Ian and Brice
Chapter 1 (Ian)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, Ian has to leave the one place he'd felt safe, and cope with being placed in the care of complete strangers, then is pulled into a painful memory from a past he'd rather forget.

NOTE: For those who've read My Name is Luka, you may notice cameos of two characters from that story. While it's not needed to enjoy this story, if you're interested in finding out more about them, you may want to give my earlier story a try.

=-=-=

I squirmed on my suitcase when my pudgy butt started to go numb. After letting out a long sigh, I leaned against the door of what had been my room for almost a year. Distant goodbyes echoed from the front entrance of the Third Street Children's Shelter.

I was reaching under my shirt to make some adjustments, when the door across from me squeaked open. I dropped my hand, and tried to act casual, when Luka walked out of her room. Maggie came out a moment later, lugging a suitcase at least half a size bigger than mine.

"Whatcha got in here?" Maggie asked as she dropped the suitcase with a heavy thunk on the scuffed and dusty floorboards.

Luka blushed as she said, "Ermmm ... clothes. Well, mostly clothes."

"And rocks?" Maggie asked as she grinned at the other girl.

"Well, there's Mom's letters, and the bear Ian gave me, all the manga from Mrs Birch, and some other stuff." Luka glared at her suitcase as she said, "Maybe I shoulda left behind the letters."

"Hey," I said as I stood up, "just 'cause ya can't be with her, don't mean ya gotta get rid of her letters ... unless ya really wanna."

Luka's eyes were brimming with tears when she looked at me, but there was also a small smile on her face when she said, "What I really want, is a hug."

My heart started slamming against my ribs. I tried to swallow, gave up, then whispered, "A hug?"

Knowing it might be the last time I'd see Luka again, I was seriously considering trying to push down my issues enough to give hugging a try, when she said, "I meant a ... umm ... hand hug."

I smiled at Maggie as I asked, "Ya told her about hands bein' okay?"

Maggie gave me a nervous smile back, then said, "I hope that was alright. From the messages I've been gettin' from both of you, I figured you'd kinda got to be friends over the past couple weeks. So, when she asked about sayin' goodbye to you, I ... uhhmmm ..."

I took in a deep breath to steady my nerves, then held out my hands as I said, "I could really use a hand hug ... from both my friends."

=-=-=

The hum of the car engine against my feet, plus the soft muzak coming out of the passenger door speaker, was making it hard to keep my eyes open. My suitcase bumped the back of my seat again, waking me out of a light doze. I gazed out my window, and began watching the city streets turn into suburbs, when a couple of fingers touched my wrist.

I forced my arm back down after I flinched, waited for my pulse to stop pounding, then looked up at Mrs Birch and asked, "Yeah?"

The social worker winced and put her hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "I'd forgotten how you feel about being touched."

I slouched as much as anyone can while wearing a seatbelt, and said, "Sorry for bein' so jumpy."

"You have *no* reason to apologize."

I was tempted to argue, but was too wiped out from the emotional morning. Saying goodbye to everyone had been tougher than I'd expected. Feeling a serious mope coming on, I managed to slouch a little more as I said, "I'm gonna miss the shelter."

Mrs Birch nodded. "Don't worry," she said. "The foster family you'll be staying with doesn't have to be permanent."

"Ya sure there'll be room for me in the new shelter?"

"Of course," she said, then gave me a warm smile. "It'll be there for you, for as long as you need it."

"I know ya usually try to find families for kids after they've been at the shelter for a while. It really means a lot, bein' able to stay there for so long."

"Connecting with a family, after what had happened with your--" She bit her lip, then said, "I mean, after what happened to you, is completely understandable."

I grinned and said, "Thanks for not sayin' the f-word." When her brows popped up, I said, "I mean, the *other* f-word."

=-=-=

The afternoon sun warmed the top of my head and shoulders as I followed Mrs Birch up the stone path that divided a neatly mown lawn. The wooden steps creaked as we climbed up to a shady porch. The social worker gave me an 'Are you ready?' look when we reached the front door. After I nodded, she pressed a button on the door frame, and chimes started playing somewhere inside.

A few seconds later, the door opened. A blonde-haired girl in a frilly white shirt and pink shorts smiled at us. She reached out to the woman beside me, then hugged tight as she said, "It's so good to see you again, Mrs Birch!" When she turned to me, someone in the house shouted, "Brice! Wait!"

She didn't wait. Before I had a chance to back away, she was reaching for me. My ears started ringing. My head ached as the world turned bright. And then ...

And then, I was standing in front of Frank Perrin, my best friend in the whole world. He looked down and said, "I'm gonna miss ya."

I looked down too, and kicked a pebble across the sidewalk. I tried to say something back, but the only sound I could make was a soft whimper. My eyes went blurry, and something wet slid down my cheek.

I was a little shocked when Frank wrapped his arms around me. But somehow, it felt like the exact right thing to do. I hugged back as I said, "I'm gonna miss--"

The rest of what I wanted to say was cut off when I was grabbed by the back of my shirt, and yanked out of Frank's arms. I tried to ask what was going on as I was dragged down the sidewalk, but my collar was too tight against my neck.

