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“Yes, but there won’t be tons of answers. We are pretty simple.”
“We are not simple. Figuring out me. . .us. . .this is like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.”
“Or maybe it’s a puzzle with too many pieces.” She giggled.
I frowned. “That too. . .”
We got to the end of the hallway.
Lunita stood in front of a bright yellow door marked with a silver number 3. Instead of opening the door, she faced me. “This is the rules.”
I leaned my head to the side. “What rules?”
“Never bring up Felicity.”
The little girl nodded. “Never do that.”
I quirked my brows. “Who’s Felicity?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Lunita lowered her voice. “Don’t say that name, and if he says the name then pretend you didn’t hear the name.”
Horror hit me. “I still can’t believe I have a he inside of me.”
Lunita widened her eyes. “What? You do?”
“What do you mean I do?”
“A he is inside of you? What’s the he’s name?”
Confused, I raised my eyebrows. “His name is M.”
Lunita pointed at the door. “But, this is M?”
“Yes. I have a personality that is a man, and he’s inside of me.”
Lunita and the little girl exchanged glances as if I were losing my mind.
Lunita sighed. “M is not inside of you. He’s in his office.”
“Let’s just have her talk to M.” Gently, the little girl turned the knob and pushed the bright yellow door open.
We stepped into a room that contrasted sharply with the rest of the building.
It was an office, bathed in shades of white and yellow. Bookshelves lined the walls. The book titles ranged from classic literature to modern psychology.
A large, comfortable-looking chair sat behind a neat desk with papers and pens arranged in careful precision.
On one side, a small, potted plant rested.
On the other side, stood a man, and it was the male version of me.
Tension gathered in my shoulders. “No. This has to be wrong.”
He leaned casually against the desk, sporting a neatly trimmed beard that framed his face. His tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
His long dreadlocks were tied back into a neat bun.
His clothes could only be described as full professor attire—a tweed jacket with elbow patches, a crisp, button-up shirt, and neatly pressed trousers.
