by Nan Higgins
“It is,” Michael said. “Mostly.”
“Want me to make the salad?” London asked Grant.
“No, salad involves a lot of chopping and shredding, which means the chances you’ll lose a finger before the night is over are pretty high. With corn you can just dump a can into a saucepan and stir it every once in a while.”
London opened her mouth to protest, then shrugged and nodded. Grant was bossy, but his reasoning was solid. She went to the largest can of corn she’d ever seen and set to opening it and getting it into the pan. After she’d gotten the entire can into the saucepan and turned the burner on, Michael came and stood next to her.
“So far, so good?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Great. The plates, glasses, and silverware are over there on the counter. Did you see the two tables in the living room?” She nodded. “Go ahead and start setting them if you don’t mind. The kids help clean everything up after dinner, but right now is their free time. A lot of them are still finishing up homework.”
“How many kids will be eating dinner?”
“Seven. Four who are living here right now and three who came for dinner and the activities we have going on afterward.”
“Okay. I’ll get started.” She grabbed as many place settings as she could lift and started setting the table. When she went back into the kitchen she went over to Michael. “Hey. I thought you said there were seven kids eating dinner.”
“There are.”
“There are thirteen place settings.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, “we eat with the kids. The four of us, plus one of the counselors, and of course, Joan will be joining us.”
“Joan is here?”
“She eats dinner with the kids three or four nights a week. More if she doesn’t have a fund-raiser or networking event to attend.”
London pondered that as she went to stir the corn before taking another set of plates to the tables. Joan had told her she would be here, but she thought it was a joke. How did she have time to be here all day during business hours, through dinner, and on to head up some of the evening activities? Sure, she had plenty of volunteers and a small full-time staff, but still. She couldn’t have much of a life outside this place.
A violently loud siren pulled London from her deep thoughts, and she almost dropped a plate when she covered her ears. She looked toward the kitchen and saw dark gray smoke coming from the entry. She ran over and saw Doris taking the flaming saucepan of corn from the stovetop and into the sink with Michael behind her shoving a large lid on top of the pan to suffocate the fire. As soon the fire went out, Grant took off his apron and used it to fan the smoke detector on the ceiling, and finally, it stopped its heinous screaming.
For several moments, nobody spoke or even moved. Then Doris and Michael started howling with laughter, and after a second, Grant joined them. Soon, London heard raucous laughter behind her and turned around to find most of the kids crowding around the door to the kitchen, pointing and falling over themselves. And standing in the middle of them, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face, was Joan Robinson.
“I see we’ve got the only woman on earth who can burn a can of corn helping in the kitchen tonight,” said Joan, and everyone except London roared with delight.
London stood in the kitchen, blushing and giggling. Of course it was funny, but why, why did it have to happen on her first night volunteering, and why when Joan was there?
The kids went back to what they were doing, and Joan stepped into the kitchen.
“I’m really sorry,” London said. “Do you want me to pay to replace the corn?”
Joan waved her off and went to the cupboards to retrieve a new can of corn and a clean pan. She opened the can, dumped it in, and when she went to place it on the burner, she peered down.
“This is what your trouble was.” She turned the knob on front of the stove. “You had it turned up to the highest level. You only need to have it about halfway.”
“I thought it would get done faster,” London said sheepishly.
“You don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen, do you?” Joan asked.
“Only when I’m fridge surfing.”
A twinge of amusement passed across Joan’s eyes so quickly that London thought she might have imagined it. “Come with me,” Joan said. “I’ll introduce you to some of the kids.” She turned toward Grant, who was just finishing the salad. “Forgive me. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Joan Robinson, the director here.” She reached out, and this time London was a bystander to one of those aggressive handshakes.
“I’m Grant Vogel, a friend of London’s.”
“Pleased to meet you. It’s wonderful to have you here. I was going to take London to meet some of the kids. If you’ll bring the salad out to the table, I’d love to introduce you as well. Doris, Michael, keep an eye on the corn, will you?”
The three of them walked out to the living area, and Grant set a bowl of salad on each table.
“Hey, everybody!” Joan called. “Come on over here so you can meet the new volunteers.” Moments later, they were surrounded by a group of kids ranging in age from about ten to eighteen. Joan introduced each, and they all gave a little wave or smile when their name was called. “Everyone, these are our volunteers tonight. This is Grant, and this is—”
“The lady who burns corn!” said the youngest child, and they all giggled.
“Indeed, Quentin, you’re right,” said Joan, “but you may call her London.”
“London Craft?” asked Lila, an older girl in a black leather jacket and black leggings with skulls on them.
“Yes,” London said, surprised. “Do we know each other?”
“I’ve been to your store.” Lila opened her jacket to reveal a T-shirt that said, “Smash the Patriarchy” with a pink fist in the background. “I love your stuff.”
“Thank you,” London said. “The shirt looks great on you.”
Lila smiled. “Thanks.”
