Carmen Morales works for an insurance broker in Orange County, attends law school at night, and shares an apartment with two other women, Lourdes and Katie. On the surface, everything is normal – a typical American story in the 2020’s.

But Carmen was christened Carlos Angel Morales at birth – the eldest child of the youngest son of a large, Kern County Chicano family. When Carlos was eight, his mother disappeared, taking his youngest brother, Domingo, with her, leaving Carlos and Joaquim (“Ximo”) to be raised by their father, Juan. Carlos knows he is different at an early age, and by puberty has figured out that he is both trans, and attracted to males. His Uncle Fernando catches him in a dress and outs him to Juan, who disowns him and kicks him out, weeks before high school graduation. The grandmother (“Abuela”) refuses to intervene, and Carlos migrates south, spending a year living on the streets of South Central LA before finding refuge in a women’s shelter as “Carmen.” When Carmen’s secret is again discovered, she leaves the shelter for a job and new life in Santa Ana.

Eleven years after he forced “Carlos” to leave, Juan has a massive stroke and falls into a coma. Abuela tracks Carmen down and gets her to agree to be Juan’s conservator on a temporary basis. While Carmen goes about the task, getting Juan approved for health insurance and applying for various benefits, she also reconnects with family and people she knew as a child, some of whom accept her and others who do not.

As July gives way to August, Carmen returns to Kern for the sixth time, intending to end her term as conservator and pass the duties to Ximo. This time, though, she is not staying with her cousins, or at a hotel, but with Andar Kasparian, a Bakersfield-based attorney with whom she has become romantically involved. While visiting Juan in the hospital, her mother makes a dramatic appearance which catalyzes Juan into speaking for the first time since his stroke. Carmen and Ximo have a long talk with their mother before she returns to the life she has built in Denver.

For a refresher on Carmen’s family tree, see this post.

Chapter 39: Floating

“No wonder you look frazzled!” Andar shook his head. “Do you have days like this all the time?”

I rested my head on his shoulder, relaxing into his embrace. “Seems like the last couple of months, it’s been one after another.”

I’d returned to his apartment after my lunch with Ximo, catching him in the middle of a work-related call. By the time he’d finished, I’d already fished a beer out of the fridge. Because I’m a good sport, I got him one, too, though he hadn’t opened it yet.

He was quiet for a few moments, simply holding me. Then he said, “I had a couple of ideas for this afternoon, one of which is just staying here.”

“Tempting,” I murmured.

“Agreed. But I did have another notion, which may be just what you need.”

“Hmmm?”

“Want to spend an hour or two floating down the Kern? I know a good spot for tubing.”

I thought about it for a moment. It was tempting to go straight back to bed with Andar, even though I knew that we would have all night together, and the next night as well. But . . . I couldn’t deny that his alternative idea sounded wonderful. I hadn’t gone tubing since I was a kid. And I had packed a swim suit, just in case an occasion arose. A girl’s gotta be prepared! “Is there a place to rent tubes?”

“No need; I got some last summer, when Anna’s girls were visiting. I also got an electric pump, because I’m lazy. If we take both cars, we won’t have to walk back to the campground when we’re done.”

“You seem to have thought of everything.” I bestired myself enough to give him a quick kiss. “I think that sounds like a great idea. Give me a couple minutes to get changed.”

“Can I help?” he asked, grinning like a fiend.

“Not if you want to be out of here before midnight,” I teased.

He pouted dramatically, but waved me down to the bedroom.

Slipping out of my sundress took no time at all. I pulled out my deep-red swimsuit with the v-neck and the lingerie straps, then grabbed a pair of cutoffs and a gauzy cotton button-down beach shirt long enough to cover most of my shorts while leaving my legs bare. Shoes might be a problem; my sandals weren’t water-wear, but I was sure we’d figure something out. My floppy hat and sunglasses were in the Kia.

I followed Andar’s Mustang out to a small dirt parking lot where we would come out at the end of our trip, then I grabbed my hat and hopped into his car. We didn’t have far to go – cars go much faster than inner tubes! When we got to the campground, Andar pulled the gear out and spent a few minutes with the pump.

