“Oh, I’m good. This is pretty easy so far.” I pause, realizing that’s not exactly true. “Well, except for keeping my mouth shut while everyone keeps deadnaming and misgendering you. That fucking sucks. Can we at least tell the kids your real name?”
Jude’s smile fades. “I think it’ll be confusing for them and just make the adults mad.”
“What about Taylor and Danny, though?” I press. “They seem pretty cool.”
“It’s not worth it.”
I frown. “Do they even know?”
Jude’s gaze drops to the art supplies. “Not from me. I can’t imagine what kind of weird shit they think about me based on whatever telephone-game info they picked up.”
“Maybe you should try talking to them,” I offer. “They’re staying down here, right? You can probably get Taylor alone to talk to her.”
Jude shakes their head. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t know this family. It’ll somehow get back to my parents, who won’t hesitate to confront me in front of everyone, and I can’t handle that. So the best course of action is to avoid sensitive topics, ignore their stupid opinions, and put up with the bullshit until we can leave.”
I sigh. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. Thank you. Now, let’s get this stuff up to the kids.”
We head back upstairs, bringing the box of art supplies to the living room and spreading its contents across the coffee table. Emma still looks disappointed, but she selects a sheet of yellow cardstock and a handful of colored pencils from the pile and gets to work. Aiden, Brooke, and Mason follow Emma’s lead, and even Jude reluctantly grabs a few supplies to start a project of their own.
Instead of joining them, I watch. Emma draws a field of wildflowers set against a blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and a big, round sun. Aiden’s page looks like it was printed straight from Minecraft, with blocky structures and contraptions in greens, browns, and grays. Mason’s work features a giant truck, notunlike the toy he’s been carrying around, except it's hauling smaller vehicles and other trucks.
Brooke’s piece depicts several people of varying heights, hairstyles, and clothing colors, and even includes two four-legged friends. She catches me looking and eagerly points to each figure. “That’s Daddy and Mommy—see, Daddy is a policeman—and this one is me, that’s Aiden, this one is Cooper, and these are my dogs, Nubs and Jeffy.”
“Wow, Brooke, that’s really nice,” I say. “You’re a very good artist.”
“Thank you,” Brooke says, beaming. “Want me to draw you?”
“I would love that!” I reply.
While Brooke excitedly grabs a fresh sheet of cardstock, I turn my attention to Jude. They’re completely immersed, sketching in a spiral notebook propped against their legs and angled so I can’t see it. But I don’t try to peek—I’m perfectly content watching them work. Their lips curl and press together, their tongue sliding against the inside of their cheeks, occasionally poking out of their mouth in deep concentration. It’s the most endearing and captivating display I’ve ever seen.
God, when did I become such a sap?
“Hey, hey, look!” Brooke exclaims, poking my arm. “It’s you!”
I tear my gaze away from the Jude show to look at Brooke’s work, and I immediately break into a wide grin. Because she used an entire page for my portrait, Brooke spared no detail. She included my eyebrows, lips, nose, and even my earrings. She added a few extra inches of flowing yellow hair, and my legs are so long they disappear off the page. But for a six-year-old, this is genuinely impressive. “Wow, Brooke, this is amazing! That looks just like me! Jude, look!”
Jude peers up from their work, and I don’t even realize my mistake until I see Jude’s eyes fill with panic.
“Who is Jude?” Brooke asks.
“Oh, that’s just their nickname,” I explain casually. “Do you know what a nickname is?”
Brooke’s brows furrow. “No.”
I press my lips together. “A nickname is a cute little name you call someone special. Like, my real name is Oliver, but sometimes my little sister calls me ‘Ollie-bear’. That’s my nickname.”
“But Oliver and Ollie-bear sound the same. Jude doesn’t sound like DEADNAME.”
“They don't have to sound the same,” Jude chimes in. “A nickname can be anything, as long as it’s nice and the other person says it’s okay.”
“Is it like when Aunt Taylor calls Harper ‘Bunny’?” Emma asks, barely looking up from her wildflowers.
“That’s exactly right!” Jude says. “Bunny is Harper’s nickname, even though those names don’t sound alike at all.”
“Can I have a nickname?” Brooke asks.
