London Undone

by Nan Higgins

  “You’re married?”

  “Divorced. My ex-husband left me for a much younger woman, and all our parents could worry about was how to spin it to make it look like I wasn’t undesirable.”

  “You loved him?”

  Diana was quiet for a moment before London saw tears escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “I thought he was the love of my life.”

  She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” In her anger all these years, she’d allowed herself to believe Diana lived a life free of any kind of pain or hardship. She realized how foolish she’d been to think she was the only one in her family who had earned the right to be sad, angry, or lonely. A bit of that anger drained from her now.

  Diana wiped the tears delicately away with another raunchy napkin. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. All these years I’ve spent being nothing but a yes-woman to our parents because their approval was how I gauged success in my life. But look at me. I’m nearly forty, divorced, and living with my father. I spent my entire life wanting to please my mother, and now that she’s gone, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” Diana gazed at her. “I owe you so much more than an apology for standing with them when they shut you out and continuing to isolate you all this time. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, and I’m sure I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I wondered if we can try…”

  “Try?”

  “Try to learn to be sisters again.”

  Whoa. “I…” She paused to swallow. “I don’t know if we can.” When she saw Diana’s crestfallen face, she hurried the rest of her words. “I’m not ruling it out, it’s just…we don’t really know each other anymore. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these years without the three of you, it’s that family is so much more than blood. If you truly want to be sisters again, you’ll have to be patient with me. And you’ll have to earn that title. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. I don’t have many reasons to trust you right now.”

  She didn’t want to hurt her sister, but she knew herself. It would take a lot more than one night drinking wine together for her to let her guard down after all these years. Still, she was surprised at the glimmer of something she hadn’t had with regard to anyone in her biological family in a very long time: hope. It was small and fragile, but it was there.

  Diana nodded. Her eyes were sad, but they weren’t as hopeless as they’d been a moment ago. “I understand.”

  “And Dad? Will he understand your new interest in building a relationship with me?”

  “I don’t know, and for the first time, I don’t care. I think it’s time I started living for myself.”

  This time, London tapped her wine glass against Diana’s. “To new beginnings and living for ourselves.”

  They finished the wine with that toast. When Reggie and Quentin returned, they found London tucking Diana in on the couch. She pulled her index finger to her lips in a “Shh” motion. After she got Diana sufficiently covered in blankets, they gathered in the kitchen.

  “She’s staying the night?” Reggie asked.

  “We drank a lot of wine, and I don’t think she’s as accustomed to alcohol as yours truly.”

  “Are you okay?” Quentin asked.

  London put her hand in her back pocket, feeling the construction paper there. It was folded into fourths, the first time she’d folded it since she was reintroduced to it rather than placing it carefully back in the file.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  Long after Reggie and Quentin went to bed, London stayed up in the chair across from her sleeping sister. She felt a strange mixture of angst and relief at the knowledge that she no longer had to figure out who she was when she wrote this letter. Admittedly, it’d been like trying to put together a puzzle using pieces from different sets that were never meant to go together, and now she knew why.

  Still, she was grateful for the letter and even grateful for the misunderstanding about it. It had given her something to focus on in the months in which she’d suffered enough loss to last her a lifetime, and her obsession with it had kept her just busy enough to help keep her from sinking into despair.

  Tomorrow, she would need to begin to rearrange her life and priorities with this new knowledge. She would release this piece of paper from the power of defining a portion of her life. Tonight, she would allow herself some rest. The letter lay in her lap, and she fell asleep in that chair, her right hand clutching it.

  * * *

  “London, you never cease to amaze me,” Ross said the next afternoon. “I didn’t think you’d top last week’s session, and now here you are, the day after an impromptu slumber party with your estranged sister.”

  She’d seen Diana off that morning with plans to meet for lunch after the new year and several hugs—tearful ones—on Diana’s end.

  “Promise you’ll call when you know what day will work for lunch,” she’d said.

  “I will.”

  She’d enjoyed seeing Ross so rapt as she told the story, but as she got to the end, she felt the lump of disappointment in her chest. She pulled the letter out of her coat pocket, the folds she’d made last night already a permanent part of the page.

  “It could be the start of getting my sister back,” she said.

  “Indeed. So why do you seem sad?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m not getting my hopes up. Diana has been ruled by the whims of my parents for as long as I can remember. She may be changing. Lord knows the death of our mother has caused some self-examination for me too, so I guess it’s not completely out of the question that she’d change now. Still, it’ll be smart to hold back and see how this all plays out. I’m not ready to invite her over for Christmas dinner yet.”

  “That is your right, considering your history. It’s a fine line to walk between openness and caution. And for another thing?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said that last point was for one thing. I assume there’s at least one other thing?”