Each “tube” was large and light and had a soft rubberized “bottom” in the middle of the hole. I laughed. “I was expecting, you know, inner tubes – from cars or trucks!”

“Good luck finding those,” he grinned. “Anyhow, these are way more comfortable, and they’ve got an inflatable pillow to hold up your head.” He demonstrated by inflating a second compartment that went only half-way around the circle of the tube, creating a raised back.

“I like it,” I told him appreciatively.

“You’ll notice each tube also has an insert, which just happens to hold a standard sized beer bottle.”

I tried to look suitably astonished. “An amazing coincidence.”

Once he had everything set, we brought the tubes (and the beers that so nicely accessorized them) down a dirt path that wandered through a belt of pine trees lining the river.

Andar was wearing swim trunks, a sleeveless t-shirt, and flip-flops, so he was good to go. But he sensibly suggested I was a bit overdressed, and offered to take my shoes and outerwear back to the car.

I had been self-conscious of my body for as long as I remembered. Andar had done his level best to convince me that he liked what he saw, but I hesitated. I loved my suit, and Iknew it was sexy. I wanted to show it off, but . . . maybe he wouldn’t like it. Maybe . . . .

He kissed me, stroked my cheek, and locked his eyes in mine as if he were reading my soul. Without saying a word, he reached down and began to unbutton my shirt. Slowly. Deliberately.

I felt my pulse quicken and my breath catch.

He paused just long enough to stroke the sensitive skin at the top of my breast, then continued his work. His eyes never wavered from mine. When he worked the last button loose, he brought his hand up my body, then slid his fingers under the shirt and gently eased it off my shoulders.

I felt it flutter to the ground, but I couldn’t break the spell of his eyes long enough to see where it landed. It didn’t matter.

His hands caressed me again, this time on the way down. I felt fingers curl under the waist of my cutoffs, then slide to the front. A moment’s constriction as he cinched them and undid the button, then the sound of my zipper being lowered.

I had enough of a butt these days that I knew my shorts weren’t going to drop like my shirt. I moved to help.

His head made a microscopic motion, telling me “no.” “My treat, Carmen,” he murmured. He hooked his thumbs in the back of the waistband and brought the shorts over my booty until they were clear, then let them slide down my legs while he caressed my ass.

He kissed me again, softly this time, then leaned his forehead against mine. “Better?”

I found my now-bare arms sliding around his neck. “Better. I’m sorry. Old habits, you know? Old fears.”

“I’m just going to go on telling you that you’re beautiful.” He smiled. “Sometimes, I’ll even use words.”

Rather than responding, I just closed my eyes and took in his presence. I felt so at peace in his arms, cherished and protected. Safe.

He was wise enough to give me a moment, to say nothing. To hold me and give me the peace and stillness I needed.

I opened my eyes again and met his, so close. “Thank you.”

He kissed me again, then ran his hands up my back, showing delightful appreciation for just exactly how much skin my suit left exposed. “You’re going to need sunscreen,” he said, and he made it sound wicked.

“Hmmm,” I said, matching his tone. “I might need some help with that.”

So we took care of that little detail, and I enjoyed it more than I ever had. I persuaded him to take off his t-shirt, too, which then required that I apply sunscreen to his back, his shoulders, and his chest. “I can see why you were going with the t-shirt,” I told him as I gently rubbed the cream into his pecs. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as pale as you are!”

“Well, of course you haven’t,” he said reasonably. “I’m not some bargain-basement Caucasian. My grandfather literally came from the Caucasus.”

“Yeah, good point,” I chuckled. I put more sunscreen on my hands and slid them lower. “Let me make sure you’re completely protected!”

The sunscreening process threatened to derail us once again, but we heard voices coming from the parking lot just in time. Andar took our spare clothes and my sandals back to the car, then came back down the path, whistling happily.

