Page 54 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Garrett glances at Idris. “Green.”

Idris nods from the chair, mouth softening. “I saw.”

I reach over and touch Theo’s socked foot where it rests near Callie’s knee. “Proud of you, sweetheart.”

Theo ducks his face against Garrett’s shirt, but he doesn't pull his foot away.

Garrett starts the movie. It is some animated thing with soft music and animals wearing tiny hats, because Callie picked while pretending she didn't care. The lights dim. Rain taps the windows. Theo’s breathing starts to match the slow rise and fall of Garrett’s chest.

Halfway through the opening scene, Theo tugs Callie’s hand closer and presses her knuckles under his cheek.

Callie melts toward him, just a little.

Garrett adjusts the blanket so she doesn't have to move away.

Idris watches that adjustment, then looks at me. I can read the same relief in his face that is sitting heavy in my own ribs. This is working. Awkwardly, slowly, with pauses and colors and all of us learning where to put our hands. But it is working.

Theo falls asleep with Callie’s knuckles tucked beneath his cheek. I keep my hand on the back of the couch instead of reaching for more, and for the first time all night, restraint feels like part of the promise instead of punishment.

Idris rises from the chair and comes around the back of the couch. His hand settles over mine where it rests above Callie’s shoulder, and when I turn my head, he presses a slow kiss to my temple.

“You did well,” he murmurs.

I thread my fingers through his and keep my voice low enough not to wake Theo. “So did we.”

Theo

The house is quiet when I wake, but it takes me a while to understand why it feels wrong.

At Bellwether, quiet always had someone behind it. Shoes passed outside my door, pages turned on clipboards, voices dropped when my name came up where I could hear it. Here, the quiet has rain in it and the low hum of the dryer somewhere beyond the closet wall. It should feel better. It should feel like the kind of space my file says I need after a transition, but my eyesstay open and my body stays tight under the blanket Garrett put over me during the movie.

I sit up slowly, holding Callie’s hoodie against my chest before I move anything else. Sloane’s shirt is tucked along the edge of the nest where my knee keeps brushing it. Idris’ sweater is folded beneath my arm, heavy and clean, and the blanket over my lap still holds Garrett’s cold mint and polished leather. The closet smells like all of them now, but Callie is strongest at the center, honeyed pear and vanilla tea caught in the fabric under my cheek.

She kissed me last night before I crawled back inside.

The memory makes my mouth warm. Callie stood outside the closet door with her hand on the frame, tired from the long day and still soft enough to wait for me to lean first. She let me choose it. She let me touch her sleeve afterward and didn't ask me to explain why one small kiss made my hands shake.

I like her lips. I like how she pauses before she gives them to me, like the waiting matters as much as the kiss. I like the way she says Star in a voice that doesn't ask me to become someone louder before I can be wanted.

Warmth rolls low under my skin, and I shift beneath the blanket with a quick breath. It has been happening since yesterday, small waves of discomfort that make my clothes too heavy and my skin too aware of every scent in the house. It isn't heat yet, but it feels close enough to make my stomach tighten. I press my thighs together, then push the blanket off before the nest starts feeling too small to hold me.

The hallway is empty when I crawl out.

There is water waiting outside the closet door, a bowl of cards beside it, and a pair of socks with blue moons folded on top of a clean blanket. Someone has placed everything close enough for me to reach and far enough that nothing blocks the door. Ilook down the hall while I pull the socks on, balancing one hand against the wall, and listen for Callie.

Nothing.

I go to the kitchen first. The island is clean except for a covered plate with half a lemon bar on it and a note in Sloane’s handwriting telling me it is mine. I touch the edge of the paper, then look toward the mudroom, expecting Callie’s bag on the bench or her shoes near the door. They aren't there.

The sunroom is empty too. The plant book is on the low table with sticky notes lined up beside it, and the blanket from last night is folded over the back of the couch. I stand near the place where Garrett sat during the movie and remember his arm around me, Callie’s hand in mine, Sloane pressed close on her other side, Idris watching the room without making it feel watched.

I liked Garrett’s lap.

My face heats when the thought settles, but it doesn't feel wrong. Garrett held me like my body already made sense to him. He let me keep Callie’s hand. He adjusted the blanket over both of us, and when I fell asleep, no one moved me away from the shape I had chosen.

I check the living room next, then the front hall, then the little room near the stairs where Garrett sometimes leaves files when he says he isn't working. Each room is warm, clean, and open. Each one gives me enough space to turn around in. That is what they wanted, I think. They wanted the house to feel easy, with no one crowding me and no one waiting for me to perform being settled.

The space keeps getting bigger.