Going Through the Change

by Samantha Bryant

  Patricia stood up and walked over to the window-side coffeepot again. She sipped her coffee silently, considering. She’d had a bad feeling about Ms. Henderson for a few months now, but everyone else seemed so sure she was the one to ride this particular wave into the future that Patricia second-guessed her instincts. She paced a little, trying to release a little of the tension through movement. She felt oddly wound up over this. And being wound up seemed to make her skin worse. When she ran her hand across the back of her neck, there were nodules, almost like bones. They went back down when she took some deep breaths and rubbed them.

  She sat back down in her desk chair and spun back toward Suzie, tapping one mauve lacquered nail on the side of the mug. She wriggled in her chair to scratch her upper back against the rough material. Damn, it itched again today. Suzie was giving her the oddest look, like she really wanted to ask something. Patricia waited for a beat, but no thought was forthcoming. “It’s interesting you would pick Ms. Henderson as the case needing my attention. Pull the documents for her group. Let’s look at them.”

  Hours later, Patricia and Suzie had their heads bent together over the same screen looking at the graphs they’d made showing the history of missed deadlines, dropped balls, and outright lies coming from the “cloud group” headed by Marcie Henderson. The workers were obviously in over their heads, unable to do the work they were being asked to do and doing their best to keep that under wraps.

  An analysis of the employees in the department showed that some were quite productive, but the tasks they were given didn’t make sense. It was like the big picture was entirely missing, like the boss was just throwing out tasks without knowing how all these pieces would fit together. Suzie had been so proud, laying out the charts she made.

  “I do love a good chart,” she said. “They just make things so clear!”

  Patricia had to agree. It was nice to work with someone who appreciated a good visual organizer the same way Patricia did.

  “It’s her,” Patricia shouted, slamming a fist on the stack of papers. “These guys could do this if they just had a leader who knew what was going on.” She tapped her finger on a file for one of the new guys, one only three years out of grad school. “I think this is our man. Get him in here for a conversation this afternoon. Don’t let Ms. Henderson know about it.”

  Suzie jumped up to make the call and then looked at the clock. “Oh, Ms. O’Neill, I don’t know that we’ll reach him. It’s six-thirty already.”

  “Try anyway. Set something up for first thing tomorrow morning. That’s probably better, anyway.” Patricia gestured at one of their charts. “Ms. Henderson tends to arrive late. We can talk before she arrives.”

  Patricia swung her blue Donna Karan jacket across her shoulders and removed her new Diane von Furstenberg purse from the desk drawer. “I’ve got to go. My spin class starts at seven. I get cranky if I don’t get my exercise.” She winked as she closed the door. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m cranky.”

  inda was in the kitchen, reminding herself to breathe. In the living room, just on the other side of the swinging door, she could hear Carlitos, her favorite grandchild asking again for abuelita. The sound of his voice tore at her heart. What if he couldn’t accept her? Would she lose her special boy? He was only three. There was so much he didn’t know yet, so much she still wanted to show him.

  She knew she was stalling. The food was ready. Everyone was here. Even Isa, her husband’s nosy sister. Isa hadn’t been invited, but of course, she knew the entire family was gathering today, so she had stopped by to return a long-ago borrowed dish, and David had, of course, invited her to stay. She, too, was dying to know what was going on that had her brother and his wife behaving so secretively.

  Linda smoothed her hair down, retying the ponytail at the base of her neck. She checked her reflection in the dark face of the microwave and then licked her finger to smooth her eyebrows back down. She looked good, she supposed, but she didn’t look like anyone’s mother or grandma anymore. She was just barely getting used to this face herself, and she’d had more than a week to look at it in the mirror.

  She sighed. She knew David was right. It was time to tell them. She missed her grandchildren. She couldn’t hide from her daughters forever. She closed her eyes to pray for support. She hadn’t been this nervous since her first blind date with David back when she was sixteen years old.