The river was cold enough to be a shock, but not so cold that it was unpleasant, especially on a hot August day. We walked the inflatables out into the shallows, and Andar was kind enough to help me get settled into my “tube” with a minimum of thrashing about. Then he turned around and jumped backwards, landing in his own tube with a big, cheerful splash. “Ahhh!”

I stretched my arms out on either side and paddled backwards until I reached him, then I snaked my legs over the side of his tube, anchoring us together. He brought his legs up hooked onto my tube as well.

And just like that, civilization faded away. Hundreds of thousands of people lived all around us, but the tall pines blocked them from sight, and the sound of the flowing river cancelled out their noises. It was just Andar and me, the cool water, the fierce sun, and the blue sky.

We floated in silence for a bit, enjoying the quiet. After a while we talked, lazily, about nothing in particular, and cracked the bottles of beer that fit so neatly into the indentations in the tubes.

Eventually, though, Andar brought me back to the crazy events of the morning. “Okay. So . . . your mother showed up, your father started speaking, then your grandmother, your aunt and your cousin all crashed the party?”

“Don’t forget my brother.”

“Wouldn't want to do that,” he acknowledged. “But after all that, she just got in her car and drove back to her new life?”

I nodded. “It’s the right thing to do. For her sake, but for padre’s, too.”

“I can see that.” He dangled his hand in the water. “But what about what’s right for you and Ximo?”

“Where we left things makes sense. We’ll keep discreet contact, for now. She’d like to get to a place where she’ll tell Domingo about us. Maybe even her second husband. But she wants to finally divorce padre first.”

“Is that a good idea, given his condition?”

“Not today. Probably not this week, either. But . . . soon? Yes.” I thought for a moment, taking the opportunity to sip my beer. “Ximo insisted that we would get him through it. I was surprised, at first, but he got me thinking. And honestly, he’s right – which tells me he’s absolutely the best person to be stepping into the role of padre’s conservator.”

He cocked his head. “I’m not following. Why do you think he’s right?”

“Padre’s been obsessed with Momma since the day he met her – which, in case you’re wondering, was also the day I was conceived.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Anyway . . . it’s never been good for him. Never. When he wasn’t marinating in jealousy, he was pickling himself in booze and bitterness. There’s a reason he’s stuck in that pinche hospital, barely able to move or speak, before he’s even turned fifty. If he’s going to recover, he’s got to break free.”

“Still a pretty risky move,” he cautioned.

I nodded. “It is . . . but there’s risk either way. And I can’t think of anything more likely to help padre, long-term, than letting Momma go.”

“No?” He shook his head. “I can.”

He was looking up at the sky, so I nudged him with my foot. “Spill.”

He lowered his gaze to meet my eyes. “He could stop being a dick and welcome his daughter.”

“That would be nice.” I smiled, though it was a brief one.

We floated round a slow bend in the river, past a place where the trees opened up and someone had set up a couple picnic tables in a clearing. It looked like a great place for a barbecue.

Andar maneuvered our tubes for a moment. When he was done, our legs were dangling in the river, my left arm and his right were intertwined, and we were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. “You don’t think your padre’s going to welcome you back, do you?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I’m still not sure he even knows who I am. The thing is . . . .”

He sat and waited for me to finish, but after a long moment passed he decided to prod me. “The thing is, what?”

“It’s hard to put into words.” I shrugged. “Everyone always thinks of themselves as the main character in their story . . . I know I do. When I learned how padre’s life had gone downhill after he found out Momma was pregnant, I figured I’d kind of ruined his life.”

His hand covered mine. “You know that’s crazy, right?”

“Well, bear with me. If I’d been responsible for ruining his life, just by being born, he would have wanted me to be, you know, some kind of amazing. Something that would make his sacrifice seem worthwhile. But instead, he got–”

“Don’t.” Andar cut me off firmly. “Don’t say it. Don’t think it. He got you, and you are amazing.”

I reached over with my free hand to stroke his cheek before sitting back in my tube. “Thank you. But that’s not how he saw it.” I have no daughter. And you are not my son!