Doris and Michael brought out the rest of the food, and Joan asked everyone to take their seats. “London, Doris, if you wouldn’t mind, please take a seat here.” Joan placed them at a table with Quentin, Lila, a wispy blond girl named Bernadette, and a smiling boy named Jacob. “Grant and Michael will sit with me at the other table.”
Everyone stood behind their chairs, hands resting on the backs, and closed their eyes. London stole a look at Grant, who mouthed the words, “You owe me,” before he closed his eyes as well. London expected Joan to say a prayer or something before they sat, but it was Quentin who spoke:
“I wish for love in a world that hates me. I wish for peace in a time of violence. Most of all, I wish for a home and a family.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “That’s it.” He pulled out his chair to sit, and everyone else followed.
Jacob picked up the salad bowl, put some on his plate, and passed the bowl to London.
“So, London,” Lila said, scooping up some corn. “Do you think you’ll be doing some art classes with us here?”
London spotted Joan looking in her direction. “I’m not sure. Who knows if I’ll even be allowed to come back after almost burning the place down.” The kids laughed.
“Do you want to come back, though?” Bernadette asked.
“I think so. I’d like to.”
Quentin pointed at Lila. “You made that shirt?”
“Well, I designed it. I have a few other people who also work with me after I’ve created the designs, but there’s a one in three chance I’m the one who made it.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Quentin said.
“Thanks. So, how old are all of you?”
“Seventeen,” Lila said.
“I’m fourteen,” said Jacob, “but I turn fifteen next month.”
“Fifteen,” said Bernadette.
Quentin, who had taken a huge bite of pulled pork sandwich as London asked the question, was the last to answer. “Just turned twelve.” He was older than she though
t but not by much.
“I see,” London said. “And do you all live here right now?”
“I don’t.” Jacob grinned. “I’m just here for the food.”
London laughed. “You must have been really worried when that smoke alarm went off, then.”
“Oh, I was,” Jacob said. “Don’t mess with my side dishes.”
“The rest of you stay here, though?”
They all nodded.
“What’s that like?” She glanced at Doris after asking the question, wondering if she was overstepping any boundaries, but Doris was busy piling pork on her bread.
“It’s way better than being at home,” Lila said, and the others nodded.
“Really? You all feel that way?”
“If I could go back home and have the same relationship with my family I had before I came out and still be myself, that would be better. But I can’t.” Bernadette spoke in a flat tone that London recognized all too well, and it made her heartsick for the girl. She was far too young to sound that hopeless.
“My parents kicked me out the minute they found out I’m trans,” said Quentin. “There’s no going home for me.”
“I can understand that.” London rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I can’t go home either.”
“Your parents don’t want you because you’re gay?” Quentin put down his pulled pork sandwich and looked at her intently.
“Well…my mother just died a few weeks ago. But no. They didn’t want me anymore after they found out.”
“How old were you when they found out?” asked Lila.
“I was twenty. I wasn’t brave enough to come out when I still lived with them, like all of you.”
“I’m not that brave either.” Jacob looked down at his food. “Otherwise, I’d probably be living here too.”
“I didn’t know you hadn’t told them,” Lila said.
Jacob shrugged. “I know. I kind of feel like a sellout compared to the rest of you. Passing as straight until I’m out of the house and out of high school.”
“You’re not a sellout, Jacob,” said Doris. “Everyone has a right to come out when the time is right for them.”
“I wish I’d waited,” Bernadette said. She’d pushed her food around on her plate a lot without really eating much.
Doris patted Bernadette’s back. “I wish I’d come out sooner. All we can do is all we can do.”
“So.” Quentin’s voice was loud. “You came out when you were twenty, and how old are you now?” His dark eyes had brightened, and London thought she saw a well of tears. She glanced uncertainly at Doris, who nodded.
“I’m thirty-nine.”
“Thirty-nine,” Quentin repeated. “After nineteen years, your parents still hate you.” A tear tumbled down his face. “So all of that ‘It Gets Better’ stuff is total garbage.” Before London could respond, Quentin pushed away from the table and ran out of the room. With a trembling hand, London set down her spoon.
Doris rose from the table. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“No, I’ll go,” said Joan. “The rest of you, please enjoy the remainder of your meal.”
After a brief silence, Jacob asked, “How old were you when you came out, Doris?”
“Sixty.”
“Sixty!” All the kids stared at one another with open mouths and wide eyes.
Doris smiled. “It’s shocking these days, in this place, but I grew up on a farm in Alabama. I didn’t even have a word to name who or what I was when I was a kid. That wasn’t something people knew. I’d love to believe my hometown has changed a lot since then, but I doubt it. So, I did what everyone did and got married really young.” She looked at Lila. “I wasn’t much older than you when I married my husband.”
“Oh, hell no,” said Lila, and everyone laughed.
“I got lucky,” said Doris. “My husband was an amazing man, and he was my best friend in the world. Years later, when we moved here and I finally met some people who were out and proud, I thought about coming out. But I loved him, and I knew I was the great love of his life. I was ready to stay with him forever, but the universe had other plans. He died when he was fifty-nine and I was fifty-eight.”
