The Names They Gave Us(40)

“What was his name?”

“Oh, goodness, that hardly matters.” She waves this off. “The point is that I thought he was it for me in my younger years. But I changed. Things happened in my life that made me different. They made both of us different. And we both eventually landed where we were meant to be.

“But you know,” she continues, “at the time it was ending, I was a disaster. He was such a wonderful guy, and I thought . . . if I can’t make this work, I won’t be able to with anyone. But God had your dad waiting for me. I just didn’t know it then.” She turns to face me, her intent gaze full of certainty. “If it’s not Lukas, Bird, then it’s someone more suited for you. If you want partnership, you’ll find it. And in the meantime, you’re perfect all on your own.”

I take a sip of my tea to hide the tears I’m blinking back. This is what I can’t do without. She always knows what to say. She always uncovers my most specific fears and eases them, like salve to a burn. Not fixed. Just soothed. “Thanks, Mom. I hope you’re right.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, almost sympathetically. “I’m always right. Ask your father.”

After lights-out, I retreat to the rec room for my evening piano practice. But even my usual favorites can’t loosen my worries. I realized on my walk home from Holyoke: I’m seeing my mom once a week. When I’m at college, it’ll be even less. That’s not nearly enough, and I dread it. And yet, all I want in the entire world is for her to still be here, healthy—even if we’re apart geographically.

For a moment, I sullenly decide that the summer before senior year of high school must be the absolute worst time for your mom to get sick. But no. They’re all awful, in ways I probably can’t even imagine yet.

I’m dancing my fingers through a complicated sonata, still fretting, when I sense movement behind me.

I twist around on the bench to find Anna, who is nearly tiptoeing in hesitancy.

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry to bother you. How was your morning off?”

“Pretty good.”

“Did you go into town?”

“Nah, just across the lake.” I don’t necessarily want everyone to know my parents are so close. It’s this weird impulse to keep my worlds separate. So I can be Lucy the Daughter and Hansson the Counselor without blurring anything.

“Nice. I love hiking. So, um. Listen. Do you have a second?”

“Sure.” I’m about to get up, but she sits right on the piano bench beside me. I scoot over to make room for her.

She inhales, then lets her breath out slowly, calming herself. Preparing.

“Anna? Everything okay?”

My pulse beats out an arpeggio—quick taps up and down, up and down.

“D’Souza told me about a conversation you guys had.” Anna places her hands in her lap and looks at me head-on. “Where she mentioned that I’m trans.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. And I’m really sorry if you didn’t want me to know. But it’s totally okay with me.”

She tilts away, almost imperceptibly. “Oh. It’s okay with you?”

I’ve never heard her use sarcasm like that, quick and biting. Heat crawls up my neck. Crap, am I messing this up? “I mean, I thought maybe you didn’t tell me because my dad’s a pastor. But, like, my friend Mallory is bisexual.”

Her eyes are narrowed now, the way you watch anything you don’t entirely trust.

“Oh, gosh. I don’t know why I said that! I’m sorry! I know that’s totally different. It’s just, sometimes people think that about me because of the church stuff, but that’s not what we’re about, and, and . . .” Tears fill my eyes because apparently they just live there now. I’m so frustrated with myself and the not-knowing and the idea of hurting this girl who has been good and steady since the first day.

When Anna looks up, her eyes are watery too, and widening with surprise. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I don’t want to mess this up! I feel like I’m messing it up! You’ve been such a good friend to me, but I don’t know how to do this.”

“Be friends with me?”

“No!” Wait, is there a different way I need to be friends with her, in light of this information? “Just . . . this conversation. Say the right thing. That’s all. I—”

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s start over. I’m a trans girl. That’s part of me, and my history.”

“Okay.” I don’t even know what questions to ask—or maybe I’m not supposed to ask questions? “And, just so you know, you can tell me anything you want to about it or nothing at all. I don’t want to be nosy, but, like, of course I’m interested in your life.”

I can tell she’s being patient with me, and I’m bobbing around in water wings like a fool. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

“Well . . . yeah, if you don’t mind. I mean, I like knowing things about you.”

“Okay. The extremely abridged version: I started transitioning four years ago. My family has always been relatively cool about it. They thought I was a boy and probably gay, but . . . nope. School was whatever. Pretty miserable, sometimes. Part of it was my anxiety and depression stuff, but shit like debates about me being on the soccer team didn’t help my health. Um, what else? Camp was almost always safe and good. And, here I am!” She shakes her head, smiling a little. “That’s making it seem a lot simpler than it is, but there you go.”