by Lianne Simon
“If you are—which I didn’t think possible—you’d still need to be legally male when you get married. Are you prepared to do that in what little time remains?”
“No.” Cutting off my breasts isn’t going to win Melanie’s love. Besides, how would I convince a psychologist I want to be a man when I like my body and gender the way they are? I bid my uncle goodbye and lie on the bed again.
My children’s little faces on the ultrasound display, the feel my hand pressed against them—the separation from my babies gnaws at me as much as the absence of their mother.
I always considered my father a bit paranoid about family. Until my own was at risk. College is pointless until I know Melanie’s all right.
The door swings open, and Grace walks into the room. Her brows creep up her forehead. “I thought you’d be in Georgia by now. Don’t you care about your pregnant girlfriend?”
Yes. Why delay? My life’s over if anything happens to her. “I’m leaving within the hour. Will you cover for me?”
“Sure. Isn’t Atlanta like six hundred miles?”
“Five something. But yes. Would you tell my professors I had a family emergency?”
“You got it.”
With the decision made, I pack the few things I’ll need for the trip. November isn’t as cold in Georgia as Virginia, but I dress extra warm. One last glance at my old life, and I walk out the door.
Melanie
My stomach grumbles, dreaming of Jake’s cranberry-orange scones. And a hot chocolate. I yawn and rub at my eyes before strolling into the kitchen. No pastry, but my sister keeps fresh fruit on hand. And milk for cereal.
After my late brunch, I crash on the couch with a good book, hoping to find some of the simple contentment I lost when I left Virginia—and Dani.
Mom’s off at the clinic, getting some kinda treatments. Fred and Beatrice and the little guys are on their way to Stone Mountain for a picnic. Not even half a day alone, and already darkness overwhelms my soul. What am I gonna do? One hand makes its way down to my babies.
I grab my phone for a distraction. Dani left text messages again. I delete them all without reading a single one. I don’t need the pain. Not now. Not ever.
Somebody rings the doorbell. Probably one of the neighborhood kids. No way they need to see me in a nightgown. The phone chirps another message. I power it off. So much for a quiet afternoon.
The bell grows more insistent, so I meander over to the door. Through the peephole, violet eyes gleam. Violet eyes surrounded by white lashes.
Daniel? My heart forgets to keep time. Muscles refuse to do more than groan in anticipation, while my imagination has already run to him.
I ease the door open enough to peek outside. Dani never goes out without a perfect face. Ever. Yet she stands there without makeup, dressed in a fleece-lined leather jacket, jeans that look like real suede, and for-serious boots. Even if the girl was clad in motorcycle leathers, only a moron would mistake her for a boy, though. Her curves and ballerina moves give her away. So why do I imagine Daniel behind those hungry eyes?
“Please forgive me,” she says.
The babies kick at the sound of Dani’s voice. Figures. “Why are you here?” I lean against the door frame and try without much success for my best frown. “Just go. Please.”
Hopeful eyes search my heart. “I want us to be friends, Melanie.”
Friends. One hand rises uncommanded to my throat, seeking a heart no longer there. I turn my head away. “I’m busy. I need to—”
The girl nudges me inside. “For Daniel. All right?”
A spike of angry pain burns through me. “No, Dani. It’s not.”
But her eyes know I won’t turn her away. Not even with me sure I’ll get hurt again.
Leaving her to close the door, I rush back to my bedroom, shed my nightgown, and rifle through the drawer for some clean clothes.
Dani shrugs off her coat and lays it on my bed. “I’m sorry. Ethan acted without my knowledge. And certainly without my consent. You’ll always be the mother of my children.”
You’d spend the rest of your life with Danièle?
Heat blossoms across my cheeks at the longing in Dani’s eyes. Foolish of me to dream of the boy she might have been. I turn my back on her intensity and finish getting dressed.
Dani’s arms creep around my waist then. I lean into the girl and welcome her embrace. No dreams—just a friend holding me while the heartbeats tick away and the pain eases.
“Is there a park around here?” she says. “I’d like to have a long chat about our future.”