“I’m sorry you lost him,” London said.
“Thank you,” Doris said with a small smile. She looked around the table. “Well, it looks like everyone has finished. Time for you guys to start gathering dishes and loading the dishwasher.” With no further discussion, the kids stood and cleared the table. Michael and Grant joined them, and within minutes, the tables were once again blank.
“Should we help in the kitchen?” asked Grant.
“Nah, it’s crowded enough in there already,” said Michael. “If they need help, we’ll know it. Do either of you want coffee?”
London deferred to Grant since she’d dragged him here against his will. He surprised her when he said, “Coffee would be nice.”
“Come with us,” said Doris.
When London realized where they were headed, she stopped walking, causing Grant to run into her hard enough that she almost tumbled to the floor.
“Joan’s office?” she asked after they regained themselves.
Michael smiled. “That’s where the coffee is. Don’t worry, she’s cool with it.” London hadn’t seen the large Keurig in the corner when she was here before. “Pick your K-cup.” Michael held out a large tub filled with the coffee pods. Doris gave them some heavy mugs, and they took turns preparing their coffee. London blew on hers and walked to the wall with a dozen or so pictures featuring Joan either shaking hands or arm in arm with notable people. In one, she was accepting an award from the mayor of Columbus. Another showed her at Compass with a group of volunteers and staff. London peered closer at one photo. Is that Ellen DeGeneres? Holy shit.
“I see you’ve found my wall of infamy.”
London turned to find Joan standing behind her. “Oh, uh, yes. It’s impressive.”
“It’s something.” Joan sat on the corner of her desk. “Tell me, how did you two like your first night? What were your first impressions?”
“The kids were so well-behaved,” said Grant.
Joan nodded. “They have their moments, but yes, they’re good kids, and they are grateful to be here.”
“They’re lucky to have this place,” said Grant.
“How is Quentin?” London asked.
“He’s not having an easy time. The way his parents removed him from his home was rather violent, which means they’d have to jump through substantial hoops in order for Child Protective Services to even allow him back with them. So far, they’ve been uninterested in making any necessary changes. I’ve been trying to work with his parents and educate them on the best ways to accept and support a transgender child, but I think they’re a lost cause. It’s frustrating for me, but for Quentin, it’s devastating.”
London nodded. “I can imagine.”
“Think you’ll be back?” Doris asked.
London laughed. “You want me to come back after almost burning the place down and sending a child running from the room in tears?”
“Yes,” said Joan.
London paused, expecting her to go on, maybe tell her that everyone made mistakes on their first day, but she simply held London’s gaze. “I’ll come back next week,” London said finally.
“I’ll come with you,” said Grant.
“Excellent,” said Joan. “We’ll look into installing a new sprinkler system before then.”
* * *
“Well, that was entertaining.” Grant grabbed his coat off the hook in the small vestibule.
“A new sprinkler system,” London muttered.
“It was funny. Lighten up.”
“That woman bugs me.”
They went out into the chilly air, and she zipped up her coat.
“Hey.” He pulled on her elbow before she stepped into the parking lot. “Isn’t that Quentin? The kid who got so upset?”
London looked back toward the build
ing and saw him sitting on a bench on the sidewalk that led to the street. “I’m gonna go talk to him,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll pull the car up. Take your time.”
She walked to where the young boy sat and stood a few feet away. He said nothing, so she moved to the far edge of the bench and sat. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“It’s not you.” He kicked a few crisp leaves with the tip of his tennis shoe. “Sometimes I let myself believe I’ll get to go back home.”
“And that’s not possible?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “Not for me.” He turned away from her, and his body began to tremble. She scooted closer and put her arm around him. She didn’t know what the protocol was at Compass for dealing with upset kids, but she couldn’t let him sit on that bench crying without holding him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish things were different for you.”
Quentin sniffed. “You’re not going to tell me things will get better?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, I do think they’ll get better for you in time. But I also know you have every right to feel hurt and upset about where you are in this moment. It’s going to get better, Quentin, but it sucks right now.”
“It really does.” He wiped tears away with the cuff of his jacket.
The red door to Compass opened, and Joan burst out, coatless, looking around wildly. When she spied them on the bench, she ran to where they sat. “Quentin, thank God! I was so worried; we’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Her steps slowed a little when she saw London. “You’re still here?”
“I guess I should’ve let you know he was out here. It didn’t occur to me you didn’t know where he was.”
“I’m sorry, Joan,” Quentin said.
“We’ll talk about it inside.” She extended her hand, and he stood, taking her arm. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Quentin’s shoulders slumped, and his head bent. He was clearly grieving, and who could blame him? She knew all too well about the damage of parental rejection and its long-lasting affects. He was just a little boy, though. What tools did he have to even begin to deal with any of this? The thought troubled her.