  She sighed. “For another thing, I’ve spent the last several months trying to get into the head of my ten-year-old self by completing items from a letter I didn’t even write. I’m back to square one on the self-discovery thing.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. You’re hardly at square one. Think of all you’ve learned in the process.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “You’ve learned that you didn’t enjoy being without Reggie, and it seems like your time apart has really strengthened your relationship. You’ve learned that you’ve become so strong with your chosen family that you don’t need to rush into anything with your biological one. And now that you know Diana was behind the goals in that letter, you’ve learned the most important thing of all.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you are the same person you were when you were a kid, more or less. You didn’t somehow drastically shift into a completely different London. Those goals were Diana’s. Quite frankly, it didn’t seem like you had much in the way of goals.”

  She snorted. “And I’m the same person now? Thanks a lot.”

  “London, you’ve accomplished a lot in your life. The success of Hell in a Handbasket, the growth you and Reggie have experienced, the building of a family comprised of people who have earned a place in your life. These things are huge. You don’t have traditional goals, and it seems you never did. And when you do want something, you don’t go about getting it in typical ways. It works for you, though, for the most part.”

  “I guess it does.”

  “So, where’s the problem in that?”

  He was right. She didn’t need a letter to dictate who she was going to be. She knew who she was, and just as importantly, she liked who she was. She loved her business, her friends and family, her life. She didn’t know exactly what she would have written, if she’d done that assignment herself, but she knew she couldn’t have asked for a life that gave her more satisfaction or fulfillment than the one she had.
<
br />   “There isn’t one.” She grinned. “I guess that means I’m cured.”

  “Nice try,” he said. “I’ve already got you scheduled for the next month.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  London handed a stack of colorful cardstock to Quentin. “Here, tell me which ones you like.”

  “How many am I choosing?” He flipped through them.

  “Two or three. Pick a few that pop out at you, and we’ll get started.”

  They would be going to Compass the following evening for their holiday party. London and Reggie still volunteered once a week in the kitchen, and it gave Quentin a chance to visit his friends there. London had asked if he’d like to help her make holiday cards for the kids and staff, and he enthusiastically agreed.

  She went over to the corner of the living room where her art supplies were overflowing from the steamer trunk she’d designated for her creative items. Since Quentin had been with them, she’d been working more and more from home so she could spend time with him. It’d been more than a week since she’d even been into Hell. Ohio State was on winter break, and Diego was helping Jasmine in the shop full-time.

  This morning when she had her daily check-in phone call, London said she was thinking about bringing in another person to help in the shop. “I’m not there often enough to really even help you anymore.”

  “Oh?” Jasmine asked, and even in that single syllable, London recognized the satisfaction in her voice. “You won’t be coming back in full-time?”

  “I’ve enjoyed working from home a lot more than I expected. Despite the absolute mess I’m making of the living room. I swear, Reg is gonna kill me for this disaster one of these days.”

  Jasmine laughed. “You need an art room, somewhere you can spread everything out the way you like and still be out of Reggie’s way.”

  “Oh, not you too. Did Reggie put you up to talking to me about getting a bigger place?” She couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “She didn’t have to. Everyone knows you need one.”

  London shook her head, exasperated. “Anyway, you’re not opposed to bringing someone in, are you? You can have full discretion as far as the interview process goes since whoever it is will be primarily working for you. And while we’re on this topic, it’s about time you got a raise and a better title.”

  “No,” Jasmine said, “that’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s the right thing to do. Jas, you run that place. It runs smoother with you in charge than it did when I was the one managing it. You should be called the executive manager with the salary to match.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. This is good for me too, you know. With you in charge of the store, I’m free to do my creative work and deal with operations outside of Columbus. It will free up so much time for me. And it’s what you’ve basically been doing for the last year, anyway.”

  “Well…if you’re sure.”

  “I am. I’ll come in next week and we can iron out the details.”

  It had been wonderful to give that news to Jasmine. London had relied heavily on her for such a long time, and she realized during this time working from home that this was a gesture that was long past due. She was only sorry she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  Now she struggled to find the paints she was looking for among the piles of paper, fabric, jewelry findings, and writing instruments.

  “Aha!” she said at last. “Found them.” She made her way back over to the kitchen counter where Quentin sat. “Any luck?”

  “I think I’ve decided.” He handed her three cards: a silver one, a gold one, and metallic hunter green one. “Are these okay?”

  “They’re perfect.” They cleared all the other papers away, cut the number of cards they needed for their project, and assembled them and got the paints and brushes set up. London got on a stool beside Quentin, and they began their work, sharing the paints between them. They worked in companionable silence for quite some time.