I started seeing dark spots as I grabbed the front of my collar. Something tore when I pulled down, and I gulped a breath of air into my aching lungs. And then ...

And then, I was sitting on a porch. A familiar woman was crouched down on one side of me. A less familiar girl was kneeling on the other side of me. A couple of not-at-all familiar adults were standing near the doorway in front of me.

My chest tightened when I realized the woman beside me was adjusting the collar of my shirt. I took in as deep a breath as I could manage, then let out a slow, steady stream of air while reminding myself I was in a safe place. I focused on the woman's face to pull myself back into the present.

Something in my brain clicked into place. "Mrs Birch?"

The social worker pulled her hand away from me, then smiled and said, "Welcome back, Ian."

The girl on the other side of me sniffled, then said, "I'm so ... just ... so sorry."

The man by the doorway walked over to the girl and went down on one knee. His long, brown ponytail slipped off his back when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, Brice." He brushed a strand of hair over her ear as he said, "We had forgotten to warn you, and you were just being friendly."

Something else in my brain clicked into place. "Wait a minute," I said. I studied the girl's freckled face as I asked, "You're Bryce?"

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she nodded.

"But ... ain't that a guys name?"

The woman near the doorway stepped forward, crouched down in front of me, then said, "I suppose it would depend on how the name is spelled."

I shook my head and said, "I don't get it."

The girl smiled as she said, "While some girls spell their names B-r-y-c-e, I only use that spelling when I'm in boy mode. When I'm in girl mode, I spell it B-r-i-c-e."

I frowned and asked, "Whatcha mean by 'boy mode' and 'girl mode'?"

Brice leaned back a tiny bit. "Well ... sometimes ... I kinda flow between boy and girl."

"Flow?"

The man holding Brice looked at the woman in front of me, then said, "You wanna field this one, Mae?"

Mae's coppery curls swayed when she nodded to him, then she turned to me and asked, "Have you ever heard of the term, 'genderfluid'?"

I thought back to the group meetings I'd gone to in the gender expansive wing of the shelter. Even though being roomed in a wing with transkids felt weird at first, I'd gotten to be friends with a few of them, and eventually joined the meetings as an ally.

"I think so," I said as I drifted back from the memory. "At least, I 'member hearin' it. I kinda forget what it means, though."

Mae smiled at the man, then said, "Okay, Trent. I think it's your turn."

Trent nodded and grinned at Mae. I resisted the urge to crabwalk away when he looked at me. "I may not be the best person to ask for definitions," he said, "but far as I understand it, being genderfluid means you may feel like a boy one day, a girl the next day, and neither the day after."

Mrs Birch nodded as she said, "I think that sums it up fairly well, Mr Arbordel."

I took a long look at Brice, and tried to imagine her being a guy. The way she was leaning against Trent, and the general girl vibe I was getting from her, made it tricky keeping that image in my head. "So ... today, you're a girl?"

She smiled and nodded, then held out a hand as she stood. "Want some help up?" She pulled back her hand when I looked at it, and said, "Sorry ... I forgot about the no touching."

I smiled as I reached out to her. "Don't worry. Hands are okay."

Brice smiled back as she took my hand. "I'll remember that," she said as she helped me to my feet, then led me into the place that, at least for now, was going to be home.

Ian and Brice
Chapter 2 (Brice)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, Brice worries about having made a bad first impression with Ian, then tests a suspicion about Ian possibly being transgender.

NOTE: Each chapter of this story is being told from the perspective of a different person. To help make things a little clearer, I've added a name next to each chapter number, so it'll be a little easier to know who's perspective the chapter is being seen through. If you have any questions, please feel free to post a comment at the bottom of this story, or send me a direct message. Thank you!

=-=-=

(Ughh...) I thought as I led the way into the house. (Why am I so clingy in girl mode? If I'd been in boy mode, I probably woulda just shook hands, which probably wouldn't have made Ian have a flashback, which probably meant I coulda put off telling him about me being fluid, which probably meant he wouldn't think--)

My thinking about thinking was interrupted by a tug on my hand.

"Ummm," Ian said, "ya can let go now."

"Eep!" I said as I uncurled my fingers. "Sorry 'bout that."

He slid his hands deep into the front pockets of jeans a size or three too big for him, and said, "It's okay."

(Dangit,) I thought when I saw his nervous half-smile. (I can't believe how bad I keep messing up with him.)

I was distracted from obsessing over how awful things had been going when Mrs Birch's purse started vibrating. She dug into the purse and pulled out a buzzing phone. When she held the phone close to her face and whispered something, the screen lit up. Her eyes widened with surprise as she thumb-scrolled.

"Oh my," she said while tapping out a response. "Oh no," she said a few seconds later, then glanced up at Ian. "Something came up with the lease on the new shelter, and I need to run. Will you be okay?"

Ian nodded and said, "I'll be fine."

The way his face paled said otherwise.

Mrs Birch looked like she wanted to call him on the lie, but sighed instead, then began looking around the floor as she asked, "What am I forgetting?"

Realizing my favorite social worker was about to leave, I held out my arms and said, "I hope you're not forgettin' to say goodbye."