“He’s an idiot.”

“I’m not saying I agree with him; I was just trying to understand him. But the more I’ve thought about it, I don’t buy my whole guilt trip. I didn’t ruin padre’s life. I don’t think padre thinks I ruined his life. I’m kind of a bit character as far as he’s concerned. From the minute he met her, it’s always been about Momma. I wonder whether he would have let her go even if she hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

He was silent for a moment, digesting that. Then he ran a finger down my arm and said, “what do you think of your mother?”

How to answer that? I leaned back and stared upward, thankful for my dark sunglasses. High above, I could see three raptors, sharp against the brilliant blue sky, circling. “She’s beautiful, for sure. I can see why men are attracted to her.”

He made a rude noise, suggesting that he understood I was evading his question.

I tried again. “What do I feel? Empathy, I guess. I understand how it feels to be exiled from home, rejected by your family and left among strangers. I know what it’s like to live with secrets all the time.”

“You aren’t angry with her?”

“Sure, I guess. Some.” I didn’t turn my head; it was easier to watch the birds circle while I tried to tease out my thoughts and feelings. “But not much, and not now. I don’t think I could welcome her back into my life in the role of my mother, but that’s not ’cuz I’m pissed off at her or anything.”

“You’re a bit old for mothering. Still, even as an adult, mothers can hold a special place.” From his tone, he was simply inviting me to consider a perspective I was likely to have missed, given my upbringing.

“Ximo and I were just talking about that at lunch,” I responded, thinking out loud. “It’s like, when she abandoned us, he was left with a hole in his heart where a ‘mom’ should be. After a while, he stopped noticing it, that’s all. When I showed him Momma’s letter – the one she sent after I’d called her – he got really angry. Partly, I guess, he sort of had to deal with that hole all over again.”

I moved my feet in the water, feeling the current flow between my toes, remembering my conversation with Ximo. “Today, he realized he just wanted to have a mom again. He wanted to forgive her. And now that he’s met her, and had a chance to hear her side of the story, he can finally start to fill that hole in his heart.”

His finger brushed my cheek, feather light. “You must have had the same hole in your heart.”

“I did,” I said, stressing the past tense. “But I filled it. I met a woman in LA who changed my life. She ran a shelter for battered women, and she took me in. Helped me learn how to be a woman – and showed me, up close and personal, just how hard being a woman could be. She’s the madre de mi corazon. I’ll never forget her.”

He took the hand I was using to hold his inner tube and interlaced his fingers with mine. “It sounds like she’s no longer with you.”

“She died right at the start of the pandemic.” Closing my eyes, I could see her again as she had been on my last day. Old jeans and a workshirt; never anything fancy – or churchy. Kneeling in the middle of her beloved garden, gently clearing the weeds and nurturing healthy growth. Porque yo ya estoy para ser sacrificado.

“I understand, then.”

“You do?”

“You call this woman the ‘mother of your heart.’ How can you give your birth mother a place in that heart without displacing her?”

Guiltily, I said, “it feels like I should be able to.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding skeptical. “But based on everything you’ve told me, your mother would be the first person to say you can’t just order your emotions to suit your conscience.”

I turned and gave him a grateful look. “I like the way you think — and that comment feels like it’s got a lot of personal experience behind it.”

He nodded. “Some, yeah. One thing I’ve definitely learned – the heart goes where the heart goes.”

We drifted together, and I felt my heart drift his way.

~o~O~o~

The quiet and the water and the company worked their magic, soothing my nerves and dissolving the tensions that the morning had brought. Sensing my mood, Andar brought me back to his condo and ordered some Thai takeout, giving us additional time to relax and spend time together.

The outside world only intruded on our afternoon twice. First, I got a text from Momma letting me and me know that she had made it safely back to Las Vegas and would be catching a flight back to Denver later in the evening. Then, during dinner, I got another text.

I set down my spoon with a groan. “I hate to even look at that pinche thing.”

Andar cocked his head. “Can you ignore it? I usually can’t.”

