Keeping It Fluid -67

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It was late. The house had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks in deep after a long day. Lily was asleep—finally—and Mom and Dad were upstairs, watching one of their old mystery shows on low volume.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of ginger tea in my hands, just staring out the window at the streetlamp glow through the trees.

Sam padded in, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized hoodies that swallowed him up like a blanket. He looked unsure. Shaky, almost.

“You good?” I asked, tipping my head slightly.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there like his feet didn’t quite belong to him.

Then he whispered, “Can I talk to you?”

That got my attention. I nodded, and he slid into the seat across from me, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I… don’t know how to say this,” he started. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it brought you down here after midnight.”

He looked up at me, eyes searching mine. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

I sat up straighter. “You’re not broken, Sam.”

“I went to Pride… and I didn’t think it would mess with my head,” he said, voice low. “But I saw these girls. And some weren’t born girls. And it was like… something clicked. I just… I felt it. Like they were free in a way I’m not.”

I stayed quiet. Let him speak.

“And I started thinking… what if I’m not just different? What if I’m not a boy?” His voice cracked. “What if I’m… a girl? What if I want to be?”

My heart ached—not in a bad way. In that deep way you feel when someone hands you something fragile and trusts you not to drop it.

“Sam…”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, looking down. “What if Mom and Dad get sad? What if I mess everything up? I’m the only boy. What happens if I’m not anymore?”

I reached across the table and took his hand. It was shaking.

“You wouldn’t be messing anything up,” I said quietly. “You’d just be being honest. That’s never wrong.”

He blinked at me, lips trembling. “But I don’t even know for sure. What if it’s just a phase? What if I regret it?”

“You’re allowed to not know,” I said. “You’re allowed to try things and see how they feel. You don’t have to carve it in stone tonight.”

Sam nodded slowly, tears forming in his eyes. “But you’re the strong one. You’ve been through so much and you just… you’re you.”

I let out a breath. “Sam, I cry during Folgers commercials. I forget to brush my hair half the time. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing either. I’m just doing my best not to let the world tell me who I’m supposed to be.”

He gave a soft laugh through the tears, wiping his sleeve across his eyes.

“I know you’re scared,” I said. “I was too. Still am, some days. But if what you felt at Pride was real—if it lit something up inside you—then don’t let it burn out just because you’re afraid.”

We sat in silence for a minute. The fridge hummed. A car passed outside.

Then he asked, in barely a whisper: “Can I try something?”

“Of course.”

He looked around like someone might be listening.

“Would it be weird if I… tried a different name? Just between us?”

My chest tightened, but in the warmest way.

“Not weird at all,” I said. “What name?”

He paused. Thought. Then smiled a little.

“Samantha. Just… to see how it feels.”

I smiled back. “Nice to meet you, Samantha.”

She let out a breath she’d been holding. “Thanks, Em.”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “Anytime, sis.”

And for the first time that night, she smiled like it didn’t hurt.

~o~O~o~

The next morning, things felt… lighter.

Not in a loud or obvious way. Just easier. Like something unspoken had finally been allowed to breathe.

Sam—no, Samantha—came downstairs wearing the same hoodie, but her eyes looked less guarded. Like maybe, just maybe, the world wasn’t going to fall apart if she let herself exist.

I poured two bowls of cereal.

“Lucky Charms or the boring flakes?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Lucky Charms. Definitely.”

“You’re finally developing taste,” I teased.

She smirked. “Don’t push it.”

Lily bounced into the kitchen next, still in her pajama pants and already talking a mile a minute about her dream where our cat Buttons led a pride parade on a skateboard. Samantha and I both laughed—and for once, it felt like we weren’t all carrying separate weights.

Just one family. Around the table. With milk that hadn’t expired yet, and enough rainbow marshmallows to go around.

Samantha looked around, then leaned a little closer.
“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

She hesitated, then said softly, “Can we meet in your room after breakfast?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

Before I could ask what it was about, Lily barreled into the kitchen, arms full of cereal boxes and her hair sticking up like she’d been wrestling her dreams all night.

“Do we have any marshmallows left or did someone eat ‘em all in secret again?” she asked dramatically, squinting at Samantha.

Samantha raised both hands. “Not guilty. Emily?”

I smirked. “You caught me. I was stress-snacking last night. Totally worth it.”

Lily rolled her eyes and grabbed a spoon. “Unbelievable. I live with cereal criminals.”

We all laughed, and breakfast rolled on like any other morning—spoiled milk jokes, an argument over whether orange juice or apple juice was the “breakfast boss,” and Lily recounting some ridiculous dream where Kermit the Frog opened a taco truck. Classic Lily.

