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On instinct, I smile. “Nothing!”
My parents exchange a look as Dad eases back in his chair and pets Chai’s little head. “Nothing?” he says.
I plop myself onto the couch across from their chairs, folder clamped to my chest. “Nothing’s wrong. Something might be a teeny tiny bit…weird…but nothing is wrong, okay?”
With another exchanged look, I receive a less-than-convincing, “Okay…” from Dad.
So far, this is going poorly.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I fight the swirling sensation in my stomach, relax my shoulders, and lose my fake smile. This conversation is about sharing the truth, right? Right. Let’s try to start a little bit here.
“Is this about Pollux?” Mom asks, and my tension floods back.
“What?” I squeak.
Dad’s brows furrow. “Did something happen with Pollux?”
“Wha…why is he coming up?”
“Because. He’s been helping out at the school, hasn’t he? You’ve been keeping odder hours since around the time we heard about him.” Mom laces her fingers together. “Honey.” She nods at my folder. “What is that?”
It’s a folder about faerie stuff. I grabbed it in case you had questions I needed to look up. “Um.”
“Kasserole, if you’re pregnant, it’s okay. We’re not upset or disappointed. Sometimes, things happen, and we regret the outcomes, but we will support you no matter what.”
“I’m not pregnant!” I blurt. “We haven’t even— Dad! How could you even say that?”
“Well?” Mom rolls her attention off me. “This is very unlike you. What else are we supposed to assume?”
“You also thought I was pregnant?”
“This we need to talk tone isn’t normal for you,” she chides. “Preparing an entire action plan to address any mistakes is. Like that time you outlined how you were going to earn back the money to replace a plate you accidentally chipped.”
“When you were seven,” Dad adds, graciously. “It involved searching the couch cushions at our friends’ houses, and we were mildly concerned.”
I scowl at him. “Well, I’m not pregnant.” Gaining something like resolve, I say, “It’s weirder but less concerning than being suddenly pregnant. Mom. Dad. I don’t know how else to say this. I’m a faerie.”
A violent amount of understanding fills my parents’ eyes, and I’m about to be offended that they—obviously—knew when Dad says, “That’s why you don’t want to marry Pollux.”
“Did this really need to be an event, honey?” Mom references my rigid sitting position and folder. “What, with a binder and everything?”
“If that binder is information about pronouns, we’re aware of the pronoun thing. We can openly discuss our beliefs and come to a conclusion that respects you. He, she, they. That’s all fine and good. I will need some time if you identify as a helicopter now.”
Mom shoots Dad a frown. “Aaron, behave yourself. That joke is very inappropriate at this exact moment.” Sighing, she looks back at me. “Whatever we agree or disagree on, it won’t shake the foundation that we love you. Are you just finding out now, or have you thought you had to hide it from us?”
Dad’s hand slaps down on his leg, scaring Chai from the room. “It’s Zahra, isn’t it? You’re with Zahra. Is she coming to Christmas dinner?” He tuts. “This will break Pollux’s heart. We were thinking of inviting him again. Shame, very little is more attractive than a person who owns a motorcycle.”
It does not escape me that my father used to own a motorcycle…
I’m…speechless. Closing my eyes, I take a much-needed moment. “First…of all…I’m not sure if it’s polite to use the term fairy in this context; I’m almost positive it was derogatory in its origin. Second of all…I don’t know if Zahra is interested in men or women, period. She seems to know everyone, but has always turned down advances. Third of all, I appreciate your point of view if I were lesbian. You are amazing parents.” My throat closes a bit, but I fight through the sensation. “You just…really are.”
“Oh, honey…” Mom stands, and Dad follows.
In a few moments, they have me sandwiched between them on the couch while I look at the popcorn ceiling and the way the Christmas lights from the tree beside the fish tank scatter colors across it. I don’t want to cry right now. I don’t know how to explain to parents who clearly want to accept me because they love me that they’ve unintentionally created a space where I don’t feel like I can be myself.
How do you tell people who did their absolute best that it wasn’t good enough? Especially when the only reason it fell short is because they didn’t know how to do any better?
Know better; do better.