I thought about it. “Not really. Could be something about padre, and until Monday, he’s my responsibility.”

I fished the phone out from my purse, and was relieved to see a short text from Kelsey. Hey Carmen. Uncle Augui’s got the diamond tomorrow evening. You free?

“That looks like maybe good news?” Andar was studying my face.

“Not bad news, anyway. But it’s an invitation to a party – probably family, with some extras. Kels wants to know if I’m available.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night, in Buttonwillow.”

“You sound a bit conflicted,” he observed.

“A little.” I smiled at him. “I want to spend every minute I can right here, with you – all alone.”

“I’m with you there – I don’t want to share you with anyone.” He grinned. “On the other hand?”

“Is there another hand?” I parried.

“Of course there is,” he said, sounding like a lawyer, “or you wouldn’t be conflicted.”

I couldn’t very well argue with that. “Well . . . I also want to show you off,” I admitted. “Then, on the other other hand, if I show up to a gathering, there are some members of the family that won’t come, and I’m not sure I want to do that to Uncle Augui. It’s already happened once.”

“I’ve at least spoken to some of your uncles,” he reminded me. “Though, I didn’t have a beautiful woman on my arm at the time.”

“Tease!” I tossed a paper napkin at him. “Tell you what – let me see if I can get some intel.”

I sent Kels a text. What’s up? Just a fam picnic?

She responded almost immediately. Party for Innie – she got work up in Oregon

I couldn’t help exclaiming out loud. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Andar repeated, inquiring.

“Big news – my cousin Inés is moving out, going to Oregon!” I typed back, should I come? I want to see Innie, but then Unc Angel’s crowd won’t come.

Again, she was quick. Uncle Augui sez that’s their choice

I looked at Andar. “I should go. I need to make sure I see Innie, and I won’t be back up for weeks. Will you come with me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

I typed back, I’ll be there . . . with a plus one. :)v

Maybe she hadn’t figured I would move so quickly; her response was, Yeah??? Wow

I laughed. What should we bring?

Whatevs, she responded. I’ve got the beer covered.

Gross, I typed back. You’ll bring Bud.

Yeah, baby, she teased. Breakfast of champs. See ya.

I chuckled at that, then returned my attention to my dinner partner and my tom kha gai soup. “We’re on, then.”

“I look forward to it,” he said with a smile. “Though I’ll rely on you to prep me for any minefields.”

“Minefields.” I shook my head. “You know, back in June, when Abuela called, I just wanted to slip in, get the job done, and hope no-one saw me. Now . . . . crap. I just signed up to go to a party with the whole pinche neighborhood!”

~o~O~o~

After another night in Andar’s arms and another perfect morning, I drove back to the hospital to meet Ximo. I wasn’t all that sure how much padre understood about what was going on around him, but to the extent possible I wanted to include him in the discussions about the conservatorship and next steps.

Although I’d kept myself to one cup of Andar’s excellent coffee and had a shorter distance to travel than Ximo, he still surprised me by arriving first. I could hear his voice as I approached padre’s room, and he sounded frustrated.

When I walked in, padre’s eyes were open and he was once again propped up at a 45 degree angle. This time, though, his head was turned slightly in Ximo’s direction.

“Good morning, padre. Ximo.”

Padre moved his head slightly and looked at me, but said nothing.

Ximo said, “This is Carmen, padre. Your daughter. Remember?”

Padre looked puzzled. “Daughter?”

“Yes,” Ximo said. “Your daughter. Carmen.”

The tiniest shake of the head. “Had . . . son.” He cleared his throat. “Sons.”

Ximo gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry. He seems pretty confused. Doesn’t know the year. He knows who I am, but thinks I should be younger. I tried asking who the president is; he didn’t know.”

I nodded an acknowledgement. “Padre . . . you had three sons, remember?”

He repeated the word – “Three.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was confirming it, or asking a question. “Right. Carlos, then Joaquim, then Domingo, right?”