She smiled and pulled me into a tight hug as she said, "I could never forget you, sweetie." Her phone vibrated again when she let go. She gasped when she read the new message, then said, "I *really* need to run," while trotting out the door. I waved as she drove away, then closed the door and turned to Ian.

He hadn't moved an inch.

"Ya gonna be okay?" I asked, when I saw how much paler he'd gotten.

The torn collar of his grey, baggy t-shirt fell when he shrugged.

"Ya wanna get changed outta that?" I asked while pointing to the tear.

He gave me a blank look for a few seconds. Some color came back to his cheeks after he looked to where I was pointing. "Guess I didn't just imagine that," he said as he pulled his collar back up. He twisted from side to side while searching the room, then asked, "Have ya seen my suitcase?"

"Umm ... no," I said as I joined the search.

"Did you bring a suitcase?" Trent asked as he took a step closer to Ian.

For a moment, Ian looked like he was about to bolt out the door. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then looked up at my foster father and said, "I ... I completely forgot."

Mae stood beside me, and ran her fingers through the back of my hair as she asked, "You think you might have something you could lend him, Brice?"

"Sure!" I said as I reached for Ian. (Ack! Not again,) I thought. I did my best to turn the reach into a wave, then said, "C'mon," before running up the steps.

=-=-=

The way Ian was careful to hold his shirt closed as he followed me into my room made my curiosity sit up and take notice. Even though the tear only reached a little past his collarbone, he seemed self-conscious about exposing even that much of his chest. It almost seemed ... girlish.

(Okay,) I thought, (just because he'd been in the same shelter as you, doesn't mean he ... or maybe she ... is trans. Most of the kids there weren't.) I led the way to my closet while pondering. As I searched through my clothes, a new thought popped into my head. (Doesn't Mrs Birch mostly work with transkids?)

(Well,) I thought as I picked out two tops, (there's a good way of finding out.) My first choice was a lavender v-necked blouse with tiny white flowers. My second choice was a blue and green striped t-shirt with a crew-necked collar. I held both by their hangers as I walked out of my closet.

"Which would ya like to wear?" I asked when I reached Ian.

"Could I try that one?" he asked while pointing with his free hand.

I did my best to not let my smile get too big as I held out the lavender top. His hand shook as he reached for it. "Don't worry," I said, "I don't mind sharin'."

He smiled back as he took the blouse, then said, "Th-thank you."

"You're welcome," I said as I went back into my closet. After hanging up the other top, I stepped back out, and noticed Ian was still in the same spot I'd left him. His eyes had a ... well ... not exactly a terrified look, but it was definitely nervous.

"Didja change your mind about what ya wanted to wear?" I asked.

His throat bobbed a couple of times, then he said, "No, it ain't that. I just ... I mean ... is there someplace I can change in private?"

(Hrmmm...) I thought. (Girls do tend to be more shy about being topless than guys. Of course, it could be he's nervous about changing around me while I'm in girl mode. Still ...) I shoved those thoughts aside when I realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Sure!" I said as I walked towards my bedroom door. "Follow me," I added as I headed out to the second floor landing, then led the way to Richie's room.

=-=-=

"Welcome to your new room," I said as I walked into my almost foster sib's old bedroom. The dust that had settled over the past year was gone, and the air had the sharp tang of freshly scrubbed everything. "I hope it's not too--" I nearly said 'boyish', caught myself, and said, "--small for ya."

"Oooo ..." Ian said, ignoring both the look and size of the room, as he made a beeline to the desk at the far side of the bedroom. "Who left this behind?" he asked while eyeing the laptop on the desk.

"That used to be Trent's," I said as I walked up to the desk. His shoulders stiffened, but I couldn't tell if it was from mentioning my foster father's name, or me standing too close. I took a step back, just in case, then said, "He took off his work software, and installed some stuff he thought ya might like, including links to the shelter's private server."

Ian did a pretty good impression of a goldfish. Eventually, he blinked, then said, "Wow." He blinked again, then asked, "He did that ... for me?" When I nodded, he smiled and said, "You're so lucky to have him for a f--" Fear and anger flashed in his eyes, then vanished as he said, "I mean, you're lucky to have him and your foster mom."

'Father' sounded like a word I'd need to step around, but I also wanted to make him feel welcome, so I said, "If it's something ya feel okay with, ya can think of 'em as your foster parents too."

Ian slumped into the wooden chair in front of the desk and said, "I dunno." The chair cricked when he leaned back. "I mean, they really seem nice, but I ain't sure how long I'm gonna be here. Plus, I kinda got ... issues."

I barely held back from hugging him when I saw all the pain behind the last word he spoke. Instead, I gave him a warm smile, and said, "It's okay. Whether ya wanna be family, friends, or anything else, just let us know."

Ian smiled back, then held out a hand as he said, "I'm always up for friends."

I was a little surprised when he reached out to me, then remembered the 'hands are okay' rule. I grinned as I shook his hand, and said, "I'd be honored to have ya as a friend."

(Well,) I thought as I let go, (Ian could still possibly become a part of the family, even if he ... or maybe she ... isn't ready for that right now.) Hope battled with the pain of loss as I thought, (While nobody could take Richie's place in my heart, that doesn't mean there can't be room for more family.)

