by Lianne Simon
The girl pauses in the doorway on her way out. Her lower lip trembles, but she doesn’t speak a word. I roll my eyes and move to the far side of the bed. “Come on. You’ve held me often enough.”
She strides across the room and crawls into bed beside me. I snake my arms around her waist and draw our bodies close. The tension begins to melt away. Hers. And mine. Finally.
Chapter 15
Danièle
The ancient grandfather clock in the den below Melanie’s room chimes five. Darkness still cloaks the world outside the bedroom window. Only Jake would be up and about this early.
Cashmere soft, Melanie’s hair gives off the gentle aromas of coconut oil and raspberries. I ease away from her and sit on the edge of the bed.
The mother of my child murmurs something in her sleep and reaches a hand across the sheets. After all these years, her heart still belongs to the boy I can never be.
If only it were possible, love. I lie down again—just long enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I have to go. Sleep well.”
Back in my own room, I stuff Melanie’s nightshirt into the hamper, don a fresh nightgown like the one I wore outside, and slide into bed next to Ethan.
One of the benefits of Partial Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome is my relative lack of underarm hair. Personal body odor has never been a concern. Ethan’s musky scent may be normal for a man, but mixed with wilted flowers, stale Champagne, and the remnants of Asiago and latkes, it leaves me wishing for coconut and raspberries.
I roll away from him, bury my face in the bed linens, and try to sleep.
Sometime later, he slides an arm around my waist. “You awake yet, babe?”
“Yes, love.” I sit up and stretch.
With an overwhelming strength that sends a shock of panic through my bones, Ethan draws me into his arms. Beard stubble scrapes across my chin. His lips close over mine, but last night’s food and drink spoil his romantic overture.
He hitches a leg up and rolls us over as though he’s practiced the maneuver a thousand times. One hand meanders up my thigh, taking my nightgown along with it. The other seeks out my breast.
I force my muscles to yield and open my mouth to ease my breathing. Being a woman means letting a man be the center of my life—haven’t they all but chiseled that into stone? Am I any less a woman if I never learn to enjoy this?
A few minutes later, Ethan sits on the edge of the bed, having satisfied his urgent desire. “I better shower and get dressed. I need to get on the road as soon as we finish breakfast, and I’d like to talk to your father first.”
“All right. I’ll meet you downstairs, then.”
I lean against the headboard, pull up my sore legs, and rest my chin on my knees. A bit of something wet runs down my leg. Several spots of pink—along with small puddles of semen—stain the sheets as well as my nightgown.
Is this the preview of married life? Shag the girl and run? With the collusion of my parents, the doctors and psychologists, by their careful manipulation, have brought me to this—a leaky repository for semen.
This is what makes me a woman in their eyes.
The problem has never been my intersex; I accepted my body a lifetime ago. They never have. Nor believed I could be happy without—without this.
They used the psychological equivalent of the Powell Doctrine—overwhelming force backed by widespread public support. What chance has an intersex kid against the organized might of the medical profession and the approval of society at large?
Without thinking about what I wanted, I conformed to their idea of normal.
The perfect chameleon.
“You okay, babe?” Ethan drops his towel and pulls on his boxers.
“I’ll be fine. But we really should talk about the surrogacy.”
“October. Don’t have time right now. I want to see your father about our future.”
“All right. See you later, then.”
He finishes dressing, kisses me one more time, and rushes out the door.
I pull off my nightgown, yank the sheets off my bed, and pile them all next to the hamper. The pillow cases follow seconds later. Even the bedspread proves to be tainted.
Small bruises dot my arms and legs. The dull ache I had the week after surgery has returned.
Do all women feel this vulnerable? This much at the mercy of men? Is this what my doctors wanted all along? My body trembles at the thought.
My phone chimes its breakfast warning. No time remains for a leisurely bath, so I settle for a quick shower. Fresh underwear, a comfortable and bright sundress, subdued makeup, braided hair—enough to make me feel almost clean again. Almost whole.
