Page 139 of Sparks Fly

His mouth tightened. “When I came out our parents didn’t just adjust. They grieved. Loudly. Publicly. Like they had lost something that belonged to them.”

My chest tightened.

“I was the firstborn. The daughter they paraded around like proof they had done everything right. Cotillion, debutante bullshit, sorority legacy. All of it.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “By the time I was twelve, I refused to do any of it. My mother wouldn’t let me cut my hair, so I cut it off myself. They wouldn’t call me Benji. They only used my deadname.”

My stomach turned.

“They were furious,” he continued. “They couldn’t have their perfect daughter through me anymore, so they handed the role to Addison. They were horrible to me. Refused to ‘let me’ be trans.”

I stared at him.

“She saw all of it and she stepped into the role of ‘only daughter’ like it was a job. Like if she did everything right, they might stop being angry at me. Stop treating me like some tragedy.” His jaw tightened. “She took all that pressure and made it look pretty.”

“How old was she?”

His eyes flashed. “Too young, seven.”

I pictured Addison in pastel dresses with a practiced smile, learning exactly how to take up space the way her mother expected.

Learning that approval was conditional.

That love required a performance.

But she hadn’t only done it because they expected her to.

She had done it for Benji too. Stepped into the space he left behind because she thought it might take some of the pressure off him. Because even at seven years old, she had been trying to protect her brother.

No wonder she froze.

No wonder her first instinct was always to make everything look presentable.

“She’s been doing it ever since,” Benji said. “Every dinner, every holiday, every wedding invitation. Every time my mother tells her she should meet someone’s son. She’s been holding onto the life they expect her to live with both hands.”

“And now she has me,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “And now she has you.”

The anger didn’t disappear, but it changed shape.

“That doesn’t mean what she did was okay,” Benji added. “And it doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be hurt.”

“I know.”

“But if you love her, and I think you do, you need to understand something.” He held my gaze. “When she pulls her hand away, it isn’t because she’s ashamed of you. It’s because she’s terrified of what happens when she stops performing.”

“I know that.”

“Knowing it and living with it are different.”

I swallowed. “I told her I don’t want to be her secret.”

“You shouldn’t be.” His voice was firm. “She needed to hear that.”

The noise of the shop rose around us again as the day kept moving.

“I’ve been plenty of people’s secret,” he said after a moment. “People who didn’t want to be seen with the trans guy in public but were more than happy to be with me behind closed doors.”