I set aside my mixed emotions, pulled a smile back on, and said, "Well, I'll give ya some privacy, so ya can change your top."

Ian gave me a confused look as he asked, "My top what?"

(Oops,) I thought. (At least I didn't say, 'blouse'. ) Out loud, I said, "Sorry ... I meant to say, 'shirt'."

He looked at what was on the hanger he was holding, gave me a curious look, then shrugged and said, "Ah, okay."

I mentally wiped my brow when he let my flub pass, then said, "When you're done changin', come on downstairs. Lunch should be ready soon."

Ian's smile seemed forced as he said, "Ah ... okay." He took in a deep breath, gave me a thumbs up, and said, "I'll see ya there!"

I nodded and smiled back. A wave of protective, almost brotherly affection washed over me when I closed Ian's door. My smile grew while I thumped down the steps, imagining the fun and adventures me and my new possible foster sib could get up to.

Ian and Brice
Chapter 3 (Ian)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter Ian reaches out to an old friend, barely avoids having another flashback, then has some of his anxiety put at ease in an unexpected way. When some of Ian's stress begins to fade, he senses something from one of his caregivers he'd almost given up hope of ever experiencing again.

=-=-=

I breathed in the light scent of fresh laundry while wriggling into the shirt Brice had let me borrow. After poking my head and arms through the right holes, I looked at the collar, and made some adjustments. While it probably wasn't low enough for anything to show, I still wanted to be careful. When I tugged at the bottom of my shirt, the soft texture made my stomach tingle, but not in a bad way.

I thought about the other shirt Brice had offered. My throat tightened when I imagined how close the collar would be to base of my neck. I sighed when I looked at the design on the shirt I was wearing, tried to pull it down more, then let go and decided it would have to do.

I turned to the locked door of my new bedroom, and reached for the handle. It was almost like turning up the volume on my anxiety when I started twisting the lock open. I groaned with frustration and relocked the door, then tried to think of something to do while my waiting for my nerves to settle.

That's when I remembered the laptop. I strode over to the desk, then grinned as I sat down. The screen lit up when I opened the device. A moment later, I found and clicked the link to the shelter's private server.

My first thought was to try sending a message about my suitcase to Mrs Birch. When I looked at server's user list, I saw her name was tagged as 'unavailable-in transit', and rolled my eyes. Of course she was still in transit, since she'd just dropped me off a little while ago.

My hands started getting clammy when I thought about where I'd been dropped off at, and who I was with. I searched through the chat channels to distract myself, but didn't see anybody in them. My mouse was hovering over the logout button when a message alert popped up. I smiled when I saw who'd sent the message.

Maggie_Forte: Hey Ian!
Ian_Sanderson: Hey Maggs!
Maggie_Forte: Hows it going?
Ian_Sanderson: Ok I guess.
Maggie_Forte: That a good or bad ok?
Ian_Sanderson: Well...
Maggie_Forte: Come on. Im your best bud. Talk to me.
Ian_Sanderson: I guess it's kinda bad.
Maggie_Forte: How bad is kinda bad?
Ian_Sanderson: Flashback bad.
Maggie_Forte: Oh ***!
Warning-restricted word detected. 1 minute chat lock initiated.

I grumbled when the message window greyed out, then grinned when I imagined the faces Maggie must be making, and the way she was probably swearing under her breath. Thinking about that helped shove down the memory dredged up by the flashback. My hands were only shaking a tiny bit when chat was unlocked.

Maggie_Forte: Grrrr!
Ian_Sanderson: How'd you forget about the nanny app?
Maggie_Forte: Been a long time since I was at the shelter.
Ian_Sanderson: I've missed you.
Maggie_Forte: Same here.
Ian_Sanderson hand hugs
Maggie_Forte hand hugs back

I smiled when I thought about the time my first real friend at the shelter suggested a way of hugging without making me freak out. My smile grew when I thought about how my newest friend learned about it.

Ian_Sanderson: How's Luka doing?
Maggie_Forte: Ok
Ian_Sanderson: You mean like my ok?
Maggie_Forte: I think better than yours.
Ian_Sanderson: Glad to hear that.
Maggie_Forte: So
Ian_Sanderson: So what?
Maggie_Forte: You wanna talk about it?
Ian_Sanderson: Talk about what?
Maggie_Forte: You know. IT.

My pulse started racing when I realized Maggie was asking about the flashback. I swallowed a couple of times, took in a deep breath, waited a few seconds, then let it out.

Ian_Sanderson: Not really. At least, not right now.
Maggie_Forte: Fair enough. New topic?
Ian_Sanderson: Yeah.
Maggie_Forte: So you all unpacked?
Ian_Sanderson: I wish.
Maggie_Forte: Not enough time?
Ian_Sanderson: More like not enough clothes.
Maggie_Forte: Howd that happen?
Ian_Sanderson blushes
Maggie_Forte: Uh oh. Shelter give you girl clothes again?
Ian_Sanderson: No, I got all boy clothes.

I peeked at the light purple shirt I was wearing, made another adjustment to the collar, then shrugged and looked back at the laptop.

