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We don’t get along. Noah pushes my bad buttons, and I’m sleeping even worse since I got here.
Maybe I should tell him I’m leaving.
But instead, I pick up the shaving cream, pour some foam into my hand, and start dabbing it on my face as he stops shaving to watch me.
As soon as my cheeks are covered, and I look like Santa, I pick up my toothbrush again to use the handle as a razor.
“You got no idea how to raise girls,” I tell him.
He smirks at me in the mirror. “Want me to make a man out of you then?”
“You can try.” And I hold my toothbrush ready. Maybe he’ll let me do some ‘man’s’ work, then.
He snorts and leans over the sink, and I follow, taking his lead.
Stroke by stroke, I mimic his technique, against the grain up the neck, with the grain down his cheek and jaw, and over the top of the upper lip. We stand side by side, peering into the mirror, and stopping periodically to rinse off our “razors” before continuing.
He catches my eyes and smiles before leading me through the final strokes, but his arm brushing mine makes my heart beat harder as the smell of his clean body fills the bathroom.
When we’re done and only a few smudges of foam remain, he pulls a towel off the rack and cleans off my face, and for a minute, I feel like a kid and want to laugh for some reason.
But when he pulls the towel away, he looks down at me, and my hidden smile sinks to the bottom of my stomach, and so does his. He’s close.
His eyes hold mine, and we stand there, heat filling the room so hot I…
I swallow, seeing his Adam’s apple rise and then fall, too.
“Looks like I failed,” he says barely above a whisper. “There’s no hiding what you are.”
A girl.
He almost sounds remorseful at that fact.
He turns away, slowly wiping off his own face. “I’m hungry. Pancakes?”
But I barely hear him, standing there and watching him and the words flowing out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I may never be a man,” I tell him, “but I won’t always be a girl, either.”
I pause long enough to see him falter and his face fall, and I can’t help the small smile that peeks out as I turn and leave the bathroom.
Surely, I can take on more responsibilities.
When I’m a woman.
I pour some pancake batter onto the griddle, hearing it sizzle as I refill the ladle and pour another circle, one after the other. I watch the batter bubble against the heat, rubbing the smooth surface of my thumbnail.
For once, I’m actually happy to be cooking their breakfast. Jake and Noah are outside, taking care of their morning chores, but I still haven’t seen Kaleb, and rather than hide in my room and dread running into him, I can just stay busy.
Why the hell isn’t my suitcase packed?
After I left my uncle stunned stupid in the bathroom earlier, I dressed and made my bed, leaving my empty luggage abandoned on the floor, but even if the episode with Kaleb last night had never happened, I’m not sure I would’ve gone through with packing it then, either.
I lay the ladle in the bowl and pick up the spatula, flipping the pancakes and making the batter splatter.
Maybe that’s why I always came home on school breaks. Too desperate not to be alone.
I whip around to grab the plate and see Kaleb.
I stop. He leans against the refrigerator, staring at me, and my heart jumps as I clench my thighs. How long has he been standing there?
