Page 21 of Buttons

“Mommy, why do you look different?”

Leo’s voice startles me, interrupting me seconds before posting the picture. He stands beside my chair, his small hand on the table for balance as he peers at my phone screen.

“Different from what, sweetie?” I ask, though I suspect that I know the answer.

“Your hair is all…” He waves his hand vaguely around his own head. “And you look smaller somehow.”

I set my phone down and pull him onto my lap. He’s getting too big for this, but he doesn’t resist.

“I wanted a change,” I tell him, choosing my words carefully.

“But why would you want to look different?”

“Because being different isn’t bad, Leo. It’s what makes people special.” I run my fingers through his curls, and I have a sudden thought. He inherited these curls from me but never knew because I’ve straightened mine for so long.

He thinks about this, his small face serious. “But Daddy says we should always try to be perfect.”

“Perfect according to whom? What’s perfect to one person might be completely different to another.”

He shrugs. “Daddy says perfect is when everything matches and nothing is out of place.”

“Do you know what would happen if everyone looked exactly the same?” I ask, shifting strategies. “If we all had the same hair, the same nose, the same everything?”

Leo shakes his head.

“It would be so boring. Imagine a classroom where every single student looked identical. How would you find your friends? How would you recognize your teacher?”

“That would be so weird!”

“Exactly!”

His forehead wrinkles again. “But if perfect means no mistakes, and different means not the same as everyone else, then…” He struggles with the logic.

“Who decides what’s a mistake and what’s just unique?” I counter. “What’s your favorite animal?”

“Lions,” he answers without hesitation.

“And what if someone told you bears were better, and lions were wrong?”

“That’s silly! Lions can’t be wrong. They’re just animals!”

I smile at his perfect child-logic. “And that’s my point.”

Next, my son surprises me. “Remember my castle of misfits I built at that fancy party?” I do remember, so I nod. “It reminds me of that stray cat I saw at the park yesterday. It’s not fair that not every animal has a home.”

Something clicks into place as I listen to him. They’re just being themselves. And for years, I haven’t been. I’ve always loved animals, but since Julian found them too messy and claimed he has allergies—which I honestly question if it’s trueor not—I ignored that part of myself. And that’s my fault, too. Maybe even more than Julian’s. I sacrificed parts of myself for him, but I didn’t have to. I could have refused, could have stuck with who I was, even if it meant losing him. While Leo stares, I grab my laptop next to me, open it, and navigate to the nearest animal shelter’s website. It’s bare bones.

“You know what?” I say, looking back at my phone screen, where my authentic self waits to be shared with the world. “You’re absolutely right. It isn’t fair.”

After pressing “Post,” I check the time on my phone: two-fifteen p.m. There’s plenty of time before dinner, and I have an idea.

“Hey,” I say, giving Leo a conspiratorial smile. “Want to go on an adventure? Go get your sister and put your shoes on.”

“Where are we going?” he asks, already sliding off my lap.

“To meet some animals who are perfect just the way they are.”

The Seattle King Co Animal Shelter, or “SKCAS” for short, looks nothing like I expected. In my mind, I’d pictured something modern with cheerful murals of paw prints and large glass windows, like something you’d find in Malibu. Instead, it’s a squat, cinderblock building with a gravel parking lot and a simple chain-link fence surrounding a yard. It’s not Instagram-worthy, and it’s not their fault. These things cost money, and as much as humans say they love animals, I’m not surprised at the low funding.