“Do . . . ming . . . .” He stopped, confused, then said, “yes.”

Sort of encouraging, I guess. “You remember Carlos?”

“Gone.”

I nodded patiently. “Yes. I was Carlos, but now I’m Carmen. Okay?”

“You?” If anything, he looked more confused.

“Yes. I’ve been looking after you while you’ve been in the hospital, okay?”

He looked at me without understanding. “Stories?”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Better keep it short, ’mana,” Ximo warned.

He was right. Padre was obviously in no mental condition for any sort of detailed debrief. “Okay,” I sighed. “So, here’s the thing. Ximo and I are going to see a judge tomorrow, and ask that he be able to make decisions for you until you’re in better shape, okay? Stuff like health insurance and disability pay. Does that make sense?”

“Xi . . . mo.” He looked at my brother like he was trying to reconcile two pictures that didn’t match. “You?”

Ximo nodded. “Right. I promise I’ll talk to you about everything, and get your input when I can. You need to focus on getting better, okay?”

“Kay.” He closed his eyes.

Ximo looked at me and shrugged.

“Do you want to rest for a bit, padre?” I asked.

“Rest,” he confirmed. Then his eyes opened wide again and he glared at me. “Kathy?”

I shook my head. “She’s gone, padre. I’m Carmen.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. She came yesterday, to say goodbye. Remember?”

“Gone.” He lowered his eyes, as if straining to remember. To think straight, or see through the brain fog. His eyes closed.

Ximo and I exchanged a look. Still Momma.

He spoke one more time, before we left. His voice was low, but surprisingly clear and unhindered. “¡Qué idiota soy!”

“Padre?” I asked, surprised.

But he didn’t answer, and after a few minutes, Ximo and I left in silence.

Darla Brathwaite, the nurse I had met on my first day at the ICU, was at the duty station. She looked up from her monitor as we approached and said, “Doctor Chatterji asked for a moment when you were done with your father.”

“I didn’t think she would be in today,” I said, surprised. “Of course we’d be happy to meet with her.”

The nurse brought us back to where Dr. Chatterji had her office, then knocked and showed us in.

She rose and smiled. “Carmen . . . Ximo. Thanks for stopping by – I needed a break from all the paperwork!”

We shook hands, then Ximo and I sat across from her desk.

She resumed her seat. “A big day for your father yesterday – quite the breakthrough!”

I nodded. “It was good to hear him speak . . . and his voice sounded even better this morning. The last thing he said was in Spanish, and he sounded almost normal.”

“He’s super confused, though,” Ximo said. “Doesn’t know what year it is, or who’s the president. Wasn’t sure I was who I said I was ’cuz I was too old. Didn’t recognize Carmen, though I guess that’s kind of understandable.”

She looked sympathetic. “I know it must be very difficult for you. But it’s not at all uncommon for someone in your father’s condition to be disoriented. And yesterday . . . Mrs. Thompson said that was a big shock for him, yes?”

“He hadn’t seen our mother in twenty years,” I explained. “And she came to say good-bye. So, yeah. A shock.”

“Right,” she said. “So a degree of confusion right now is to be expected. The good news, though, is that most stroke-related amnesia is temporary. There may be some long-term memory loss, but it’s likely to be limited. A few gaps, here and there.”

“How ‘temporary’ is ‘temporary’?” Ximo asked, being practical.

“Hard to say. I know you don’t want to hear, ‘it depends,’ but it does. And in part, it depends on how much interaction he has, and how regularly, with people who know him. Your family has been pretty good about that.”

“I won’t be able to be up as often because my classes start back up,” I said apologetically. “We’ve got a court hearing tomorrow to get Ximo appointed as the new conservator.”

“I’ve already talked to the tio’s and the tia’s,” Ximo said, surprising me again. “We’ll make sure he’s got regular visitors.”

“That’s good.” Dr. Chatterji smiled. “You would be amazed what a difference human contact makes.”

“About tomorrow’s hearing,” I said. “When we filed the application, padre was still unconscious. Now that he’s talking, the judge may want to know how long it’ll be before he can make his own decisions.”

