away from Jenny and me with Gary in tow.
“Hey… Nothing about what he said was bad, alright… The worst part of this is over for now. Your mom is going to fight this, so we can’t lose hope, right?” I asked Jen.
“I… I get it; I don’t see… Like, how any of that was good news. Does she…,” the tears began flowing and she was hugging me tighter while sobbing quietly.
“Okay, okay… Easy now… It’s a process…” I was saying, but I saw the doctor leaving and Gary looking at me. “Here, sit… I’ll be right back; let me talk with Gary for a second.”
“I want to know what… What…,” she couldn’t finish and sat, her face resting in her hands.
“I know, and I’ll tell you straight up what he tells me, alright?”
At just above a whisper she said, “Please, Dad…”
[- F’ Off -]
“What did Jenkins want?”
Gary stared at me for a few seconds before answering, “He wanted to warn me that she could have significant problems if the swelling worsens overnight. The big fear right now is infection, since they haven’t put the piece of skull they removed back. He mentioned the swelling can lead to her having troubles ranging from dizziness to speaking to memory loss. She’s a long way from being out of the woods, basically.”
“Shit… Is there anything you need?” I asked.
“No… Knowing Jenny’s being taken care of is about all you can do for me, for Denise,” he said, looking like he was trying to decide if there was anything more he wanted to say.
“I’ve got Jen; don’t worry.”
“Yeah, okay… Thanks… Look, I don’t want to get into this with you any more than to say I’d appreciate your friend staying away from Denise.”
I bristled but was prepared to lay into him if he went any further.
When he didn’t, I nodded and replied, “She works here, but I’ll pass on the request.”
“Cool… I just want to focus on Denise getting the care she deserves and to get better.”
“It’s all anyone wants,” I stated.
“Good, I don’t want to have to file a complaint with the administration or feel like this place isn’t doing all it can for Denise because your friend is poisoning people…,” he was beginning to ramble down a road I wasn’t interested in going down with him, so I jumped in.
“You’re a real dick, you know that? I’m not sure why you’re being such an ass about Sara, but I’m done letting you shit on her. Your focus should be on Denise, not some MAGA talking point from the idiot about to take office. If you want a fight, I’ll give you one, and it’ll start by pulling that spousal support I’m supplying every month. It was never court mandated, and I was being generous by even offering it… See what that does to your household and paying for the care Denise is going to need after getting out of here. Your attitude is going to fuck with Jen, and when Denise realizes it, you’re screwed because she’ll choose Jen over you any day. Keep pushing and you’re going to get fucked,” I challenged.
I took a quick glance over at Jen and could see she was watching us. She shrugged back at me, and I held up a finger to say I’d be just a minute more. I knew she couldn’t hear us talking quietly but figured she could tell we weren’t going to hug after this impromptu chat either.
“Do what you need to do… You’re only hurting Denise and Jenny by continuing this farce with that guy you’re seeing,” Gary said with a sneer.
“Good enough…”
“Good luck getting a signature on any change other than the one you’re pushing through on custody. Had I been there the other night, I wouldn’t have let Denise sign that shit.”
“Don’t you mean if you weren’t drunk and the cops hadn’t removed you from the house? Hmm, want to bet there’s a police report somewhere I can get a hold of that would help show a pattern of alcohol abuse and run-ins with the police? You think that’s going to play well for you in the future?”
“Fuck you, Brad.”
“Right back at you, Gary,” I replied and walked away.
[---]
“What did Gary say?”
“The next twenty-four hours would be critical, just like the doctor told us. Sounds like the rehab she’ll need will be a key component to her recovery,” I said, though I barely knew any of that last tidbit because Sara had shared that with me and only mentioned it because Gary and I’d obviously had said more to each other.
“You two weren’t arguing?” Jen asked.
“We were stating our positions.”
“So, that’s a yes then…”
“I don’t understand his deep-seated hate, and that makes it tough to reason with him. I think we level set our expectations moving forward,” I replied.
