Page 35 of Sterling Clay

“Can we, Mama?” Dutton turns toward me. His eyes are eager, wide, and pleading. His shaggy hair needs a cut.

Saying no to him is difficult when he rarely asks for anything. The only thing he’d wanted was for us to leave Wesley, and I hadn’t done it until it was almost too late.

“Okay.” The answer was half-hearted at best. I didn’t understand why Clay would consider us special guests at a public event or why he’d want to bring us to a private family affair. But Dutton was suddenly beaming up at Clay with a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time. My heart cracked a little, like a chip chinked into a favorite bowl. One you won’t part with despite the imperfection because the item has too much sentimental value.

“Yes.” Dutton pumps his arm at his side before Clay holds out his fist to bump it against Dutton’s smaller hand.

“So back to answering your question,” Clay continues. “We’re headed to a pop-up Halloween shop in Huntington.” The larger city was roughly forty minutes away and had all the superstores and popular chain merchandisers that Sterling Falls lacked.

“I thought we’d ride together. Grab dinner.” Clay’s smile continues, one side of his mouth curling higher than the other and that damn dimple peeks out.

With the hopeful grin on Dutton’s face, how could I say no?

+ + +

An hour later, Dutton’s frustration hits a new level.

Inside the Halloween pop-up store, we quickly found the spot where a pink Power Princess costume should have been but was sold out. I was slightly relieved as the sixty-dollar price tag was much more than my meager budget allowed for a one-time use costume. For years, we’d made do with things around the house for the autumn holiday. Dutton’s first year he was a pumpkin, something easily made with an orange sweatshirt and some black felt cutouts sewn on to create a jack-o-lantern face. Another year, he was a cow. Not necessarily his favorite costume, but he was still adorable in a white sweatsuit covered in hand-drawn fabric paint spots and some makeup on his face.

Last year at my parents’ place, my father refused to let Dutton dress in anything feminine, so Dutton was an unhappy turtle made by wearing all green attire and a brown backpack on his back that I tried to doctor up by drawing what looked like the outer shell of a turtle on the canvas.

This year, Dutton had it in his head that he’d be his beloved princess and he didn’t want a homemade costume but the real deal. Only, with the item sold out, Dutton pouts.

“It’s been one of our most popular items this year,” the salesclerk told us. Then added the final kicker. “We don’t anticipate receiving more before Halloween with it only being a couple weeks away.”

Clay tried to help. “How about a pirate? Or a football player? Maybe Batman?”

Dutton shook his head at every suggestion, his irritation growing with each recommendation that had a traditionally male connotation to them.

On Dutton’s behalf, I’m equally frustrated and disappointed. I’d thought Clay accepted Dutton when he bought pink ice cream and watched Princess Power with him. But I’d clearly been wrong in assuming Clay was cool with Dutton being who he is. He wanted the pink Power Princess outfit and wasn’t going to settle for something considered boyish. He wasn’t going to conform to constructs because of his biology. He wanted what he wanted, and I was trying to honor that.

I reminded myself it’s what Cecilia would have wanted. My sister refused to follow the ideals of my parents. The misogynistic beliefs of the culture we’d been raised in. She wanted more for herself. More for me. More for our future children. Unfortunately, her strong independence cost her in the end.

However, my own agitation with Dutton grew when he refused to accept any alternative costume.

“How about Moana?” He’d wanted to be the Hawaiian princess last year.

“No.” With an added foot stomp from Dutton, I turned to Clay.

“We’re done here.” I wasn’t going to let Dutton have a public tantrum over a Halloween costume.

Clay looked bewildered.

And sensing I couldn’t handle an argument with Dutton, he shifted his attention to me. “We need a costume for you.”

I shook my head. “I have something.” Amid my meager belongings was something special that I brought out each year to wear for Halloween, knowing I didn’t have any other occasion to wear such a treasured item. My grandmother had given it to me with sage advice.

Be who you want to be, my Mavis. Not a mold of others, but unique. Colorful. Beautiful. Carefree.

She delicately waved her hand through the air, emphasizing the freedom of floating about in a breeze, like a butterfly.

The irony of Clay suddenly calling me such a beautiful creature was not lost on me, and startling, as he didn’t know the love I had for my wonderful grandmother. Nor that she called me the same nickname.

“Let’s just go have dinner.” The anticipation of the surprise evening was now dampened a bit by Dutton’s behavior. However, I hadn’t wanted to spoil anything for Clay, who looked a little crestfallen when no costumes were purchased.

Dinner was at a local eatery, popular in the mountains around us, and a quick meal which had us back on the road for a silent return journey to Clay’s home.

Once we return to the house, Dutton instantly heads for the front door, but I am not letting his sourpuss exit the night without a final request. “What do you say to Clay for taking us out to dinner?”