Oscar twisted his mouth. He’d never been too good at talking about the personal stuff, but if he was going to do it with anyone, it would have to be Lucas. Maybe it was sad that his best friend lived so far away, that they’d never even met in person, that there was a twelve-year gap between them, but Oscar didn’t feel sad about it. He liked Lucas, liked how much advice he had to give, liked that he wasn’t always slung over banisters at house parties the way most other guys Oscar’s age were.
“Yes?” Lucas craned his neck, raising his eyebrows, inviting him to go on.
“Well, he found me, and he texted.” Oscar tilted his head back. “And now I think I’ve scared him off.”
“Why is our mind racing?” Lucas sipped his disgusting drink. Oscar’s stomach turned from seeing it alone. “Hmm?”
“Ugh.” Oscar rubbed his face. “How long you got?”
Lucas glanced at the clock. It would be half past four in the afternoon there, which meant he’d just logged off from his remote job as a financial advisor. His husband would be home soon, and they’d start preparing dinner.
When Lucas turned to look at him, there was one of those soft encouraging smiles on his light brown face, eyes shining like ambers as they caught the sun.
“Long as you need, chico,” he said, picking up his phone. “I’ll text Phil to get a pizza.”
“Won’t that ruin your body temple?” Oscar asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lucas reached for his cup again, slurping up the remainder of his smoothie. “I more than make up for it with this ungodly sacrifice,” he said, flashing Oscar a wink through the screen. He set down his phone and his empty cup and linked his hands together, leaning back in his chair. “Now tell me. I’m all ears.”
3
YAPPING
The speckles on the large waxy green leaf were the exact color of milky tea his grandmother liked to make. Oscar would know, given he’d spent the last fifteen minutes studying their exact shape while he rambled on and on about his mother.
“I sound like a walking cliché,” he said, huffing as he ran a hand through his overgrown fluff of brown hair. It had grown thicker and wavier since he’d started T.
“Why do you think so?” Christina crossed her legs, her black wide-leg pants swishing against her corded armchair. She pushed her large black plastic-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose, her blonde bob brushing the edge of her chin, an encouraging smile on her round, pretty face. “Why are you a walking cliché?”
“Isn’t it very Freudian to cut off your boobs to spite your mother?” Oscar met her eyes briefly, waiting for her lips to quirk. He shouldn’t be this proud of being able to make his therapist crack up, but at least it confirmed he was great at self-deprecation and deflective humor, if nothing else.
“I’m sure Freud would have something to say about it,” Christina replied.
She adjusted the shoulders of her pale pink silk top and reached for her mug of tea, taking a sip. At the beginning, Oscar had asked how it didn’t get cold throughout their session. He’d learned about mug warmers that day. It had been a fun discovery, but an investment he had yet to make.
“Except…” Christina said, “haven’t you spoken about your deep desire for this surgery since the first time we met?”
“I guess.” Oscar shrugged. His gaze landed on the green waxy plant again, this time sliding down the brown ribbed stalks. They made him think of the wafers Grandma liked to buy. “The thing is, they made me feel terrible, and I couldn’t look in the mirror sometimes. Or even down at myself. Anyway…you remember.”
“It’s okay if you need to revisit.” Christina waved an arm, encouraging him to continue.
“I know, deep down, I’ve wanted this surgery…neededit…as much as I needed to get on hormones and change my name. It just sucks that every time I observe any measure of progress, any minor change, I immediately think aboutherand what she’d have to say. I thought I’d be over it by now.” Oscar leaned over to the table and took a sip of water.
“Over what?” Christina asked.
“Overher.” Oscar tugged on the edge of his finger. “Over my mom.”
“Oscar, healing is not linear, and there’s still a lot of unpacking you have to do about your mother. Your feelings are more complex than just anger and disappointment, and there are issues which are still unresolved.” Christina stopped there. Oscar supposed she knew she didn’t need to remind him about all the scars his father’s death had left him with and all the hard days that had come after.
“I know.” Oscar drew in a breath. “But, yeah, to answer your original question, I feel fine. I’m happy it’s happened, and it feels like the worst is over.”
When Oscar walked out of Christina’s office with instructions to focus on the family members who had actually been there for him, his pockets were much lighter, but his heart was not. Despite spending a good fifty minutes talking about the complex feelings surrounding his surgery, Oscar was still preoccupied. He should have told Christina about the familiar creeping thoughts that had taken root after Aaron had stopped texting the previous night.
Lucas had told him to calm down and wait before jumping to any conclusions, but Oscar wasn’t very good at the first and quite a natural when it came to the second. His phone hadn’t vibrated once since he’d woken up, not even a good morning message from Lina.
He pulled it out of his pocket, a little confused and very irritated to find no notifications, not even a lousy cheer for all the steps he’d racked up walking to the clinic. He was about to start grinding his teeth and railing at his fate when his eyes snagged on the little crescent moon sitting next to the battery.
Nice one, Spike.