Melanie
I figure Dani wants me to make a good first impression on Ethan, so I wear a nice dress and do my hair and makeup and all. I glide down the grand staircase like some princess, trying not to make any noise.
Mrs. Welles glances up from whatever she’s doing and nods a good morning. Mr. Welles stands as I approach the dining area and gestures toward the man seated beside him. “Miss Fairbairn, let me introduce you to Ethan Davis.”
The guy rises and extends his hand.
Sweet. So you’re the dude I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with.
He’s several inches taller than Dani. And ripped. He draws my hand to his lips, kisses my knuckles, and smiles like he means it. “Good to meet you, Melanie. You’re even prettier than I expected.”
Yeah. Right. “Thanks.”
He pulls out the chair beside him and motions for me to sit. “Jake’s got breakfast ready if you’re up for pecan waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon.”
“Sure. Why not?”
A true gentleman—he saunters over to the buffet line and loads a plate with goodies.
I say grace like a proper lady, then begin stuffing my face like a starving pregnant girl.
Ethan studies me over his cup of coffee. “Danièle said you’re willing to stay on as nanny.”
“Yeah.” I wonder if our baby will have your steel-blue eyes.
“Excellent. That will let Danièle finish her degree.”
Danièle. Yes. Miss Danièle Aileana Welles. I take another bite of waffle to hide my smirk.
“Ah. Well. Here she is.” With that, he stands for Dani and kisses her like they’ve been apart for years.
Ah, how sweet the young lovers. Yeah. Suck her face off, why don’t you?
They wander off in quiet conversation, so I finish my breakfast alone. When I set my fork down, though, Mrs. Welles strolls across the room, places a folder on the table, and perches beside me. “Your mother desires that you improve your education while under our care. To that end, I’ve prepared a schedule for you.”
I shoulda gone to prep school.
“When Danièle is home on holidays and weekends, you’ll spend your time with her. The pregnancy—your health—is your primary responsibility. Your relationship with my daughter is a close second.”
Well, yeah. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Three evenings a week, Cooper will instruct you in ballroom dancing. Every Friday, you and I will meet to review the books you’ve read—one from the list I’ve prepared and one of your own choosing. We shall also discuss etiquette.”
That’s your idea of education—books and ballet? Sweet.
She hands me a debit card with my name on it. “Randolph Welles will deposit a small sum monthly for your personal expenses. Ask Danièle if you need help balancing your account.”
Mrs. Welles glances at her wrist and stands. “You have an appointment this morning with Ms. Lundsford, our hairdresser. An hour from now. One of the staff will let you know when she arrives.”
But I like my hair the way it is.
“Our seamstress, Ms. Franklin, will measure you early this afternoon. Do you have any questions?”
“No, ma’am.” Mornings—read. Evenings—dance. Manners. Grace. Tailored clothes. What’s gonna be left of me?
Danièle
The lonely hig
hway drones on toward Richmond. Melanie lies asleep, head on my lap. I brush the ginger curls away from her face. I hoped to chat on the way to school, but her eyes drooped before we crossed the river.
When we pull into the dorm parking lot, I ease from under Melanie and step out of the Escalade.
Cooper grabs my suitcase from the back of the limo. “How much do you know about your roommate?”
“Grace is Heather’s younger sister. She’s not a security risk.”
“What about—”
“She’s fine, Cooper. Trust me.”
“All right.” Nevertheless, he performs a quick search of my small dorm room before leaving with Melanie.
Grace arrives an hour after I finish unpacking. She stops in the open doorway, suspicion clouding her face. “You and my sister were close at prep school, but why ask to room with me?”
“She said you’re a diligent student.” I promised Heather I’d look after you.
“Did she tell you about me?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. And I’d appreciate an answer.” Grace leans against the doorpost and crosses her arms.