We got home just after 7PM, and Sara was quick to plate up her take on a ‘Chopped Salad’. Basically she’d taken some romaine lettuce and thrown in every vegetable we had in the refrigerator, some olives, cheeses cut into strips, lunch meat, and some chicken breast she’d cooked. We each got to apply our own dressing, and judging by how quiet we all were around the table, we’d succumbed to being emotionally drained / tired and hungry. It wasn’t that we were bad company, just spent after a long day of being at the hospital.
After dinner, Jen and I cleaned up as Sara watched from a barstool at the kitchen island.
“No more issues with Gary?” she asked.
When I didn’t immediately reply, Jen said, “He’s an ass…”
I gave her ‘the look,’ and I got a shrug in reply.
“So, yes, he was a problem?” Sara asked.
“He continues to be an ass, but we parted ways with an understanding of what we expected from each other moving forward,” I replied.
“Which is what?” Sara asked.
“We’d both f-off and stay focused on Denise’s care and her getting better.”
“Good grief…,” Sara complained.
[- Positions -]
After we were in bed, which happened after we’d both showered individually, Sara seemed unusually quiet.
“You okay?” I kissed the top of her head as she was snuggled next to me.
“What really happened with Gary?” she asked.
“He said he didn’t want you around Denise and said he didn’t want you poisoning any of the staff caring for her. I couldn’t say that in front of Jen… Sorry.”
“Poisoning? He’s lost his damn mind…”
“I know, I know…”
“He, like, threatened to go to the administration or something? That wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” she said, asking while locking eyes with me.
“He mentioned he’d do that if he sensed any weirdness from those caring for Denise,” I replied. “I threatened to pull the spousal support if he keeps this shit up, though. It sounds like Denise is in for a battle, and that’ll cost him. I don’t want to screw up anything for her care-wise or recovering, but I’m not going to support this idiot’s attitude if he refuses to back off.”
We lay there silently for a few minutes, and I couldn’t take the silence.
“I bring my share of drama to this relationship,” I said, hugging her.
“You do, but it’s not the same kind as I’m bringing; not to mention, without my issue, none of his craziness you’re experiencing from Gary or others would be happening.”
“What’s most important here, though? Us, right?”
“Yes, we’re trying to figure it out, but change is on the horizon, and it’s not going to be pleasant for anyone who’s Trans or supports someone who’s is. I heard something about passports today that could be a problem. Mine expires in two years—right in the middle of his term, and he’s already threatening changes that are binary based. They could pull my original birth certificate, which has been corrected, but that would prevent me from getting my passport as who I am now. There’s only so much legal support I can fall back on before I’ll get swept away…”
“No one is going to sweep you away; they can’t; you’ve always existed, and they can’t change that… Not that they won’t try, but that guy’s got an expiration date.”
She was studying me, “Did you forget about his ‘peaceful’ transfer of power the last time he appointed himself as this country's savior?”
[- Prognosis -]
Sunday morning we arrived at the hospital, and after nearly two hours of waiting, Jenny was allowed, with Gary, to stand outside Denise’s room and look in on her. I felt cheated that I couldn’t go with her for support, and when she finally returned to the hallway I was standing in, she about knocked me over when she rushed to get in my arms.
“It’s… It’s so bad… She looks white, like…,” she began sobbing even harder and stopped speaking.
I held her and watched Gary standing nearby, wondering what his problem was.
“Easy… This is to be expected, right? Sara said she was going to need time to heal, kiddo…,” I said softly.
“Naanot… riiight… Daaadd,” she sobbed into my chest.
“I know… We need to stay strong…”
“Her hair… It’s… gone…. And there’s like… I can’t do this,” she said and shuddered in my arms through another bout of sobs. “Home… I… Can we go?”
“Let me talk to Gary real quick…”
I left her standing near a water fountain and made my way to Gray. He didn’t look to be his usual smug self, which I needed after trying to calm Jen down.
“Sounds like that wasn’t a good thing for her to see,” I said.
“Yeah, probably not… Jenkins said she had a seizure last night, some heart arrhythmia, and the MRI they did last night shows there’s a small amount of the tumor still there.”
“Do they want to go back in?”
“They can, but the swelling is keeping them from doing that. He said there’s a radiosurgery or something like that. Basically, they’d put her skull back and use a ‘Gamma Knife’ to blast what they missed?”