“He needs to be oriented to time, place, and person,” Dr. Chatterji said firmly. “He should be able to recognize where he is, what the date is, and who he’s talking to. At least until he can do that consistently, he’s going to need help making decisions. Based on our observations, and what you’ve said this morning, he’s not there. And, like I said before, I don’t know how long it will take before he gets there.”

I decided to press. “Then a conservatorship with no fixed end date still makes sense?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Yes. Even when he gets to the point where he is competent to sign things, I would recommend that you arrange for him to provide someone with a durable power of attorney.”

“Alright.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “He’s still good to be released from the ICU this week?”

“Either tomorrow or Tuesday,” she confirmed.

Neither Ximo nor I had any further questions, so we thanked the doctor and made our way out. When we got to the parking lot, Ximo said, “He’s still hung up on Momma. Jesus!”

“On the bright side,” I said, trying to be cheerful, “he didn’t tell me that he never wanted to see me again, or something like that.”

“I don’t even know if he recognized me,” he said disgustedly. “I’d be shocked if he recognized you.”

“Probably not,” I agreed. Then I put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “There may be no great reconciliation here, ’mano. And if it turns out he’s lost some memories permanently, there are some he’d probably be better off without.”

He snorted. “I can think of a couple, that’s for sure.”

I decided it was time to change the subject. “Great news about Innie, huh?”

“Good for her,” he agreed. “And good for Kelsey. I bumped into her two days ago at Frosty Freeze. She looked better. Way better.”

“Good . . . she was pretty shook, when I told her about Dace.”

“Frickin’ cochino,” he spat. “They should cut off his balls.”

“Pretty sure that’s not legal.” I grinned. “Not that I wouldn’t buy tickets.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn,” he agreed. We reached his truck. “You’re coming tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. Do me a favor?”

I smiled. “Bring something to drink that isn’t Bud?”

“Nah, I can deal with that. Swing by the house first, okay? Something I want to show you.”

“You found where I buried the Spanish treasure chest?”

“Geek.”

“Love you too, Bro!”

He had errands to run, and I was eager to get back to Andar, who was working on something to bring to the get-together. But I got into my Kia with a broad smile on my face.

It was amazing how good it felt, to be able to give my brother a hug.

~o~O~o~

“I suppose I’d better ask what I should wear,” Andar said, watching me frown as I looked through what I’d packed.

“No stress,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a low-key, low budget crowd. Uncle Augui will be wearing jeans, even though it’s 100 degrees out. He always wears jeans. He’ll probably wear a collared shirt, though. In our generation, the guys are more likely to wear t-shirts.”

“Hmmm. It feels like I should be more careful than that,” he said thoughtfully.

I smiled. “Trying to make a good impression?”

“That, of course. After all, these are your elders.” His eyes teased. “But I was actually more reacting to how seriously you were taking your own selection.”

“It’s different for women,” I rationalized.

“I’ve heard that. But I’m wondering if there’s more going on?”

I met his understanding eyes and smiled ruefully. “Buttonwillow’s a small town, you know? Everyone knows everyone . . . . So, everyone at this party will know my story. I mean, it won’t be the whole neighborhood, but Uncle Augui signed up to use the community ball park, so I’m guessing he’s invited more than just family. I can’t be anonymous in this crowd; I’ll be more like a bug in a display case. Or a two-headed lizard in a freak show.”

“But you didn’t hesitate to accept the invite.” His tone invited me to explain.

“I have to go . . . for Innie, and for her parents. They’ve been incredibly good to me. And it’s not like I’m worried for my safety or anything. It’s just . . . .” I threw up my hands. “¡Mierda! It’s hard to explain!”