Ian_Sanderson: Well, I had boy clothes.
Maggie_Forte: But not now?
Ian_Sanderson: Yes.
Ian_Sanderson: I mean no.
Maggie_Forte: Which is it?
Ian_Sanderson: Both.
Maggie_Forte: Hows it both?
Ian_Sanderson: I've got clothes, but not with me.
Maggie_Forte: Ah. Think I got it. Where they at?
Ian_Sanderson: Mrs Birch's car.
Maggie_Forte: Wow! Howd that happen?

While trying to think of an answer that didn't sound completely stupid, I heard a soft knock. Brice's shout came through the bedroom door when she asked, "Ya done gettin' changed, Ian?"

I switched my chat status to afk, then shouted back, "Yeah! Just finished."

"Great! Mae asked me to letcha know lunch is on the table."

My stomach twisted at the thought of eating around complete strangers. After trying, and failing, to think of a polite way to skip lunch; I sent Maggie a message, letting her know I had to go. My chair creaked as I stood. I gritted my teeth with determination, then turned to face the bedroom door, and whatever was on the other side of it.

=-=-=

There was a flutter in my chest when I opened the door. The flutter calmed when I followed Brice down the steps, and I was mostly okay as we walked through the living room. I was starting to wonder what I'd been worried about while entering the dining room.

My feet froze in place when I saw Trent at the far end of a round table with thick, sturdy legs. Even though I didn't know exactly why, something about seeing him sitting there at that particular table made me feel like I was in deep, deep trouble.

Icy prickles climbed up my back when the shadows of a memory started forming. I tore my eyes from the table and spun around. I tried to run, but my legs still weren't working, and I tumbled to the floor. I was vaguely aware of footsteps coming towards me as I rolled onto my side.

"You okay?" Mae asked as she knelt in front of me. The growing shadows faded when she gave me a worried smile.

"I think so," I said while trying to smile back.

"What happened?" someone asked from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder at Brice's frowning face. "I'm not sure," I said while shrugging. "There was just something about seein' your ... ummm ... I mean ... seein' a guy at the head of the table, kinda triggered somethin', and I sorta ... lost it, I guess."

"Ian," Trent said. At least ... I thought it was him. "Could you look at me?" he asked. Well, almost he. There was a softness, and ... something else in the voice.

After bracing myself, I turned my head, and saw Trent crouched next to Mae. Brice's foster parents gave each other a look, then Trent shifted in a way that made him seem ... different. Knots in my back and shoulders started to loosen.

The adults looked at each other again, then Mae turned to me and asked, "Does being around males make you feel uncomfortable?"

"Ermmm..." I said while trying to wrap my brain around the strange question. "I ... I dunno."

Trent's voice still had the new softness when he asked, "Would it help if I looked a little different?"

"Whatcha mean?" I asked.

Trent nibbled his bottom lip, then reached behind his head, and tugged on something.

Mae smiled and gave his hand a playful swat as she said, "Let me get that." She slid something off Trent's ponytail, and his hair flowed over his shoulders.

"Oooo ..." Brice said as she ran around my stretched out legs. "Ya gonna be Trish for a while?" she asked as she kneeled beside her foster ... parent.

"Trish?" I asked while pulling myself into a sitting position.

Mae stroked Trent's cheek as she said, "It's the name my beautiful spouse uses sometimes."

Almost all the tension I'd been feeling drained away as I studied the adult who seemed to be going by Trish now. "So ... you're genderfluid, like Brice?"

Trish grinned and said, "I think I'm more flexible than fluid."

"That mean you're still a man?" I asked as I leaned back.

Trish tilted his ... or maybe her head. "Would you feel better thinking of me as a woman?"

"Ummm ..." I said while I tried to think of an answer.

"Would it help if I changed clothes?"

"Oh yeah!" Brice said as she jumped to her feet. "Makeover time!"

Trish wrapped an arm around Brice's waist and said, "Maybe," then looked at me and asked "Would you feel better if I looked more like a woman?"

"Uhhh ... you ain't gotta do that." I sat up a little straighter. "Don't want ya doin' stuff like that, just 'cause I'm havin' issues copin' with stuff today."

Trish sighed, then reached out and touched the back of my hand. "Sweetie, coping can be a good thing. But ... where we can, we'd like to help you do more than cope. If you'll let us, we'd like to help you thrive, and grow, and be everything and anything you want to be."

My mouth hung open for a pretty long time. Eventually, I closed it, and thought about what I'd just heard. At the shelter, there'd been adults who said they wanted to help me, but they'd all been women. This was the first time a man had offered anything like that to me. But, then again, Trish didn't exactly feel like a man at the moment.

"Wow ..." I said as my eyes blurred with tears. "I can't ... I mean ... I ..."

A warm hand wrapped around mine. Even through the tears, I could tell it was Trish's hand, but I didn't feel scared, or even nervous. I just felt nice, and safe, and maybe, a tiny bit ... loved.

Ian and Brice
Chapter 4 (Brice)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, Ian reveals another bit of his past, which starts Brice thinking about her biological parents. Those thoughts lead Brice to asking one of her foster parents a question she'd never had the nerve to ask before.

