I take a deep breath. I probably need to adjust my tone to sound more invested in what Mom’s saying so that she doesn’t interpret my disinterest as ungratefulness. But, at the same time, what else is there to talk about?
Thankfully, though, the moment passes. “Anyway, what time is your first class in the morning?”
“Eight.”
“That’s my girl!”
My eye twitches.Not a girl.But I know better than to correct her. It’ll only start a fight. “Yeah, I’ve got mostly morning classes this semester. I always feel like I have more time in a day when I get up early.”
“You sound just like your dad,” Mom says, almost wistfully. “You’re both such early birds.”
I’m glad we’re not FaceTiming so she can’t see the disgust on my face.
“Are you taking any classes with Celeste this semester?”
“No, I don’t think we’ll have any other overlapping credits at this point,” I answer. “We have very different majors.”
“That’s right. She’s doing something very business-sounding, isn’t she? Marketing or accounting or something like that?”
I suppress a chuckle, hoping Celeste might be listening. “Not exactly. She’s majoring in Journalism.”
“Oh, is she?” Mom asks, sounding genuinely shocked. “Really?”
At that moment, Celeste pokes her head around the corner with an intrigued grin. I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Yes, really. That’s been her major from day one.”
“Hmm,” Mom says thoughtfully. “Well, as long as she doesn’t get a job at CNN or something.”
Celeste’s eyes go wide with bemusement, and I give her an exasperated shrug. “I mean, the school is in downtown Atlanta where CNN is headquartered, so…” I trail off.
Mom sighs. “That’s a shame.”
Celeste’s mouth falls open in mock indignation before playfully storming away. Fortunately, Celeste is already aware of how uncomfortably conservative my parents are and doesn’t let their dumb opinions bother her. She knows I don’t share their views, and that’s all that matters to me.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” Mom says after an awkward pause. “I mostly wanted to see how yesterday went and to wish you a happy first day of classes!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Your dad and I love you very much.”
“I love you, too,” I echo, trying not to dwell on how Dad can’t seem to find the time to tell me himself anymore. At least he still has time to make sure my tuition is paid, I guess.
“Make us proud!”
“You know I will.”
After the call ends, I stare at my reflection in silence for a few moments. “Make us proud.” The phrase shouldn’t make me feel as shitty as it does. Historically, I’ve been great at making my parents proud. I’ve always been a mostly-A student, with only a few B’s here and there. All my teachers considered me a“delight to have in class,” and my classmates barely even knew I existed. I was accepted to several reputable universities and have maintained a strong 3.8 GPA at Eidola so far. I’m respectful, responsible, and well-mannered. I don’t get into trouble, and I take care of myself. Not to brag, but I’d say I was the perfect offspring.
“Was”.
During the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I joined an online queer community that changed everything. I finally had the vocabulary to explain why I’d felt so out of place my entire life. “Non-binary” was the term I’d been missing—the truth I always knew but never could articulate. I was never a girl, but I wasn’t a boy, either. I was something entirely different—something that didn’t fit neatly into either box, yet I was forced to conform to one anyway. But as soon as I learned the words, everything else fell into place, and I finally felt seen.
My parents strongly disagreed.
“Hey, you okay?”
I blink out of my thoughts to see Celeste watching my reflection with concern. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“How many times did she deadname you this time?”