  “Thank you for letting me help,” he said shyly. “I used to do a lot of painting before my parents kicked me out.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you; you’re doing a great job.” She frowned. “You’re not taking any art classes in school?”

  He shook his head. “My parents wanted me to focus on academics. They thought art was silly.”

  She pondered this. “It can be. It can be silly or malicious or devastating or glorious. It can be one hundred percent honest and pure fantasy at the same time. That’s what makes it so great.”

  “Yeah. You’re right.”

  “We can see about getting you into some art workshops. There are so many avenues to take classes, some really good ones if you like.”

  The smile faded from his face. “No. No, thank you.”

  “Okay.” She almost didn’t ask but couldn’t help herself. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not going to be here much longer.” His voice was so quiet, she had to strain to hear. “And when I go back to Compass, I won’t be able to keep taking those classes. I’d rather go back not knowing what I’m missing than have that amazing experience and have to give it up.”

  “I see. Is that how you feel about being here, with us? That you would have been better off not knowing what you were missing?”

  He didn’t speak. He dipped his brush in water and watched the tendril of black paint swirl around in the clear liquid.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I was insensitive.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Quentin?”

  “What?”

  “Will you tell me what happened the day your parents kicked you out?”

  He was silent so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She set her brush down and reached over to rub his back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She bit her lip. It had taken her years of sad Christmases to talk about the pain of why she was without her family on the holidays. A big part of her felt as if she could have sped up her healing if she had spoken out sooner, and she wanted that for Q. What she didn’t want was to make things worse.

  He took a long, jagged breath and turned to face her. Except he kept his eyes on his lap. The deflated tone of his voice when he finally began talking nearly broke her heart. “I have a Chromebook for school. Everyone got one from middle school through high school. We use them for homework, class projects and stuff. Most sites that aren’t academic are blocked, but you can petition to have access to certain web pages if you can convince your teacher why it’s necessary for school.

  “In science, we had a chance to do a project where we could pick the topic ourselves, as long as it related to something we were studying in the class. I decided to do my project on the biology of transgender beings—humans—and animals. Did you know there are lots of examples of trans animals?”

  “I did. But only because Tate told me.” There hadn’t been a single day since Tate died that she hadn’t longed for him, hadn’t missed his jokes, his candor, and the very familiar rhythm of their easy conversations. But never had she wished he was still here more than she did in this moment. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t give Quentin the kind of support he needed, not the way Tate could have.

  “Right. So I requested access to a few different pages. One of them was this doctor who specializes in gender reassignment surgeries. I got really excited reading about that, you know? It was the first time I felt like maybe I wouldn’t be stuck being a girl forever. Like there was hope for me.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Of course there’s hope for you.”

  “I sent an email to the doctor’s office, asking a lot of questions. Some of them were related to school, but some weren’t. I asked how old you had to be to start taking testosterone and have surgery. I thought maybe I could start saving now for it. I babysat a few of the neighborhood kids, and my parents said I could start a d
og walking business when I turned thirteen. They didn’t know what the money was for. I guess they thought I was saving for college.”

  He took several more deep breaths. They weren’t as jagged as before, and London hoped that was a good sign.

  “I was babysitting the little girl next door one night, and when I got home, my parents were sitting at the kitchen table with my Chromebook open, looking at the email I sent. When I filled out the contact form, it asked for my address, and I put it in there. The doctor’s office contacted my parents asking if they wanted to bring me in for a consultation.

  “The form I filled out asked if I was a minor, and if so, did I have my parents’ consent to speak with them. Like an idiot, I put yes to both. I didn’t know they were going to call. I thought I’d just get an email back.”

  “What happened?”

  “My mom started screaming that I was a demon. She said I was evil, that only a demon would insult God by trying to change my natural form from what He intended. And my dad…he didn’t say anything. He used the buckle of his belt to get his point across.”

  She shuddered and pulled him closer.

  “After I took the beating, they put me in the car and drove me downtown, dropped me off outside Stonewall. They told me I could go get the other fags and trannies to help me. My dad started driving off before I even got all the way out of the car. That’s the last time I saw them.”

  “Jesus, Quentin. I am so, so sorry they did that to you.” This child was, without a doubt, the sweetest human being she’d ever known. As long as she lived, she would never understand how a parent could do something like he described. He’d drawn back, and she had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him again. Everything in her wanted to form a protective shield around this little boy, to spare him from ever being hurt like that again. She realized what was holding her back was what he’d said about not wanting to know what he was missing. How protective could any embrace or word or action from her be if she was just going to send him back into this cruel world to fend for himself?