Gary didn’t seem sure of any of that, but I knew I could ask Sara about it.
“Did she regain consciousness?” I asked.
“Couple times… Asked to see Jenny, but was out right afterwards.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not… I really don’t know. It sounds like the radiosurgery thing is the best option for minimizing any more damage to her,” Gary began saying, but paused because he was getting emotional. “She’s not going to be the same after this no matter what I decide.”
“I’m really sorry…,” I said and watched him turn and walk away defeated.
[- Confirmations -]
Thursday was a good day all around.
Jen had been in a better mood after she went to visit Denise at the hospital. She was allowed into the ICU for a couple of minutes to be physically by Denise’s side—rather than standing outside her room and only being able to see her through a large window. She was an emotional wreck after being able to do that but did get a chance to hold her mom’s hand and tell her she loved her. By all accounts it had been a one-sided conversation, but Denise had been able to say she loved her back, and that had certainly buoyed Jen’s spirits.
Gary had shared with me he’d approved the Gamma Knife option to further Denise’s care while Jen was in the ICU with her. We hadn’t done more than acknowledge each other’s presence to that point since our setting of ‘fuck you’ mandates Sunday. He explained that the cranioplasty to fuse her skull back in place went as expected, which I already knew, and Doctor Jenkins had put her on the schedule for the Gamma Knife procedure Saturday morning. Sara had told me the surgery wasn’t an actual surgery but actually the focusing of beams of radiation at the brain to destroy or shrink tumors.
“Is a week enough time for her to recover and be ready for that kind of thing?”
“The cranioplasty wouldn’t have happened if the swelling hadn’t decreased, and since that’s held through post-op, Jenkins doesn’t want to waste any time cleaning up what they couldn’t get the first time around,” Sara explained.
There was hope, and I got more on a call I’d received while at my office midday.
“Hey Lance… What’s the word?”
“The decree modification for Jenny’s custody was signed off by Judge Rainey today. Officially recorded by tomorrow end of day,” he replied.
“That is good news, thanks dude!”
“No problem… How’s Denise doing?”
I explained how she was doing, he asked a few questions, and I eventually spun the conversation back to the wildcard in all of this.
“So, legally I get to keep Jen since Denise is incapacitated, right?”
“That’s how it was written up, an addendum to the standard five/two split in days of custody that says the parent has to be physically / mentally capable of Jenny’s care or it defaults to the other parent. If you have any issue with Gary not accepting any of that, tell him to reach out to Wayne. Don’t waste your time trying to explain it,” Lance coached.
“Understood…”
[- News -]
Gary had pushed me, and as I was trying to recover from the shove, I saw my fist being swung at him. I’d missed, but someone was calling me… Sara?
“Brad?”
Someone had said my name while shaking me gently. Sara?
I could hear my cellphone ringing and got my hand on it, fumbled to answer it, and draped my forearm over my eyes when I got it to my ear.
“Uh?”
There was silence, and it stretched way too long. I turned my head to look at my alarm clock, and it said 3:16 AM—who was… Fuck! I looked at my phone to see who it was and saw Gary’s name.
“What’s happened?” I asked now, fully awake and beginning to sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.
The silence continued…
“Is Denise alright, Gary? Just tell me,” I asked as calmly as I could.
“She’s… She’s gone… Can you let Jenny know?” Gary asked.
“Fuck… I’m so sorry… Yeah, I can… Where are you?”
“At the hospital…”
“Alright, I… Look, if there’s anything I can do… Right…,” I stammered.
“Sure… I need to make some other calls,” he replied, sounding numb, and the line went dead.
I looked at my phone, felt Sara crawling next to me, felt her hand on my shoulder, and I broke down right after telling her that Denise had passed.
[- Ache -]
It took me ten minutes to regain my composure enough to speak a full sentence. In that time Sara had just held me quietly, and I eventually was able to apologize for having lost it.
“I understand… It’s to be expected; don’t ever hide how you feel from me, okay…,” Sara had said. “If you felt nothing, I’d be worried about the man I love...”