He reached over to give my back a gentle rub. “I think I understand. You want to go and be yourself, just a member of the family, celebrating your cousin’s good news. But because you’re trans, you’ll be the focus of attention in a way you don’t want.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And that’s why I’m stressing about stupid stuff like what to wear. I don’t do that back home. Like, for the office, I have my outfits, and I know they work, and it’s fine. Tonight, though . . . if I dress too casually, people will say I’m not very convincing. If I dress up, they’ll say I’m trying too hard. Whenever I have to think about shit like that, it always gets to me.”

He folded me into a gentle embrace, and I gratefully rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to dump all that on you.”

“If I don’t know, I can’t help,” he said reasonably. “Although, actually, I think I might have stumbled into something useful anyway.”

“Hmmm?”

“Yup. I was off running errands and saw something I just had to get you. Might be just the thing.”

“Now, wait a minute,” I protested, pushing back and giving him a look. “I haven’t gotten you anything!”

He brushed that off and fetched a box from the top shelf of his closet. “See what you think.”

It was a plain white box with a bow on it, so I shimmied the lid up. Inside, wrapped in tissue, was a silky off-the-shoulder short-sleaved blouse in a vibrant, fiery red. “Oh my God, that’s . . . perfect!”

“I thought of tonight’s picnic as soon as I saw it. The color’s just right for you, and, ah . . . .” He gave me a wolf-like grin. “I could look at your neck and shoulders all night long.”

That earned him a very nice kiss. Long one, too. When I came up for air, I said, “That solves half the problem. I can wear it with tan capris; I’ve also got black pants, but they’re kind of formal.”

“Seems like a shame to hide those nice legs of yours.”

“You!” I thought about it. “I’d like to wear a skirt – it’s more my style. But my generation won’t, I think. Mostly they’ll go with shorts, but the only pair I brought were the cutoffs I wore at the river, and they’re still wet from the drive back.”

“Well, then,” he said, sounding reasonable, “if no-one’s going to be wearing either capris or skirts, wear a skirt.”

I laughed, and decided he was right. Sure, maybe I’d be just a bit overdressed. It’s not like I’d be wearing an evening gown or anything. Besides, I had a very light cotton skirt that was full and comfortable, and the black would work well with Andar’s present. Add a pair of dependable flats, and I could pull it off without looking too out-of-place.

Andar himself went with a broken-in, but nicely tailored pair of jeans and a sharp button-down shirt in solid black that he could wear untucked. With the sleeves rolled up, he looked casual. Not to mention, seriously hot!

I was drying my hair when the doorbell rang; by the time I got out Andar had taken care of it and had both a box and an aluminum tray sitting on his kitchen table.

“So, what’d you get?”

He smiled. “I decided it was too soon to introduce your family to dolma, tempting as it would be.”

“Probably wise,” I laughed. “I mean, I like them, but we used to think Chop Suey was exotic when I was growing up.”

“On the other hand, bringing Mexican cuisine from a restaurant – even a nice restaurant – felt like a good way to embarrass myself.”

“And me, by extension,” I agreed. “Good thinking!”

“Anyhow, I decided you can’t go wrong with pulled pork sliders, especially from Firestone Grill. Unless . . . .” He looked suddenly stricken. “Wait . . . is your family Jewish?”

“No,” I giggled.

“Muslim?”

“Alright, goof! You win!” I shook my head, smiling at his antics. “You did good.”

He pulled me in close and kissed me. “You look magnificent.”

“Thank you.” I kissed him back, hard. “Not just for the compliment, but for listening. For helping me through a rough patch. I’ll be fine, now.”

He nodded. “Just remember, there’s nothing anyone at this party might throw at you that you can’t handle. You know you have a place there, now, even if it’s not your home any more. You have family and friends who stand with you.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. “You missed one thing.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll have you there with me.”

His smile was all the answer I needed.

I helped bring the food down to his car and we loaded it into the trunk. But then I noticed something bulky in the backseat. “You got a keg for the party?”

“Not really.” He shut the trunk and moved around to open my door. “That’s for Ximo.”

“Huh?”

“Did you forget what I told you at the dance?” He laughed at my baffled look and gave me a peck on the lips. “I couldn’t afford to buy him a brewery.”

— To be continued

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