“Yeah. Maybe two miles. A quiet place with evergreens and a lake.”
I find my dad’s old racing leathers and pull on the jacket. It doesn’t close over my belly any longer. My mind races back to the trip we took out River Road, to the rides Dad gave me, and to my dreams of Daniel.
Yeah, Mom. The rest of my life. If she’ll let me.
Danièle
Melanie climbs on the motorbike behind me and holds tight. Healing flows from her arms to my heart. We might yet repair the damage Ethan caused.
She directs me along back roads from the apartments and malls of Duluth to the hidden countryside near Lawrenceville. In just under three miles, we pull into a secluded park adjoining some corporate building.
Canada geese forage close to shore. A few honk greetings—or perhaps warnings. As we walk a path around the lake, squirrels chatter at us and scamper away.
We huddle on a bench in the feeble warmth of November sunshine. For the moment, at least, not a ripple disturbs the reflection of pine trees, blue sky, and lazy grey clouds. I breathe deep of the crisp air and pull Melanie a bit closer. “So. About our babies...”
“I named them,” she says. “Patrick and Ellie.”
My eyes wander from hers toward her swollen belly. “May I?” When she nods, I slip one hand under her blouse, spread my fingers across her abdomen, and wait for one of our children to kick.
Melanie’s lips twitch into a momentary frown, but wonder and a bit of fondness struggle through. Her eyelids droop then, and she leans into my shoulder. “What are we gonna do?” Contentment edges her ennui, as though the present moment is sufficient for her happiness, and darkness lies yet in the future.
“I’m not sure, love. You and the babies mean more to me than anything else, but...” But I doubt you’d marry a woman. Even an intersex one.
Her eyes scan my face. Once. Twice. Seeking a trace of her long lost boyfriend, no doubt.
I smile my tenderness for her. Daniel was never anything more than make-believe—a part I was happy to play for her. Like the Danièle I became for my parents. Or the proper young lady the psychologists counseled. All of these—and none—were me. “I love you and don’t want to ever hurt you again.” And I desire you, mother of my children.
“Yeah. Well. What about Ethan?” Emerald eyes radiate the pain my presence has already caused her.
Perhaps I should leave you be and let Randy find our babies a good home. My gut twists at the thought. “Our engagement’s off.” I seek out her hand and squeeze my affection. “Someone once told me it’s okay to imagine that things were different. Now they are.”
The wind picks up. Melanie trembles and ducks her head deeper into the fleece at my shoulder. “Mom says kids’ll make you grow up faster than anything else.”
I lean close and kiss her cheek. “We’ll be okay.”
A soft rain patters through the treetops. The afternoon sun retreats behind the clouds. I rise and offer her my hand. “Let’s get you someplace warm. And dry.”
As we enter the comfort of a local restaurant, the drizzle becomes a downpour. The hostess leads us to a booth next to a window overlooking Pleasant Hill Road. The soft beat of rain on the metal roof provides a pleasant background noise to the chatter of a dozen quiet conversations.
Now that you’re a captive audience, what do I say? I love you more today than all my yesterdays. Would that I were a man; my world
would be so much easier.
Chapter 20
Melanie
Angry black clouds hang low over Pleasant Hill Road. Cold rain pounds the window beside us. Muddy water the color of Georgia clay flows down the road and across the sidewalks.
Lightning flickers the restaurant lights. I hold my breath and count off heartbeats till thunder shakes the building.
Across from me, Dani’s a study in angelic beauty. The girl would be stunning as a model, yet without makeup, her white brows and lashes lend her face an ethereal delicacy that requires no cosmetics. She brushes a stray lock away from her sleepyhead eyes and glances up at me. Pain and longing torture her face. Has she really lost Ethan?
My imagination reaches across the table to comfort her. I trace the girl’s jawline with the whisper of a fingertip and remember the pretty boy who swore to be mine forever.
A wistful smile creeps across Dani’s lips.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
I stare out the window again to avoid the girl’s eyes. Anger smolders—at her for asking, at Mom for being sick, and at my dad for getting himself killed in Afghanistan when my mother and I needed him the most.