=-=-=

While waiting for Trish to change, I sat in my usual chair at the dining room table, Mae sat across from me, and Ian plopped into the chair beside me. When we were all settled, Mae smiled at my new friend and said, "That top looks very nice on you."

Ian's brow creased as he asked, "What top?"

My foster mom pointed to his chest and said, "The lavender one you're wearing."

"Oh ..." he said while crossing his arms. "Umm ... thanks," he added as he slid down in his chair.

(Dangit!) I thought. (I hope I didn't wind up pushin' a cisgender boy into wearin' girl clothes. Of course, he *did* choose what he's wearin' over a more boyish t-shirt.)

I dug out a chunk of Mae's famous egg salad from my sandwich, popped it into my mouth, then licked the tangy, creamy goodness from my fingers while studying Ian. The way he slouched in his chair, and generally held himself, didn't seem at all girlish.

On the other hand, the fit of the blouse he wore made him look ... curvy. Well, he wasn't *really* curvy, but he also wasn't as much of a fence post as most boys. Something about the way he looked, combined with his body language, started tickling an old memory awake.

The memory flitted away when Trish sauntered into the dining room. She straightened one of the long, poofy sleeves of her gauzy white blouse as she sat, then smiled and said, "Thank you for waiting for me."

Ian sat up straighter while watching Trish sit, "Wow," he said, "you look ..."

After watching my friend blink and stare for a few seconds, Mae reached out and squeezed Trish's hand, then said, "You look as beautiful as ever."

Trish blushed under the blush she was wearing, then reached from my hand, and asked, "Would you like to take the first turn at giving thanks, honey?"

I nodded and smiled while slipping my hand into hers, then turned and held my other hand out to Ian. When I saw him tense, I thought, (Uh oh ... is this one of 'em times hands *ain't* okay?)

While I was trying to figure out if I'd messed up again, Mae reached for his other hand, then asked, "Would you be okay with giving thanks with us, before we eat?"

Ian looked from me to Mae a couple of times before holding hands with us. "I guess so," he said while eyeballing the crustless sandwich on his plate.

Trish gave him a worried look, then said, "Ian ... sweetheart ... I'm so sorry. I should have checked with you first, instead of assuming you'd be okay with this."

"It ain't somethin' I got problems with," he said while shrugging. "There'd been plenty of kids at the shelter who said prayers before eatin'. I'd usually bow my head when other kids 'round me did."

We were all silent while taking in what my friend had said, as well as what he didn't say.

Mae leaned closer to him as she asked, "Did you feel pressured into joining them?"

He looked up and said, "No ... not really." His jaw tightened for a moment, then he squeezed his eyes shut and said, "Even though I'd kinda given up on prayin' after my mom passed, bein' 'round other kids who could still do it..."

His face started to crumple. "I just wanted to feel what I used to feel, so I'd join in, hopin' I'd just ... just ..."

Tears were streaming down Ian's cheeks when he ran from the dining room. Choked sobs echoed from the living room, followed by the pounding of feet going up the stairs.

Trish hung her head and said, "I can't believe I didn't think to ask."

Mae patted my other foster parent's hand, then said, "I'll go check on him," while standing.

=-=-=

Once we were alone, Trish lifted her head, and gave me a watery smile.

I smiled back, then said, "Hold on." My silverware rattled when I yanked at the paper napkin by my plate. After dabbing at the dark line leaking from the corner of her eye, I said, "There ya go."

Trish half-stood and kissed me on the top of my head. "Thank you, pumpkin," she said as she sat again. "I don't know what I'd do without my budding beautician and fashion consultant."

I smiled and said, "You're welcome, Mo--" A painful lump in my throat cut off the last word. "Umm ... sorry," I said as my shoulders sagged.

Trish tilted her head, then asked in her most motherly voice, "What are you apologizing for?"

"I almost called ya M--" I frowned and thought, (Why can't I say that one word?) then said, "I've just ... I've wanted to call you and Mae somethin' special, but whenever I try sayin' it, I feel so guilty, which makes no sense at all, but I still feel it."

Trish slid off her chair and kneeled beside me, then brushed my bangs out of my eyes as she said, "Whether you call me Trent, or Trish, or ... anything else, it always feels special to me, because you're special to me."

I smiled and said, "You're special to me too." My smile fell when I added, "Just wish I'd get over the guilt I feel whenever I try callin' anybody 'sides my bio mother my ... urmm ... that name."

"Sweetheart, it's okay if--"

"No!" I shouted. "It *ain't* okay! After she and my ... other bio kicked me out, I shoulda just wrote 'em off. But, for some stupid reason, I still can't stop hopin', if I wasn't such a freak, they'd ... maybe ..."

A whimper slipped out when I thought about all the awful names my bio mother had called me, while my bio father just stood there with that hard look in his eyes. Trish wrapped her arms around me when I started crying. Even though I couldn't process what she was saying while she rocked me, the warmth in her voice came through loud and clear.

After Trish dried my tears with her napkin, she helped me blow my nose. Once I was mostly snotless, I said, "Wow, I ain't cried like that since ... well ..."

"Since Richelle left?"