Her saying that, of course, broke me, and I ended up sobbing some more. When I’d think about having to tell Jenny her mom had died, that’s when I really felt the depths of those cracks in my heart. After an hour of wallowing in grief and pain, I stood and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind me so I could piss.
I exited to find Sara dressed in sweats and a baggy sweatshirt. She’d pulled her hair back with a scrunchie and came over to take my hand.
“I’ll come with you…,” she said softly.
I nodded and started for the bedroom door.
“You should put some clothes on, sweetie…”
I stopped dead in my tracks, turning to head for my closet instead of the bedroom door. Showing up to Jen’s room wearing just my boxer briefs probably wasn’t a good idea. I needed to get my shit together and quick. I tossed on sweats and a t-shirt, exited my closet, took Sara’s hand, and headed to Jen’s room.
“Jen…”
“Whaa?” She croaked.
“Gary just called…” I didn’t finish before she screamed at me in anguish as to Denise being alright.
The look on my face, the tears streaming down my face, and that I could barely look at her was the only answer I could give, and that’s how she knew her mother was gone.
The three of us were crying, hugging, and unable to speak for a long, long time…
[- Hope -]
The death of a loved one, at any time, can be a traumatic experience. When that death is the mother of your child, it raises to a level you’ve got no chance of being able to cope with gracefully or have the power to unburden your child from their grief. Add to that passing it being in the month of December, with a couple of gifts having been purchased by your child for her mother—yeah, might as well try cutting my heart out with a screwdriver.
Nothing about Christmas or New Year's going forward would ever be the same for Jenny. This time of year would forever be a reminder to her that her mom left her and God wasn’t being fair for taking her.
Denise had wanted to be cremated, so when that was possible, Gary had made that happen. There was a small memorial held on December 28th that Jen and I attended. I knew many of the people who’d been invited and got the distinct impression everyone knew I was dating Sara. The sideways glances, the looks of disdain, and even the whispers were on full display and couldn’t be missed.
Jen had noticed one woman giving me a look and had barked at her, “What’s your problem?!”
I had to drag her out of the small reception after that to keep her from railing on people who were treating us like we were screwed up. The entire ride home she’d complained about Gary and not ever wanting to see him again. She had good reason for being angry at him. Not just for sprinkling his hate amongst those attendees to the memorial, but because he’d been a pain to work with when we moved Jenny completely out of Denise’s house.
Added to those issues, he was purposely withholding items that belonged to Denise that were supposed to be passed down to her. They were mostly pieces of jewelry I’d bought Denise while we were married, and while not crazy extravagant or pricey, the sentimental value was priceless. Denise had told Jenny she’d get those few items, but they weren’t specifically called out in her will—not that either of us was allowed to see it.
When I’d confronted Gary about those couple of items Jen recalled Denise wanted her to have, he said he hadn’t found them but would keep an eye out for them. When Jenny found out he couldn’t find those pieces of jewelry, there was a long bout of screaming at him on the phone. I’d let her have that release and she’d given it to him without mercy.
He hadn’t changed his tune since Denise’s passing, and nothing either of us could do was budging him or could change that.
Jenny had thought she could go over to the house while he was at work to retrieve those items Denise had promised her last week without my knowledge. It was a failed attempt to right a wrong because he’d changed the locks. Her frustrated call to me while I was at work went on for five minutes straight, and she pretty much used every swear word out there multiple times. I let her have that moment without my usual complaint about her choices of words.
I had told her the sooner she let it go, the better off she’d be. I feared this continued picking at that scab of losing her mom was going to keep this nightmare fresh in her mind and would make it tougher for her to get over. I’d suggested her seeing someone to unload her feelings, but she refused. I hadn’t pressed, though I knew it was the right thing for her, and figured it was an idea we could loop back to later if she seemed troubled or slipped into any depressed state.
I was so worried about her it took a week for me to notice a routine had been happening right under my nose. Sara had been getting off of work earlier since Denise passed, and by the time I got home from work, she and Jen were either sitting quietly talking, laughing while watching some TikTok video, cooking together, shopping for Christmas presents online, or a few times dancing in the living room with the music loud enough I could hear it down the hall from my condo's front door!
