“What about your pronouns?” I ask. “I don’t think you ever told me why you stayed with they/them.”
“Same thing, honestly.” I hear them moving around again, and I picture them pulling that big purple blanket around their shoulders. Aris sings in the background. “In the beginning, I tried different pronouns depending on how I felt, but it just made everything… louder, I guess. Like I was constantly explaining myself. They/them fits all of me, no matter where I am on any given day. It feels right, you know?”
I don’t know. I can’t possibly know what Korie is going through. But I try anyway. “It makes sense. But just know, if you ever need me to change something, all you gotta do is ask, okay?”
Korie is quiet for so long, I almost think I said the wrong thing. Then they sniffle. “Thank you.”
I wish I could touch them. Whenever Korie opens up about this, there’s always something in their voice that stands out to me—a quiet determination buried under everything else.
I’ve learned not to mention it or to call them brave. Korie doesn’t like that word being associated with their identity. But what else are they if not brave? Honest. Authentic. All that is true, but so is brave. I’ll never see them any other way.
We talk until my words start to blend together and I can’t make it through a sentence without yawning.
“Do you want to go?” Korie asks with a soft laugh.
“Not really,” I say. “But yeah, I think I better. Can we talk tomorrow?”
I can hear them smile, even if they’re disappointed. “Of course. Good night, Holden.”
“Night, Kor.”
I drop the phone onto my chest, telling myself I’ll get up for food in thirty seconds.
I’m out within five.
17
KORIE
It’s been three days of Holden and me dancing around our schedules and connecting only through the phone. It makes me want to scream.
The heat that was simmering when he left my apartment is damn near boiling now. So when my sister calls to invite me to dinner on my day off, I jump on the opportunity just to get my mind off Holden.
She lives an hour away, but the drive helps clear my head. All the gorgeous desert scenery through some of the more rural parts of Southern California is something I’ll never get tired of. Honestly, I envy their house tucked away in the hills.
The front door flies open before I even cut the engine of my Mini Cooper.
“Momma! Korie’s here!”
Macy and Jocelyn bolt down the walkway like tiny hurricanes, all wild hair, flying limbs, and unlimited joy. I barely have time to open the door before they’re on me.
“Hey—whoa—okay,” I laugh, crouching down to hug them. “Miss me that much?”
“Yes!” Jocelyn declares.
“Obviously,” Macy adds, like it’s ridiculous I’d even ask.
I grin and kiss each of their heads. Macy stands a foot taller than Jocelyn now, looking more like her mother every day. Over their heads, I spot Cooper in the yard, kicking a soccer ball toward a net. He waves when he sees me.
I always knew Trista would end up with a house like this—full of noisy, endless energy. It wouldn’t surprise me if they added a couple more kids someday. She always wanted to adopt, like our parents did.
I take Macy’s hand as we walk toward the house. Trista greets me on the porch. “Perfect timing. Chris is pulling the ribs out now.”
My stomach growls.
The kids talk endlessly through dinner with rapid fire stories about their summer adventures, the horseback riding they’re looking forward to next month, and so many other things. It’s hard to keep up.
Finally, I tap Macy’s elbow. “Go get your yo-yo. Let’s practice those moves.”