I bit my lip and nodded. (Even though I'd understood why he ... she had to go,) I thought, (it still hurt when she moved in with her grandma.) Out loud, I said, "I just can't figure out why I'm actin' the same way 'bout my bio 'parents'."

Trish tucked the used napkin into the pocket of her denim skirt while asking, "Why's that?"

I looked down at my knees and said, "Well, Richie really meant a lot to me. She still does. She'd been like a big br-- urmm ... sib to me. But ... after the way my bios did what they did ..." I thumped my heels on the legs of my chair, then said, "I mean, how could I still ..."

Trish reached under my chin, then tilted my head up, until I was looking into her sparkling grey eyes. She pressed her lips together, and looked at me for a long time, then said, "Sweetie ... who we care about, and why we feel that way about them, isn't always easy to understand."

"But ... how can I still care 'bout 'em, when I got you and Mae?"

My sometimes foster mom, who was also my foster dad, gave me a warm smile, then said, "It's because you have such a big heart. You can care about a lot of people."

"Why..." I swallowed the ache growing in my throat. "Why did they stop carin' 'bout me?"

"I don't think they st--" Trish frowned, then said, "Okay, I only know what I was told about your biological parents, so I'm not in a position to say what they think and feel. None the less," she said as her fingertips brushed my cheek, "I can't imagine how anyone could not love such a sweet, precious child."

Hope and fear swirled around in my chest."Do ya ..."

Trish held both my hands in hers as she asked, "Do I what?"

I shrugged and said, "Sorry, it ain't a fair question to ask."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well ... 'cause you're a foster parent, and foster parents is s'posed to take care of ya. And ya *have* taken care of me. You've also made me feel safe, and protected. But ... askin' for more'n that ain't fair."

She gave my hands a gentle squeeze as she said, "Honey, there's *nothing* you could ask for that would be too much. So, whatever you want to ask, I promise, it'll be okay."

"Do ya..." I swallowed again, but the lump wouldn't go away. "Do ya ... love me?"

"Oh pumpkin," Trish said as she wrapped her arms around me again. "Yes, I love you." Her silky hair brushed my face when she bent her head down and smooched my nose. "I love you with all my heart, and always will, no matter what."

My eyes started leaking again, but I was smiling at the same time. "I love ya too," I said as I hugged back. I almost added, 'Mom', but I still couldn't get the word out. I sighed with frustration, then rested my head on her shoulder, and hoped what I *did* say would be enough to show how much she meant to me.

Ian and Brice
Chapter 5 (Ian)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, Ian is comforted by Mae, then he joins a picnic with the foster family who've taken him into their home, as well as their hearts.

=-=-=

I was curled up on my bed, well ... a bed that was mine for now, and crying into a huge, fluffy pillow, when I noticed quiet footsteps. I pulled the pillow away from my face when the footsteps stopped, and saw Mae standing next to the door I hadn't bothered to close.

Mae's forehead wrinkled when she asked, "Do you mind if I come in, Ian?"

"It's ... it's your house," I said between snuffles.

Brice's foster mother frowned and closed her eyes, then tilted her head up. Her mouth moved like she was speaking, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. After a few seconds, she lowered her head and opened her eyes.

Her face softened as she said, "Sweetheart, this isn't just *my* home. It belongs to everyone who lives here ... including you."

Home. It had been a long times since anyplace had felt like home. The shelter had been a safe place to stay, but it didn't exactly feel like home. The place I'd shared with my father before then had been called home. But ... after my mom passed, and my father started pulling away from me, the word felt hollow.

"Wow," I said while blinking away a few tears, "thank you." When I realized she was still standing in the doorway, I sat up and and turned until my feet hung over the edge of the bed, then said, "Please, come in."

When Mae walked in, I looked down at the scuffed toes of my sneakers. My heart froze when her feet stop in front of me. It started beating again when I realized she wasn't going to come any closer.

She knelt down until her pretty hazel eyes were looking into mine, then said, "Penny for your thoughts."

I scrubbed my damp face with my palms until my cheeks were raw, then dropped my hands onto the pillow in my lap, and said, "I really could use a hu--" My throat closed up a split second before I realized what I was about to say.

Brice's foster mom leaned back until her butt was resting on the floor, then she folded her legs like a yoga master while saying, "Whatever you want to say, I promise ... it's okay to say it."

I gave my pillow a tight hug, then set it aside, and took a few slow, deep breaths. Once my throat loosened up enough to speak, I said, "Guess I was kinda 'membering how, before my mom passed, the way she'd hug me whenever I was sad, scared, or upset. But now ..."

Tears sparkled on Mae's lashes as she said, "Honey, I know nobody could ever take your mom's place, and I'd never try to do that," she swallowed, then added, "but ... if you ever want a hug, or anything else, just let me know. Okay?"

"Could ya ... hold my hands?" I asked.

"Of course," she said as she reached out to me.

When I rested my hand in hers, she stroked my wrist with one of her thumbs. Her gentle touch made my heart ache. But it was the warmth, acceptance, and love in her eyes that opened up the floodgates.

I cried for what felt like hours.