Guilt seeps in like a deadly mist. I was away too, not even aware of my mother’s cancer. Not there to support her, pray with her, or even hold her hand. Yet more than anyone else, I miss Daniel.
“Yeah,” I say, to the girl who already knows my heart. My fists clench as I fight off the urge to beg her to be him again, if only for a moment. And yet, she’s as much Daniel now as she ever was.
“I’m sorry I let you down,” she says.
Because you wouldn’t cut off your breasts? I find her violet eyes again and let her track my every thought. Even now the image of doctors mutilating Daniel makes me cringe. “I loved him the way he was.”
“I was serious when I promised to marry you.”
Well, yeah. Enough to trap my heart inside that stupid locket.
Time to leave. Before I start crying for a boy who’s never coming home. I pull out my cell and call Beatrice. “Hey. Can I get a ride?”
“Sure. Soon as we get home. Where are you?”
“The Crab Shack.”
“All right. I-285’s a zoo, so we may be a couple of hours. I’ll call when we get closer.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as I hang up, the downpour fades. Just like that.
Dani pays the tab. “Let’s wait in my hotel room. All right? The Sonesta’s not far.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
The girl brushes most of the water from her motorcycle’s seat. The mist clears as I hop on the bike behind her. Sunshine greets us as we drive out of the parking lot.
Halfway there, Dani slows, almost stops, then creeps ahead and into the right lane. I poke my head around the girl’s shoulder. A muddy mess extends clear across the road. Deep, too.
Dani tenses and thrusts her feet down into the water. Her back arches, like we’re gonna get hit or something. My muscles spasm in reaction, pulling me tight against her.
A wall of water sweeps across the bike as a red truck blurs past between us and the median. Halfway in our lane. The Honda wobbles sideways across the pavement and tries to go down. Time slows while Dani struggles to keep us upright.
She gets the bike straightened out again—somehow—and we drive the last half block to Crestwood Parkway. The girl pulls into the hotel, finds a parking spot, and shuts down the engine.
I jump off the bike and wave a finger in the truck’s general direction. “What is wrong with you people?” Still being able to scream feels good.
Dani laughs, hugs me tight, then kisses me on the cheek. “Let’s get you dried off.”
Water and red mud splattered everywhere. I pull off my shoes and roll up my pant legs. We both drip our way to the elevator and up to her floor.
As soon as she has the door open, the girl strides over to a dresser and grabs a robe—a nice oriental flower print. She hands it to me and nudges me toward the bathroom. “Get cleaned up. I’ll find you something to wear.”
The shakes start then. Not for the cold mud and water. The truck came way too close. A little hydroplaning, and he’d have run right over the top of us. Dani, me, and the babies.
I rinse the mud out of my clothes, squeeze out the water, and hand them out to Dani.
Under a steaming fountain I lather with soap, wash my hair, and try not to think about the wreck my life has become. After a cool rinse, I dry off and comb out the snarls.
The fat girl in the mirror scowls at me. Well, I never had a perfect figure, but I’ve put on more than enough weight for my pregnancy. Five inches taller than me, Dani still weighs a bunch less. She’s always been as willowy as an elf. I let out a hopeless sigh, wrap her robe around me, and pull the door open.
The girl looks up from whatever she’s doing—probably something on the Internet. “Your sister called,” she says.
I pick up my phone, flop down on the bed, and thumb Beatrice’s number.
Dani perches beside me. “Please don’t leave yet. We need to talk about the babies.”
A spooky premonition drifts through my imagination—me in some fancy Cinderella gown, waiting for the music to start. Mom kisses my cheek and wishes me well before leaving to be with—with Dad.
The moment fades. Dani asked me something. “What did you say?”
“Please stay.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
When my sister answers, I explain about the wet clothes.
“Should I bring you something?”
“Nah. It can wait till morning. Dani wants to talk.”
“Yeah. Definitely more fun to chat in the nude. In bed. All night.”
“You’re evil.”