  It was time. She wiped her sweaty hands on her apron one more time, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door into the living room. The room went silent in an instant. The sound of Linda’s soft leather shoes seemed impossibly loud on the hardwood floor, and she forced herself to keep walking, her eyes trained on the ground to avoid meeting all the eyes trained on her. She stopped, standing in front of the silent television, and raised her face to her family seated in the living room.

  All three of their daughters looked at each other and at her and back to each other again. None of them spoke. Viviana pursed her mouth and crossed her arms. Lupita reached behind her for her husband’s hand, drawing it to her shoulder. Estela covered her mouth with one hand, her lacquered nails curled into her cheek.

  Carlitos turned to see what his mother was staring at. The twins stopped in mid-struggle over the electronic game they had been unsuccessfully sharing to gape open-mouthed at the stranger in their midst. The other children were too young to understand what was happening, but they knew their parents were upset and clung to them. The baby cried and Paul handed him back to his wife. He looked to Viviana to explain, confusion and questions all over his face, his pale skin reddening as it did when he was nervous. Her other two son-in-laws looked at David and at Linda and back again.

  Linda felt sick to her stomach. Would no one speak? Her gaze darted all over the room, seeking the face of each of her family in turn, but only David met her eyes squarely. She very nearly turned on her heel and ran back into the kitchen to hide.

  Then Isa stood up, clutching her little black church purse in her hands like she might have to use it as a weapon. “Is this him?” Isa’s voice shook. “Is this the man that is coming between my little brother and his wife?”

  David laughed. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Isa.” He walked to Linda’s side and took her arm, just as he always did. She smiled down at him gratefully and patted his hand on her arm. “Don’t you know your own sister-in-law?”

  Isa sat down hard on the arm of the chair. She didn’t seem to notice her knees were spread in a decidedly unladylike manner. “Mi cuñada?”

  David moved to her side, taking her elbow to guide her into the cushioned part of the chair. “It’s true, Isa. This is Linda, my wife.”

  Isa’s mouth gaped open like some kind of fish. Linda continued to smile nervously, plucking at the lace around the pocket of her apron.

  Her daughters had turned toward each other, forming a circle of knees as they all tried to talk at the same time. “Is Papi crazy? What can he mean? Where’s Mamá? Who is this man? Should we call the police?” Viviana’s voice was the most strident, rising above the cacophony. “Who is this man, Papi? Why is he wearing Mami’s apron? What’s going on here?”

  Linda’s mind spun, trying to come up with something she could say or do that would show them all she was herself.

  Linda reached out for Viviana’s hand, and her daughter snatched it back. “I don’t know who you are and what you think you are doing here, but I will find out. Come on, Paul!” She turned on her heel and left.

  Linda followed to the porch, calling after her, but Viviana didn’t even turn around. Paul stood outside the car for a moment after the baby was buckled in, looking back at the house and Linda standing on the porch. His face was a mass of turmoil. He and Linda had always been close, and Linda could see he wanted to hear what she and David had to stay. But he did what he had to for his familia and took his wife home. Linda was heartbroken and proud of Paul at the same time. It was important to choose your wife’s side, e
ven if she might be wrong.

  When Linda came back to the living room, wiping tears on the sleeve of her brown T-shirt, everyone was standing in a circle, talking at the same time. David was trying to explain that it had just happened. Hovering at the edge, unsure how to help, Linda eventually just sank into her chair, the blue floral one, and let her head fall into her hands. After a minute or two, she felt a small, warm hand on her knee and looked up.

  “Abuelita?” said Carlitos, looking confused.

  Linda knelt, putting her face near his and nodded silently. “Soy yo, Carlitos.” The room grew quiet again, all eyes focused on Carlitos and Linda.

  Carlitos tilted his head as he always did when he was thinking deep thoughts. He was an old soul, Linda had always said. The boy laid one hand on each of Linda’s cheeks, looking very seriously into her eyes. “Abuelita, did you make my favorite cookies?”

  “Of course, I did. Biscochitos y marranitos, también.”

  He nodded. “And are you going to be a boy now?”

  “Yes, Carlitos, I think I am.”

  “But you are still my abuelita?”