=-=-=

Once my tears were down to a trickle, Mae let go of my hands, then held something in front of me. I had to blink a couple of times before my eyes were clear enough to see the tissue box. "Thank you," I said while pulling out a handful of tissues.

I'd dried my eyes, and was wiping away the snot dripping from my nose, when someone knocked on the door. I looked up, and saw my friend and her other foster mom standing in the doorway.

Brice lifted a pile of paper plates stacked with sandwiches as she asked, "Mind if we come in?"

I nodded and said, Sure," while waving them in.

My friend grinned and strode up to me, then held out the plates while asking, "Ya up to eatin'?"

My stomach rumbled when I caught a whiff of something rich and tasty coming from the sandwiches. My face warmed all the way out to my ears as I said, "Guess I am."

Trish glanced at her wife, then gathered the items in her arms closer to her chest before turning to me and asking, "Are you *sure* you're okay with me coming in?"

"Of course," I said while nodding. "This *is* your house." I thought about what Mae had told me earlier, then said, "I mean, this is your home ... too."

Her arms and shoulders relaxed a little as she walked in. Once she was standing behind her foster child, she asked, "Would you like to eat here?" She held up a folded gingham cloth as she said, "If you'd like, we could spread this on the floor, and have an indoor picnic."

Thinking about picnics reminded me of one of the 'mother and son' days I used to have with my mom when I was little. As much as I missed her, the happiness of that memory somehow managed to override the sense of loss. I smiled and said, "A picnic sounds fun!"

"Cool!" Brice said while yanking the cloth from Trish's grasp.

Trish lost her grip on the thermos and paper cups tucked into the crook of her arm. She grabbed for the falling items, and juggled them for almost a full second, before they thumped and clattered to the floor.

Brice's eyes widened, then she hung her head and said, "Sorry Mom."

Her foster parents gave each other looks of mild surprise, mixed with hints of hope and joy.

My friend's face was pale when she looked up. The cloth she'd grabbed unfolded as she lifted it to her mouth. "I mean, sorry ... Trish," she said in a muffled voice.

Trish tugged Brice's hand away from her mouth, then she stroked the top my friend's head while saying, "It's okay, pumpkin. The thermos is shatterproof, nothing spilled, and the cups aren't even dented."

Brice seemed to wilt as she said, "What I'd meant to say, was ... I'm sorry for ... umm ..."

"Shhh ..." Trish said before giving Brice a peck on her forehead. "You did nothing wrong."

My friend looked like she wanted to say more, but shrugged and smiled instead, then turned to me and asked, "Would ya like to help me spread out the picnic blanket?"

What she held looked more like a table cloth than a blanket, but I nodded anyway while wadding up my tissues. After tossing them into a wicker waste basket, I stood and grabbed a two corners of the 'blanket'.

Mae stood and asked, "Want me to get that?" while placing her hands under the plates and sandwiches Brice was holding.

"Oh!" my friend said while letting go of the plates. "Thanks M-- umm ... Mae-mom?"

Even though I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, my heart felt lighter when I saw the way both of Brice's foster parents smiled. All four of us started shuffling around in an organized chaos, setting up a picnic in what feeling a little more like *my* room.

=-=-=

After we were finished setting up, I sat on a corner of the blanket, then rested my back against the side of my bed, and said, "This is so nice. I ain't done nothin' like this since ... well ... it's been a pretty long time."

Mae gave me a warm smile, then said, "I'm glad you're enjoying the picnic. Now eat up, before your food gets cold." Her smile turned into a grin. "Or hot. Or ... something like that."

"Oh," I said. "So ... we ain't gonna say prayers first?"

Brice put the sandwich that was halfway to her mouth back on her plate, then said, "Actually, what we usually do is take turns sayin' somethin' we're thankful for, before we start eatin'. Guess that's sorta like prayin', but it's different too."

I thought about what she'd described for a moment, then said, "That sounds kinda nice."

Trish gave me a searching look, then asked, "Is that something you'd feel okay doing?"

"Yeah," I said as I nodded.

"Would you be okay with holding hands while we do that?" Mae asked.

I smiled and held out my hands, then said, "I'd like that a lot."

Once we were all holding hands, Trish turned to Brice, and asked, "Would you like to take the first turn, sweetie?"

Brice nodded and grinned, then said, "I'm thankful for parents who've been there for me, no matter what." She wiggled my left hand and added, "I'm also thankful for my new friend."

Trish gave her foster child a bright smile, then said, "I'm thankful for the patience and understanding I've been shown when I struggle to be a good parent and spouse."

Mae lifted Trish's hand, and kissed her fingertips, then looked at each of us while saying, "I'm thankful for the opportunity to be surrounded by such kind, gentle souls."

I panicked a little when I realized three pairs of eyes were on me, and three pairs of ears were waiting for what I had to say. "I ... umm ... I mean ..." I said while waiting for my brain to come up with something that expressed everything I was thinking and feeling.

Mae squeezed my right hand and said, "It's okay if you're not up to saying anything."

I took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then said, "Actually, there's lots I wanna say, but I ain't sure if I got all the words to say it." I took another long breath, then said, "There's lots and lots I'm thankful for, but the biggest thing is bein' with folk who make where I'm at feel like ... home."