“What did you say?” Their mother had taken a step towards the kitchen table.
“If you touch her, I will stab you, Mom,” Oscar had said. “I will stab you, and we’ll bury you next to Papa.”
Oscar hated himself a little for meaning it. But if his mother had touched Lina, he probably would have done it. Not that his mother would have. Her hands were still shaking from slappinghim. So many years later, Oscar believed this was her only regret with him, that she had been sorry.
One decent truth about his mother.
After that, Lina had stood behind him for every raging battle, spitting out facts and statistics, learning all about the science of being transgender, fighting their mother on every point long after Oscar locked himself in his room to cry and scream and sayfuckenough times to piss his mother off even worse and rile her up.
Oscar no longer needed Lina to teach his mother about being trans, but he was sure she still did it sometimes. He hated that he’d left her behind, but Lina was fine. Their mother had always liked her better; she was an easier child. And besides, Lina could hold her own in any argument.
“Home sweet home, I guess,” she said, coming to a stop in front of a door on the first floor. She jingled the keys they’d given her, already decorated with an orange ball of fluff, and unlocked the door.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Oscar said, eyeing the room.
“Yeah,” Lina replied. “I’m claiming that one.” She jerked her head at the bed opposite the door. “Shall we begin?”
“Yeah,” Oscar replied, cracking his fingers. “Let’s.”
Oscar felt good about himself. He’d carried in so many boxes for his sister, and heavier ones too—boxes full of books and eyeshadow palettes and decorations. He’d carried one of her suitcases up the stairs. It felt good to be able to do these things again. It felt good to be useful. Most of all, it felt good to witness Lina’s smile as she eyed the room they’d transformed.
Lina was smoothing the soft orange blanket she’d spread at the foot of her freshly made bed, while Oscar fixed ivy leaves and twinkling lights to the nails he’d hammered into the wall.
Underneath them, pinned into the plaster, were Polaroids constellating Lina’s life. Oscar smiled at a younger Grandma with her arms around his sister, Papa making cake with flour all over Lina’s nose, Lina with their mother before a school dance, Lina with her friends, Lina with Ryan. Okay, maybe Oscar didn’t smile at that one. There was one of the two of them from a year before. Oscar’s hair had been shorter then, his T-shirts baggier, his lungs and ribs crushed by his binder.
“Is it okay if I pin this one?” Lina asked, handing him a final picture.
Oscar took it, smiling down at the photo. Tears welled up in his eyes. Papa sat between them, arms around their shoulders. Lina was five, eyes crossed at the camera. Oscar was seven. His mother hadn’t taken any pictures of him that year, not after he’d cut off all his hair. They were on Grandma’s couch. Oscar was in overalls and a T-shirt. He remembered Grandpa taking the photo.
“Yeah. It was the first time I felt like me, that summer.” Oscar picked a pin from the box, a green one, and found a spot on Lina’s wall. “Leen…” He turned to look at her, found her eyes trained on him, watery, mouth stretched into a difficult smile weighed by the burden of his truth.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bring it up,” Lina murmured.
“Hey…” Oscar approached her, wrapping his hands around her arms, squeezing lightly. “No matter how many times I wished I was born different, I wouldneverever in a million years trade the childhood I shared with you. I would never trade what we had with Papa.” Oscar wouldn’t mention his mother because this was A Moment, and he didn’t want to lace it with lies. “I love being your brother, and I hated being a girl, but I will never hate having been your sister.”
A time before, Oscar would have vomited just thinking the words.
Lina shook her head.
“You were always my brother,” she said. A soft laugh hammered through the tension. “I mean, look at that picture, Oscar. You were always a fucking boy.”
“Yeah, fair enough.” Oscar shrugged. “I’m proud of you, Leen. It’s no joke, that scholarship you got.”
“I mean, running was one way to get away from Mom.” Lina laughed again.
“Come on. You don’t hate her like that.” Oscar narrowed his eyes.
He knew Lina spoke like she couldn’t stand her for his benefit. But for the most part, they got along okay. And as much as he disliked his mother, Oscar was glad Lina didn’t have to swallow her vitriol the way he had.
“Okay.” Lina rolled her eyes. “Shall I order a pizza while you get the last couple of boxes? It’s just a couple of books and some running shoes left.”
Oscar opened his mouth to ask for extra cheese, but the door creaked open as a booted foot nudged through.
“No need. Everything’s here.” Ryan tilted his head, beaming from behind a tower of boxes, the final three, stacked on top of each other like it was nothing.
“You’re here!” Lina squealed as Ryan bent to put them down.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, pressing what sounded like a very sloppy kiss to her mouth. Oscar didn’t look. He didn’t feel like dry heaving on Lina’s carpet.