I like you. “I went with your sister to visit Grayson in the hospital.” After you tried to kill yourself.
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot you two went back that far.” She tosses her backpack on the unoccupied bed and eases the door shut behind her. “I’m stealth, okay?”
“Sure. I’d prefer no one know I’m intersex.”
Her stubborn frown relaxes into an uncertain smile. Then a slow nod. “Gotcha. I didn’t know.”
I pull out my phone and bring up Google Maps. “I’m going shopping. Want to come along?”
“Where?”
“There’s a motorbike dealer on Marshall out past 195. I need a helmet.”
“You ride?”
“Sort of. I got a ticket this summer for driving without a license. So I need to get one. Stat.”
“Sweet. You know Brent Hamilton?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“He’s got an almost new Honda for sale. Maybe he’s got an extra helmet.”
“Does he live on campus?”
“Frat row. Want me to call him?”
“Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, Grace introduces me to her friend—boyfriend someday perhaps, although his eyes hold more hope for a relationship than hers do.
Brent leads us to his Shadow Spirit. I’m in love. When he starts the bike, the Honda purrs like distant thunder on a warm summer’s night. “You interested in the motorcycle or just a helmet?”
“How much are you asking for the bike?”
“Five grand. Cash. Paid eight for it six months ago.”
“If you’ll take me to my bank and then the DMV, we can complete the sale today.”
“Deal. You gonna ride like that?”
In a sundress? I think not. “No. Let me change first.”
Melanie
I waltz on in an eternal Cinderella dream, swirling across the marble floor with Cooper. The first week at Victoria Springs, we practiced the box; the second turning. I spent most of September in the Marine’s embrace, while he guided me through the moves of ballroom dancing. My body knows the steps now. And the feel of his arms around me.
I could love you, Marine. Cooper’s the best dance instructor ever. Always positive. And friendly. Like a brother. Yeah, like that. Definitely not interested in me. Yeah. Marrying the guy’s a hopeless dream.
Always a gentleman, Cooper holds the door to the limo while Dani and I climb aboard.
Weary, and fighting nausea, I lean against the girl in the back seat of the Escalade. “Thanks for tagging along,” I say. “You didn’t have to, you know.”
“Even if the baby wasn’t mine, I’d want to do this with you.” When she puts an arm around my shoulder, I snuggle against the softness of her sweater. The girl brushes her other hand across my belly—searching for the baby, no doubt—and parks her fingers close by. The tenderness in her eyes brings my heart up into my throat.
You still dream of being the father yourself, don’t you?
I imagine Dani as the gentle-hearted boy she might have been if her body knew what to do with testosterone. Yes, I’d have married that you. I spread my fingers over hers and smile my contentment.
Victoria Springs Medical Center—the two-story building provides what passes for medical care in the county. Cooper parks in front of the door and escorts us to Dr. Hawthorne’s office.
Twelve weeks—my first trimester ultrasound—my heart stumbles in anticipation. I find a seat, but rock from hip to hip, unable to find a comfortable position.
Dani plays with her cell. She’s gonna be one of the first people on the planet ever wired directly to the Internet if she gets her way. She probably won’t even put down her phone on her wedding night.
The nurse calls me into the back and doesn’t object when Dani tags along. I slip off my pumps and crawl up on the padded examining table. With my head propped up, I still have to crane my neck around to see the display.
Dani squeezes my hand. “Relax. I’m sure the baby’s fine.”
The technician walks into the room and glances from Dani to me. “Are we ready?”
When I nod, she spreads a warm towel across my lower abdomen and pushes my top up a bit further. “This is a lubricating gel.”
Oh, really? Like I’ve never had a stupid ultrasound before?
She squeezes a blob on her wrist and slathers it around. “I’m making sure it’s not too hot.” Then she squirts a bunch of warm—no, make that hot—goo across the top of my all but invisible baby bump, and pushes it across my belly with the ultrasound wand.