But even as I laughed along, I kept catching glimpses of Samantha—quieter than usual, picking at her food, eyes flicking toward me every now and then.

She was nervous. And I had a feeling I knew why.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, brushing a piece of lint off my old hoodie when Samantha knocked once and stepped inside.

She closed the door gently behind her.
“So… about earlier,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to see… if it feels right to wear some girls clothes.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” I said, already moving toward the bottom drawer of my dresser.
“I don’t have a ton of super girly stuff,” I admitted. “I mostly go for comfy, gender-neutral. But I’ve got a couple things.”

I pulled out a soft lavender blouse I never wore, and a floral skirt that still had the tag on it. A few other pieces followed—simple tops, a cardigan, a pale green dress with little embroidered bees on the hem.

Samantha stared at them like they were magic.

“You can try anything you want,” I said gently. “There’s no pressure to like it. No pressure to not like it either. Just feel.”

She nodded, taking the skirt and blouse with careful hands, then glanced toward my bathroom.

“Go ahead,” I said, smiling. “Take your time.”

She disappeared behind the door.

The door creaked open, and Samantha stepped out slowly, hands brushing the sides of the dress like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. The pale green fabric hugged her just right, falling just above the knee. Her face was flushed, her smile small but so real it nearly knocked the air out of me.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, standing up. “You look amazing.”

“You think?” she asked, fiddling with the edge of the sleeve.

“I know,” I said, already grinning. “You’re glowing.”

That was all it took. Her face lit up, and suddenly we were both giggling like we were twelve and just tried on prom dresses for fun. I gave a little twirl to match hers, and she twirled too, laughing under her breath like it was the first time she’d felt that light in ages.

Then—

The door flew open.

“Hey Em, have you seen—”

Lily froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, her eyes bouncing from Samantha to me to the dress.

No one moved.

Samantha’s smile dropped in an instant, her arms instinctively wrapping around her waist.

“Lily,” I said quickly, voice even but gentle, “knock next time.”

She blinked. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Samantha said, barely above a whisper, but she wasn’t looking at Lily. She was looking at the floor.

Lily took a step back, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to leave or apologize or both.

“Lily,” I said again, softer this time. “Sam’s trying something out. Something that’s important. Do you understand?”

Lily nodded slowly. “I… yeah. I mean… I think so.”

She looked at Samantha again, really looked.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. You look… nice.”

Then she backed out of the room and gently closed the door behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy and strange.

“You okay?” I asked.

Samantha let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“I think so. That could’ve been way worse.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But it also could’ve been just you, me, and a full hour of dress twirling.”

She cracked a small smile. “Next time, we lock the door.”

The door creaked open again—slower this time.

Lily peeked her head in. “I knocked.”

I smiled. “You may enter.”

She stepped inside, careful like she didn’t want to scare anyone, then sat on the edge of my bed, eyes fixed on Samantha in the dress.

She tilted her head. “So… why are you wearing that?”

Samantha glanced at me for a second, then took a breath and stepped forward.

“Because I wanted to try it,” she said. “To see if it felt right. And it does. It really does.”

Lily blinked. “Wait—are you… like Emily?”

Samantha nodded, a little unsure at first. “Yeah. I think so. In my mind, I feel like I’m a girl.”

Lily’s face lit up. She stood up, walking closer, eyes wide and bright.

“That’s so cool!” she said, grinning. “You look pretty.”

Samantha blushed. “Thanks.”

Lily tilted her head again. “But… does that mean you’re not my brother anymore?”

Samantha hesitated, glancing at me, then knelt down a little to be eye level with her.

“I’ll always be your family. But I’m not your brother. I’m your sister now. If that’s okay.”

Lily paused like she was really thinking it through. Then she nodded again. “Okay. Sis.”

Samantha looked like she might cry, but in the best way.

“Emily, Sam, Lily—drop what you're doing and come down quickly! I got a surprise for you three!” Mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen, full of excitement.

I looked at Samantha. Her face had gone pale.

She looked down at the dress, smoothing the fabric like she could make it disappear. “I… I still have this on.”

I stepped closer and rested a hand on her arm. “Maybe this is the best time,” I said gently. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let her see you. Let her see you.”

Samantha bit her lip, heart pounding—I could see it in her eyes. But then Lily chimed in cheerfully, “You got this,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That was all it took.

Samantha nodded slowly, still nervous, but something shifted in her posture—just enough courage to try.

Lily and I headed down first. Mom was by the kitchen table, arms behind her back and a huge grin on her face. There was something wrapped in bright tissue paper in the center of the table, but she didn’t explain yet.