My best friend had been quietly working behind the scenes to help ensure Jenny wasn’t going to slip off the rails. She hadn’t mentioned she was going to do that; she just did it, and I’d missed it for at least a week. There’d been no complaints about me not giving her my full attention, just her loving me enough to care about Jen as much as I did…
Finally alone and in bed together, I was intent on thanking her, though embarrassed it took so long to realize it was happening.
“You’re kind of sneaky.”
“Oh, come on! You did not taste the onions we chopped up fine and put in the spaghetti sauce,” Sara complained.
“You put onions in the sauce?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah, and there’s no way you could tell! I’m not buying it… Did Jenny tell you?”
“You know I don’t like onions… Jen knows that too.”
“Umhuh, didn’t you see her watching you during dinner?”
“No… I mean no more than usual.”
“Well, you ate onions, and they didn’t kill you,” she said with a little giggle and kissed my cheek.
“You know that’s not what I was talking about, right?”
“Oookay… What did I do?”
“You’ve been keeping an eye on Jenny,” I said, hugging her.
“You’re just noticing that?”
“No… Okay, maybe... I’ve been so wrapped up in her mental health I feel like I’ve taken you for granted,” I said a little mousey-like.
“Oh really? And how are you going to make it up to me?” She replied seductively.
“Wait,” I said as her hands began to wander around my waist. “I wanted to thank you for doing that, helping her get over… You know…”
“She’s not over anything, Brad. I’m just listening to her, trying to keep her world moving in those sixteen-year-old girl directions, know what I mean?”
“Yeah… I’m talking to her; did she say I wasn’t?” I asked worriedly.
“No… But she’s not fragile china; consider that when you’re talking to her.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“How about an example?”
“So I did say something?”
“No, but kind of… Like, I’ve heard you ask about her seeing a counselor three times in the last five days. What’s her answer been? No, right? Slow that request down; I don’t see her wanting to do that. Look,” she said, putting a hand on my cheek, “I offered to hook her up with my counselor once; she said no, so I haven’t asked again. She knows what she needs right now, knows we’ll help her if she asks… That’s my read on her, if that helps.”
“She’s only sixteen though, and grief… I mean, if you don’t deal with it, it’ll smack you hard later in life,” I complained.
“I know that, my dad died when I was young, I told you that. Even when I thought I was cried out, I wasn’t. Losing a parent will always be there.”
“I just worry about her…”
“You don’t think she’s dealing with it?”
“I… Some of it, maybe…”
“You letting her yell at Gary—that was liberating for her. She told me she was surprised you’d let her do that, and I think it cleared a lot of crazy she’d been feeling about how he treated Denise. That was the right thing to do.”
“She never told me that…”
“She’s going to tell us different things, and I’ll loop you in one hundred percent if it’s important for you to know as her dad. I’m sure she tells you stuff I’m not privy to…”
“Like what?” I’d asked but knew that was a stupid question.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, giggling.
“Guess that was dumb… So, are we good?”
“We could be better,” she said, getting a leg over my waist and after climbing on top of me leaned down to kiss me.
“No… I’m serious, Sara, we’re good, right?”
“We are,” she said, kissing me again and nibbling on my earlobe—which she knew drove me crazy. “And if Jenny asks to go to Aaron’s house for a New Year’s party his parents are throwing, you might want to just say yes…”
I could feel her reaching between our bodies, grabbing my…
[- New Hope -]
Me: Good morning.
Jen: Z’up?
Me: Any chance you can come to my office this afternoon?
Jen: Okay? Something wrong?
Me: No, want to run something by you?
Jen: K—hint? Can’t it wait until you get home?
Me: Involves Sara—so no.
Jen: *smiley face emoji*
I could hear Hailey talking to Jen out in the lobby and decided to save her from all the ‘I haven’t seen you in…’ and ‘I’m so sorry about your mom…’ conversations that were bound to take place. Hailey had been with the firm for years and kept this place running efficiently, but she could talk your ear off if you let her get going.
“Come on back, Jen,” I called from my office door and could see on Jen’s face I’d made the right choice saving her from Hailey.