Dani’s violet eyes blossom. I twist my head around to see the screen, but the technician has already pulled the sensor away and is adjusting the machine’s settings.
A smug grin has taken over Dani’s face by the time I turn my head back again.
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
The technician rubs her wand back and forth across my belly, like she gets paid by the number of strokes. I try to watch as she points out stuff, but I get this crick in my neck and it all looks like an old black and white TV show anyhow. So I try to read the emotions from Dani’s face instead.
“Can you see?” the technician asks. “She’s sucking her thumb.”
For a moment—just a moment—I see my baby’s face on the screen. “She?”
“It’s difficult to be certain at this age. But, yes, this one’s probably a girl.”
This one? My eyes bounce from the display to the technician to Dani’s glowing face. A calm resolution shines from the girl’s eyes. I grin, but she doesn’t notice, her gaze still fixed on the screen.
The technician asks me to roll a little to my side before she squirts more gel across my abdomen. Nervous tension builds as I wait for what has to be coming. She rambles on about body parts being okay till I want to scream.
At last, she taps on my arm and points at a blob on the display. “He looks to be a boy.”
Twins. They both made it!
She keeps right on moving her wand and taking measurements, like anything else in the universe matters.
The screen’s reflection mixes with the wonder and determination in Dani’s eyes. The set of her jaw says she’ll do whatever it takes to protect her family—her babies.
Yeah, girl. So will I.
When the technician finishes, I wipe off the slime and straighten my clothes.
Twins. As soon as I stand up, a wave of nausea reminds me that pregnancy isn’t all a party.
Dani pulls me into a tight hug—kinda like the smothering ones her father gives. “I’ve got a quick question for Dr. Hawthorne. I’ll be right back.” She disappears down the hallway, so I wander back to the waiting area and sit in the worst chair in Victoria Springs.
Dani returns before I find a comfortable position. The girl stops in front of me and takes both of my hands in hers. Mischief a
nd joy light her face—almost like old times. “He says it’s okay for you to ride a motorbike—so long as we don’t get into an accident.”
“You got your license?” Okay, so my voice sounds more like a squeal.
“Yes. The week we got back. And I bought a Honda Shadow Spirit—the most beautiful motorbike you’ve ever seen.”
“And your parents are okay with this?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
“Yeah. Gee. I can understand why. So when do I get my ride?”
“Come back to school with me and spend the week in the dorm.”
Do I really wanna be cooped up in a small room with you and Grace? “Is there anything to do while you’re in classes?”
“The campus is lovely this time of year.”
And your mother won’t be there. “Let’s do it.”
We meet Cooper in the hallway. Dani and I wait in the lobby while he gets the car. The low grey overcast of morning has turned dark. Thunder crashes in the distance. A drop splashes my cheek. The rain turns heavy by the time the limo pulls up to the entrance. Cooper shelters us with his umbrella as we rush for the Escalade. Dani and I crash in the back seat and just grin at each other like idiots the entire way home.
Chapter 16
Danièle
Crimson, gold, and amber leaves flutter in the cool October breeze. Melanie snuggles closer, her head pressed hard against my back. My lovely Shadow Spirit purrs as the asphalt beneath us races by.
Tree shadows and sunlight flicker past, the syncopated rhythm mesmerizing. I turn in at the dorm, find a parking spot, and kill the engine.
The afternoon has warmed somewhat, but a chill clings to my bones, one that I suspect a cup of Darjeeling won’t heal.
Melanie snuggles against me as we stroll up the path toward the dorm. Her eyes gaze at some distant wonder. “While we were riding this afternoon, I had the most incredible sense of having been here before.”
I urge her to sit on a bench, where we might still capture a bit of the sun’s warmth.
Tenderness spreads across Melanie's face. “After you first moved to Virginia, I dreamed of today’s drive through the changing leaves. On your motorcycle. And me pregnant with your baby. I thought it all impossible then.”