She looked past us toward the stairs. “Where’s Sam?”

There was a pause. A beat.

Then, from the stairs came a soft voice:
“Here I am.”

Mom turned.

Samantha stepped into view, moving slowly, her head held a little higher than it had been upstairs. The dress swayed gently around her legs. Her shoulders were tight, but her hands weren’t trembling anymore.

Mom’s eyes softened the second she saw her.

She didn’t say anything right away. She just smiled—big, warm, and unshaken—and opened her arms.

Samantha walked right into them.

She stood still in Mom’s arms, her face hidden in the fabric of her shirt. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Mom just held her, like she had always known, or maybe like she didn’t need to know everything—just enough to love her completely.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Samantha whispered, barely audible. “I was scared.”

Mom gently stepped back just enough to see her face. “Sweetheart, I’m your mom. My job isn’t to be surprised—it’s to show up. And you look beautiful.”

Samantha’s eyes welled up. She nodded quickly, like if she didn’t get it out fast, she might fall apart.

Lily grabbed Sam’s hand and held it tight. “I told you,” she said proudly. “She’d be cool.”

I stood behind them both, my heart so full I thought it might burst. Mom looked at me then, something unspoken passing between us. Like she knew I’d helped. Like she was proud of me too.

Dad poked his head into the room, holding a wrench. “Hey, what’s going—” He paused, taking in the sight.

Sam straightened a little, but didn’t hide.

Dad blinked once. Then twice.

“Kid,” he said, nodding. “That color suits you.”

Mom gave him a look.

“What?” he shrugged. “I’m learning.”

Samantha let out a teary laugh.

“Okay,” Mom said, brushing hair from her face, “now can we get to the surprise? Or do we need a group cry first?”

Samantha smiled, wiping her eyes. “Maybe both?”

“I still want the surprise,” Lily whispered impatiently, tugging at my arm. “But I can wait… like five minutes. Maybe.”

Mom glanced at her with a smile. “Why don’t you and Emily go help your dad outside for a bit? Just a quick minute.”

“But—”

“I’ll tell you the second we’re done,” I promised. “Pinkie swear.”

Lily narrowed her eyes, but she held up her pinkie. “Five minutes.”

Once she and I slipped out, Samantha was left standing in the warm quiet of the kitchen with Mom. For a second, neither of them moved. The air felt different now—lighter, but still carrying the weight of something important.

Mom motioned to the table. “Sit with me?”

Samantha nodded and pulled out a chair.

They sat side by side, Mom turning to face her fully. “So… this is you?”

Samantha looked down at her lap. “Yeah. I think it’s been me for a while. I just didn’t have the right words for it before.”

Mom reached over and gently took her hand. “You don’t have to have all the words. You don’t even have to have all the answers. But you’ve got us. And you’ve got time.”

Samantha blinked quickly, holding back more tears. “There’s something else I want to say too. About my name.”

Mom tilted her head, listening.

“I don’t really feel like Samuel fits anymore. Not all the way. I mean… it’s part of me. It always will be. But I think I want to be called Samantha now.”

Mom’s face softened even more—if that was possible. “Samantha,” she said aloud, testing it gently. “That’s beautiful.”

Samantha smiled. Not wide. Not big. But real.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’m proud of you, Samantha,” Mom said. “More than you know.”

There was a pause.

Then, from outside the kitchen window:
“IS IT FIVE MINUTES YET?”

Samantha laughed through her tears. “I guess we better see that surprise before Lily explodes.”

Then Samantha opened hers.

Inside was a soft, velvet-lined box—and resting in it, a sturdy silver bracelet with a simple, unadorned tag. No sparkle. No frills. Just clean lines and quiet strength.

Engraved on the tag were three small words:

Brave, Always Enough.

She stared at it.

“It was meant for Samuel,” Mom said gently. “I didn’t know… not until today. But now, I think it suits you even more.”

Samantha’s voice was quiet, shaky. “Even if I’m not him anymore?”

Mom stepped closer. “You were never just Samuel to me. You’re you. Samantha, now. And you are still enough. More than enough.”

Samantha swallowed, blinking back tears. “It’s perfect.”

Dad walked in then, holding a dish towel and surveying the emotional moment with that classic dad-expression of confusion. “Do I need tissues or snacks for this part?”

“Maybe both,” I said, laughing softly.

He handed each of us a spoonful of whipped cream anyway. “Tissues in the drawer. Snacks in your hearts.”

Samantha fastened the bracelet around her wrist, holding it like it might disappear.

“Thank you,” she said again, this time to both of them.

“You don’t have to thank us for loving you,” Mom said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “But I’m so, so proud of you.”