After she’d hugged me and entered my office, grabbing a seat, I closed the door. When I got to my desk and sat, she was all smiles.
“What?” I asked.
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“I think you’re going to ask me something, and I’m going to say yes…”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, you said I was here to talk about Sara, right?”
“I did… What do you think I’d want to ask you about her?” I asked, smiling.
“I’m not sure, but I’m sure if it’s what I’m thinking, I’m going to like it… So, yes!”
“Okay… I’d like to get away with her to someplace warm and was wondering if you’d be alright with Nana and Papa coming up to stay with you while we’re away.”
She looked instantly deflated.
“Not what you were expecting?” I asked.
“Yeah, no… You’re going on vacation?” She asked, sounding a bit pouty about it.
I smiled back at her.
“Wait, you’re kidding, right?”
“Well, partly… I’d need my parents here to keep an eye on you if I were on, say, a honeymoon or…,” I didn’t get to finish that sentence because she was rushing to my side of the desk, tears flowing and sobbing—though smiling ear to ear as she hugged me tight.
I waited for her to wipe her tears away with a tissue I’d supplied before asking, “So you’re good with me asking Sara to marry me?”
“God! Yes! About time, Daaaad!”
“Yeah, well, when you know, you know, I guess…”
“Mmhuh! And some people have known for a while! Geesh, Dad!”
“I never claimed to be the brightest bulb, kiddo.”
“Seriously…”
“Any chance you’d want to help me shop for a ring?”
There was a fresh round of tears, a hug so tight I thought she’d break me in two, and excited confirmation she’d love to help with that.
“When are you going to ask her?” she asked.
“New Year’s…”
“Ooo… Tomorrow?” She asked, surprised.
“Yup… New Year’s…”
She looked to be thinking about something and asked, “So, that’s like something you should do alone, yeah?”
“I wouldn’t mind it if you were around,” I said, knowing what was likely coming.
“No… That’s like a romantic thing! You need to make it special, memorable,” Jen complained.
“Okay…,” I said, hoping she’d get to the request I knew she wanted to make and help making asking Sara romantic.
“Aaron’s parents are having a New Year’s party. I… I could go so I’d be out of your hair?”
“I think we could make that happen…”
I was grabbed again, hugged, and definitely had a happy daughter in my arms.
[- Beneficiary -]
The markets were a crapshoot on any given year-end day they were open. Today was no different, and I wasn’t surprised with the rough start. What I was surprised with was the call I’d gotten right after the markets opened.
“Brad?”
“What do you want, Gary?”
“I’m looking at some paperwork on a self-directed IRA Denise has with your firm; are you still managing it?” he asked.
“I am,” I replied, suspecting the reason for the call and surprised it hadn’t come sooner.
“The statement I’m looking at for last quarter shows it’s in excess of two hundred thousand, is that right?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss client’s accounts without their permission; I’m sure you know that.”
“Cut the crap, Brad. You know full well everything that was Denise’s transfers over to me. I’m calling to get that account transferred out from under you ‘stewardship’; don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I’m not, and Denise’s account can’t be transferred to you because she stipulated the beneficiary through something called POD—Payable on Death. You weren’t who the money was transferred to,” I replied with a certain amount of satisfaction.
“Quick fucking with me, Brad. There’s no way I’m letting you get a payday off of her IRA because she forgot to change some form to name me,” he complained.
“It wasn’t me she named; it was Jenny. And I’ll be happy to meet you in court to argue this, though I will warn you right now—the POD-designated beneficiary prevails over any will or estate concerns.”
“Fuck you, Brad!”
I didn’t get a chance to reply before he hung up on me. Likely the last time we’d ever need to talk to one another. Asshat!
[- Blessing -]
“Brad? What are you doing here?”
“Hey Carol,” I replied as she hugged me. “I was wondering if you’ve got a minute.”
“Of course, of course,” she said and looked to the secretary in the little lobby of her office to say, “Alisa, hold my calls.”
“Yes, Mrs. Connelly… You’ve got that meeting with finance at four,” Alisa replied.
“Thank you… Brad, come in, come in,” Carol said, ushering me into her office at the Port of Boston. “What can I do for you?” she asked after closing her door.