  “Soy tuyo, querido. I am yours. Siempre.” Linda’s voice cracked. She couldn’t stop the tears.

  David crouched beside her. “Wait till you hear how this happened, little monkey.” He scooped up his grandson and gestured at the group. “Come on. Mami made tamales. Let’s eat!”

  There had never been such a quiet and restrained dinner at the Alvarez house. At times, all Linda could hear was the sound of silverware on plates. David did his best to explain simply and gently what had happened, but each time he tried, he had to keep starting and stopping the story when a new outburst of disbelief derailed the telling. Linda didn’t blame the children for their doubt and confusion. It was beyond strange.

  No, Linda had not had surgery. It had just happened. It seemed to have been caused by her soap. At first, they thought it was temporary, so they hadn’t said anything. Yes, they were pretty sure Linda was going to be a man from here on out. Yes, they were staying together. David had gripped Linda’s hand when he said that, and her heart had soared.

  Carlitos and the other grandchildren had the least trouble. By the time they had finished off dinner, they were focused on what kind of cookies Abuelita had made this time. Magdalena, the quieter of the twins, had whispered to her sister that she didn’t know why their grandma would want to be a yucky boy. Her sister reminded her that grownups did things that didn’t make sense all the time.

  As people finished eating, they spread out across the house. Linda and David played politics, talking to each person in turn, making sure each of their loved ones got a chance to ask what they needed to ask. Linda called on all her patience as she proved to each individual that she was indeed Linda Alvarez on the inside, no matter what her outside looked like. She answered hundreds of questions that only Mami would know and recounted childhood stories for each daughter and how-we-met stories for los yernos. Her sons-in-law, wisely, in Linda’s opinion, looked to their wives and followed their leads. Isa had been silent long enough that Linda worried she might have had a stroke. Her worries were relieved when Isa took a second helping of dessert. Whatever she was thinking hadn’t affected her appetite.

  It had taken all afternoon, and Linda was hoarse from talking so much, but one by one, her children, all but Viviana, had come to terms with it, each in her own way. Lupita, ever the big sister, was already texting Viviana, trying to get her to come back and at least listen, but Viviana wasn’t answering. Linda tried to have faith they would win her over, given time.

  She was glad they had decided not to talk about her strength just yet. As it was, all this talking took all day. Come suppertime, their luncheon guests were still there. Linda had refused to cook a second meal for so many people, so they had ordered pizza.

  It was nearly nine that night before Linda and David were able to convince their family it was time to go back to their own homes. Three of the grandchildren had to be carried out, having already fallen asleep. Having seen the last daughter out the door with a quick hug and kiss, Linda collapsed on the couch, exhausted. She put a pillow over her head and blessed the silence. As she rested, David was collecting all the pizza boxes and flattening them. He hummed as he walked through their home, and Linda smiled in spite of her exhaustion. It had been worth it.

  elen shifted a pile of magazines so she could sit on her daughter Mary’s futon. It was a terrible futon. The cover was a pink floral. Helen was pretty sure the background was supposed to be white, but it was yellow. It smelled awful, like patchouli and old lasagna. Helen looked doubtfully at a reddish stain on the edge nearest her left thigh. She hoped it was a food stain, but it really looked like blood. She shifted closer to the magazines. Mother Jones. Whole Earth Catalog. Ms. Not a fun read in the pile. Helen sighed and picked up the Ms. magazine. She missed her chair.

  Mary had insisted her mother stay with her while the insurance stuff was straightened out. The initial investigation said the fire had started in her kitchen, but they couldn’t find a direct cause—no appliance shorting out, no stove left on, no cigarette left burning. None of the usual causes. The investigator distrusted “freak accident” as an explanation, but right now, it was all they had, so they were taking more time.