“Me? You’re the one who’s pregnant with the girl’s baby.”
“Jealous?”
“You know it. Call me when you need a ride.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
A minute later, Dani strolls out of the bathroom wearing flannel pajamas. After checking her phone, she urges me to my feet. “I’ve got something for you. Close your eyes.”
I’m not big on surprises, but I do as she asks.
A moment of quiet rustling passes before she speaks. “Imagine Daniel kept his promise.”
A lost dream stirs in its grave, reviving the agony of hope’s death. Why not just poke me with a sharp knife?
Something brushes against the side of my neck and jostles against my chest. My hand rushes to my breast. Yes. Daniel’s locket—my heart—back where it belongs.
“The two of us have been married almost a year.” Her whisper comes from behind now. Soft hair cascades over my shoulder. “Trust me,” she says and nuzzles against my ear.
There was never any denying the boy when he wanted something. Longing for Daniel’s tenderness overpowers my judgment, suppresses my reason, and releases my imagination.
A moment later, he reaches his arms around my waist and unties my robe. Daniel spreads his fingers wide across my bare belly and draws us closer. “You found out you’re pregnant, and the babies are due in April,” he says.
No. The absurdity of her statement snaps me back to reality. Dani was never male—or female—enough to have her own children. “Why are you doing this?”
“Melanie, I—” Tender passion consumes Dani’s voice. She brushes against my ear again and whispers, “When I had my operation, the surgeon took biopsies and gave them to Dr. Pierson. She used my sperm to fertilize your eggs.”
My heart beats a crazy staccato that steals my breath away. My eyes pop open, and I turn my head to gape at her. “For real?”
She grins and bobs her head. “I’m the father of your children.” Then she kisses me the way Daniel always did. Something within me goes nova, igniting all my longings in one short burst of blinding starlight. Daniel. Me. Together forever in an instant of time.
But eternity fades—doesn’t it always? I pause at last and gasp for air.
I kiss him on t
he lips again, worry open the top button of his pajamas, and urge the boy toward our bed. Tonight, at least, my Daniel holds me.
Danièle
I wake with Melanie still in my arms, her lavender-scented tresses tickling my nose. She lies facing me, one leg resting between my knees, her breasts pressed against my side. Every breath she takes—each move the babies make—echoes contentment through my senses.
How did I forget the way her nakedness against me affects my spirit? Nothing so trivial as sexual arousal compares with the overwhelming tenderness such proximity brings.
She clung to my side all night, weeping out at times her melancholy in splashes of despair that ran down my shoulder and wet the sheets. I loosened her robe and ran my hands across her back—the way I used to—to quiet her sobs.
Melanie still loves Daniel—a hopeless fantasy, that. Massive doses of testosterone might make me a bit more masculine, but at what cost? The doctors suggested mastectomies when I claimed to be a boy. Everyone thought I panicked then because I was a girl at heart. The truth is simpler—whatever my gender, I like my body the way it is.
The psychologists were eager to help me discover which sex suited me best, but their reality didn’t include a boy who wanted to keep his breasts. To them, ambiguity breeds confusion. Surgery eliminates ambiguity. I soon realized it best for Melanie and me both if they all thought I wanted to be a girl.
If I believed in karma, I’d blame my situation on a promise I made—and broke—long ago. I returned my grandmother’s silver locket. Nothing speaks with more eloquence than that heart—a silent reminder of Melanie’s right to mine.
My fondness for her never diminished, but she—I have no doubt of it—she still loves a boy.
And yet you lie with me now. You must know I was never truly Daniel.
I brush the hair from Melanie’s face, careful not to awaken her. A faint blush warms her freckles. Are all pregnant women so beautiful? Or is it only that she carries my children?
Across the room my phone chirps a message. Somewhere outside, a truck rumbles past. Melanie rolls off me, stretches, and stumbles out of bed. She rushes to the closet, stops, and glances back at me, her face red. As she turns away, the shadow of pain brushes her eyes. What I meant as a gift wounded her. Again. I should have known better than mention Daniel. Why didn’t I just explain about the babies?