“This’ll be quick, but… Yeah, I… Well, I’m here to say that I love your daughter and… I’m asking permission to marry Sara, to get your blessing,” I said nervously.
It was obviously not what she was expecting, but she was smiling, and after the initial shock, there were tears forming in her eyes. We hadn’t sat; we were still standing inside the door to her office, and she was quick to grab me into a hug.
“I would absolutely love you and Jenny to be permanent fixtures in Sara’s life,” she said, kissing my cheek and wiping at those tears. “Yes, yes! A hundred times over, yes!”
[- Proposal -]
As soon as we’d dropped Jen off at Aaron’s house for the New Year’s party, Sara asked, “Does she seem really nervous to you?”
“Maybe a little? I wish she’d have worn a different pair of jeans, but I guess the blown-out knees thing is still in ‘style’ these days.”
There was a giggle, followed by her saying, “It is, and complaining at her wouldn’t have been worth the effort.”
“Figured, that’s why I didn’t say anything,” I said, turning left instead of right at the main boulevard outside of Temple’s, Denise’s also, neighborhood.
“Are we going somewhere?” Sara asked.
“Yeah, quick stop on the way home; it shouldn’t take but a minute. I promise we’ll be sitting on the couch watching the Seacrest ball drop on the TV soon enough.”
Generic conversation about nothing in particular followed, and ten minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot at Café Duro.
“What are we doing here?”
“I left my credit card here this morning and asked Megan if I could swing by and get it.”
“Brad! It’s like an hour after she should have closed this place up… Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow? She’d told me she was going to open tomorrow at the usual time.”
“I’m not going into the office tomorrow, the markets are closed…”
“Oh really? So we could sleep in?”
“Something like that,” I replied, smiling and getting out of the car.
When we were at the front door, I tried pulling it open, but it was locked. I knocked. The lights were on, but there wasn’t anyone inside that we could see. A minute of waiting, and my nerves got the better of me—I reached into my pocket, removed a key, and opened the door—much to the surprise of Sara standing there with me.
“How do you have a key?” she asked, confused.
“Meg gave it to me… Come on,” I said, holding the door open for her, but she wasn’t moving. “It’s alright, really, Megan knows we’re here.” I said, and she finally stepped inside.
I turned to lock the door behind us and guided her over to our usual table. She sat without having to be coaxed.
“Brad? We shouldn’t be in here… What’s going on? Does Megan really know we’re…”
I was moving to get down on one knee, pulling the ring box from my jacket pocket, and looked at a very stunned woman sitting in front of me, not appearing to be breathing, and totally about to lose her mind.
“I’m positive I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you, and I can’t imagine a day without you in my life,” I said and opened the ring box. “Will you marry me?”
Tackled to the floor, because I wasn’t expecting her to rush me like that, we were entwined and trying to right ourselves, to hug one another, to kiss, and wipe the joyous tears from our eyes. I heard the word ‘yes’ too many times to count, was kissed just as many, and knew nothing about my routine life would ever be the same with this amazing woman by my side.
[*-- Epilog --*]
While there was much to be celebrated after Sara had accepted my proposal, she was concerned in the days that followed. The president-elect wasn’t shy about making his craziness known to the masses. In particular, his desire to trample Trans rights and acknowledgment that someone could even be Trans. The early rhetoric and posturing by his forming cabinet had been made abundantly clear—trouble was coming.
Not that we had to worry that Massachusetts was going to flip ‘red’ any time soon, but we’d decided we were going to gum up the process of wiping out Sara’s existence by becoming officially wed before the inauguration. Did we have the ideal amount of time to plan the small service, get the paperwork lined up, purchase a beautiful dress, have an impromptu bachelor / bachelorette party, and book a small venue for a reception? Barely…
On January 18th, 2025, four months after our first meeting, Sara and I made it official. We were wished much love and prosperity by those who joined us in celebrating our union. Sara and I, along with all our allies, wished anyone out there who thought they could erase us both the best of luck. We were doing something to break the routine of ‘hate’ sweeping our country. It was just the beginning of our resistance against the ignorant…
FIN
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Rachel M. Moore