  Looking at the futon again, Helen really wished she had opted for the hotel like she had first planned. She sniffed the air. She thought she smelled cat even though her daughter didn’t have one. Giving up on Ms., Helen picked up Bitch magazine. She flipped through page after page. Angry articles about politicians. Single mothers. Transsexuals. Rape. Ads for cloth pads and (shudder) menstrual cups. Thank God she was past all this. She hadn’t had to buy a pad in over a year now. For the last few months, after Mary had started working at the co-op, she had to hide her paper products in a locked cabinet in the bedroom to avoid lectures about landfills and seventh generation and blah blah blah blah blah. Helen was as green as the next person, but there were some things that were too much to ask.

  Looking around the basement apartment—her daughter insisted on calling it a flat like they were living in London or something—Helen prayed the insurance would clear soon and she could get into a new place. She was going to shop for a bottom floor condo this time. No more stairs or creaky elevators for her. If she really wanted to get Mary’s goat, she could buy into that new complex they’d built right in the middle of downtown, the one Mary and her friends had spent the summer picketing and trying to stop construction of.

  Helen was bored. She paced the small apartment again, picking up the knick-knacks and tchotchkes and putting them back down. Her daughter was no housekeeper. The stuff was so dusty it was easy to see right where the piece had been. She looked at the small bulletin board over the desk in the corner. There were photos of people she didn’t know, mostly smiling kids with facial piercings and large backpacks, probably spending their parents’ money on travel adventures. Helen had almost turned away when she spotted it: a picture of George, her ex-husband.

  She pulled it off the board. He had his arm around a small brown woman with a broad white smile. He was wearing a leather headband around his forehead. He looked tanned and strong and happy. Helen’s blood boiled. The bastard. She turned the picture over. “The pic you asked for. Hope you can come visit again soon! Love, Elaine.” The picture curled in her hand, the edges seeming to melt. Helen dropped the picture in surprise and then picked up the melted mess and put it in the garbage can. She reached in and shuffled the other garbage around to hide it. That was weird.

  Helen sighed. Mary was a good kid. Of course, she would keep a relationship with her father. She also would protect her mother’s feelings by not making that known.

  Helen knew she was fortunate to have such a good daughter. A daughter who wanted her there in her apartment, who offered her a futon to sleep on, no matter how ratty. But she had to get out of this apartment. She had really enjoyed living alone, and it was killing her to schedule her li
fe around her daughter’s.

  It had only been three days, but three days could be very long. Mary got up early and did yoga in the living room, so Helen had to get up early, too. Mary ate vegetarian, so Helen had to eat vegetarian for any meals they shared, if you could call them meals or call it eating.

  She’d have to call the insurance agent again. What was taking them so long to process her claim? She definitely should’ve taken the offer of the hotel. But Mary really wanted to help, and she’d thought the few days together might be good for their relationship. They hadn’t been as close since George had left. Mary said she got tired of hearing her mother sound embittered. Helen got tired of having to put a happy face when she didn’t feel it. So, here she was, suffering through a stay with her daughter in the name of family.

  Not that Mary hadn’t made any concessions. She had cleared a corner of the tiny counter so Helen could plug in a small coffeepot, even though she thought coffee was evil. Apparently, it was grown on the backs of slaves or something like that. Oh, and it would give her eye spasms and migraines, hurt her blood pressure, and mess up her digestive system. Helen listened politely and sipped quietly from a mug that said, “We’re still angry!” in big, black letters atop a green female gender symbol, and tried to get used to the flavor of the new coffee Mary had brought home—the one with the big “FREE TRADE” sticker to seal it.

  Helen knew Mary was a good girl and all this came from a desire to make a difference. How could you fault a young person for caring? It was just hard, being in her line of sight all the time, having all her little habits criticized. Unfortunately, Mary’s self-assurance made her more than a little condescending toward her mother. Helen held her temper pretty well, she thought. But it was irritating.

  At least, Mary had been pleased in one respect. She was happy to see Helen was using the Surge Protector pills and no longer taking the “unnatural” hormone supplements her doctor had given her. Helen didn’t argue about the hormones. While she thought calling them unnatural was a stretch, given that estrogen was something your body produced on its own, anyway, she didn’t miss the pills and the strange way they made her feel. And Helen had honestly been able to say the co-op supplements helped with her symptoms.