Back upstairs, the energy felt different. Quieter. Softer.

Samantha slipped out of the dress and picked through the small pile of girl clothes I’d offered her. After a minute of consideration, she held up a light pink shirt and a pair of soft, fitted jeans — nothing too flashy, but they had that unmistakable not-from-the-boys-section feel. She looked at me for a moment, like asking for silent permission.

“They’ll fit,” I said, smiling. “They were barely worn.”

She nodded and disappeared into the hallway bathroom. When she came back out, she was someone I’d seen glimpses of for a long time — just a little clearer now. The clothes weren’t what made her different. It was how she stood. Like the weight of pretending had started to lift, piece by piece.

“They fit,” she said quietly, smoothing the shirt over her stomach.

“Told you.”

We both sat on my bed again. No one said anything for a bit. It didn’t feel like we needed to.

A minute later, we heard Mom calling up the stairs. “Girls, I need to run out for a little bit. I won’t be long, okay?”

“Okay!” I shouted back.

Samantha sat up straighter, still adjusting her sleeves. “She called us girls.”

I looked at her. “Yeah,” I said. “She did.”

A small smile crept onto her face. One of those quiet, glowing ones that only show up when something finally feels right.

Samantha sat cross-legged on my bed, tugging lightly at the hem of her pink shirt. “It still feels weird,” she said. “Like… not bad. Just new.”

“I get it,” I said, leaning back on my elbows. “When I first came out as gender fluid, I kept second-guessing myself. One day I’d feel fine in jeans and a hoodie, and the next I’d wanna wear a skirt and then feel like I was faking it.”

Samantha nodded slowly. “I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for years. And now I’m just… exhaling.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s how you know it’s real.”

She looked around the room for a second, then met my eyes. “Did you ever wish you could just, like, hit pause on the world and figure everything out before letting people see?”

“All the time. But it doesn’t work like that. You figure things out while people are watching. And sometimes… while they’re hugging you.”

Samantha laughed softly. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

“Too late. You’re already one of us.”

We were still smiling at each other when—

Knock knock knock.

“Emily?” Lily’s voice came through the door, followed by the sound of it slowly creaking open. “Can I come in?”

“Only if you knock next time and wait,” I said, but I couldn’t help grinning.

Lily peeked in and immediately spotted Samantha sitting on the bed. “You’re still wearing girl clothes?”

Samantha hesitated, but nodded.

“I like it,” Lily said, stepping all the way in. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Samantha said, a little shy. “Thanks.”

Lily plopped onto the bed without asking and looked between us. “So… are you, like, my sister now too?”

Samantha tilted her head. “yes, if you want me to be.”

Lily shrugged. “I mean, I already have one sibling who changes outfits and moods like a rainbow, so this feels kinda normal now.”

“Lily!” I said, but we were all laughing.

She looked at Samantha again, serious this time. “You’re still you. You’ve always been you.”

Samantha blinked and reached for her hand. “Thanks, Lily.”

The front door opened with a soft click and a gust of warm summer air.

“I’m back!” Mom called from the entryway. “Hope nobody started any drama while I was gone.”

We met her in the living room. Samantha stayed a few steps behind, still a little shy in her pink shirt and jeans — but she didn’t hide.

Mom had a paper bag in one arm and a folded bundle tucked under the other. Her eyes scanned us, and when she landed on Samantha, she smiled like she’d just been handed a sunrise.

“I figured,” Mom said softly. “And I thought… maybe you’d like this more than that old surprise I was cooking up earlier.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a Transgender Pride flag — pale blue, pink, and white — still neatly folded, with the tag attached.

Samantha’s eyes went wide.

“You can hang it in your room,” Mom said, handing it over. “Or the window. Or wherever you want. Just somewhere that feels like yours.”

Samantha took it slowly, her hands trembling just a little. “Thanks.”

“There’s more,” Mom said, lifting the tissue paper in the bag. “I wasn’t sure what style you’d like yet, but I figured we could play around. You don’t have to change your hair if you’re not ready — but if you are…”

She pulled out a few clip-in hair extensions — soft, dark brown strands with just a little wave. “I thought we could try putting these in together.”

Samantha clutched the flag to her chest like it was sacred.

“I… yeah. I want that. I want all of this.”

Mom knelt to her level and brushed a hand through Samantha’s hair gently. “Then we’ll take it slow. One step at a time. However you want.”

Tears threatened again — but they were the good kind.

Emily stepped forward and gave her a squeeze from the side. “See? Told you this family could handle a little extra sparkle.”

Samantha grinned. “You were right.”

“I usually am.”