Before I could consider deleting the name, I hit send.
And that was the moment I realized I was no longer Alexis.
6 Aleks
At six o’clock, I dragged myself into the kitchen for dinner. Thanks to the unexpected gender-swap, I felt like I’d been hit with a semi. It was really rare for me to switch so frequently. Stress must have somehow contributed to it, because I couldn’t think of any other reason. By the time I got down, staggering like I was drunk, I almost tripped in the doorway.
Holy shit. It was him. Uncle Bryan.
He looked at me and rose from where he sat at the table. He was wearing black slacks and a black button-up shirt with his priest’s collar. I figured this was probably as casual as a priest could get.
It was like my uncle had aged twice as fast as he should have, just like Aunt Anne Marie. His hair was completely gray, and he had more wrinkles than I’d expect for a guy in his early fifties. There was something creepy about it. Maybe I was looking at him extra hard because of the confession I’d just overheard. How dare he? How dare he?
Or maybe because it was me, now, Aleks. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite get “asshole” out of my system when I was boy-me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see you sooner, Alexis,” Uncle Bryan said, embracing me in his long arms. “You look well.” His tone was warm, but something beneath it was as cold as ice.
“It’s good to see you, Uncle Bryan.” Glad you could fit me in between your other duties, like berating that desperate woman in the name of God and all that is holy, can I get a Hallelujah? “Thanks again to you and Aunt Anne Marie for letting me stay.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re our niece. Of course we would.”
Suspicions confirmed: even if he said otherwise, he did not want me here. It was Aunt Anne Marie who’d insisted.
I scratched the back of my neck. Niece. Getting misgendered when I was deliberately hiding as girl-me was a small grievance, although I suspected that if I asked them to use male pronouns or wore my boy-clothes today, they’d still call me Alexis. Aunt Anne Marie did when I first got here.
Aunt Anne Marie gestured for us to sit at the table. I was about to pick up my fork when she cleared her throat. “We say grace.”
Oh. Right. So much for it being my choice. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Alexis.” Again, I flinched. They didn’t know. I mean, they knew I was bigender, but they didn’t know I was Aleks. That wasn’t on them. I wondered whether I should correct them or let it slide. “I know that’s not how your mother does things. Our parents weren’t exactly great role models.”
My throat tightened. Did he just throw shade at my mother to my face? And my grandparents? “Mom’s great.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t,” Aunt Anne Marie said. Uncle Bryan raised his brow. A blatant lie on her end. “I grew up there. I know her well.”
Yeah. Okay. I was pretty sure I knew my mother way better than her estranged sister.
“Let’s discuss this after grace,” Uncle Bryan suggested before bowing his head. He touched his forehead, like Aunt Anne Marie. I tried to copy their movements. “In the name of the Father”—he touched his heart—“the Son,” then his left and right shoulder, “and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
For a second, I wondered if I’d said my thought out loud.
“Bless us, oh Lord, thy gifts which we are about to receive through thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Praise to you for bringing Alexis to us, and grant that we may guide her to the fullness of your light.”
My mouth became dry as he and Aunt Anne Marie signed the cross. Involuntarily, my lips mumbled an “amen,” but I couldn’t keep from staring. Guide me to the light? What the actual fuck? Like I was in the dark because I was different? This wasn’t part of the deal that Mom insisted on.
My mind moved to Sister Bernadette. Would she have said a prayer like this one? Had she only been kind today to entice me to convert?
Everything was confusing me. I was getting paranoid for the wrong reasons, detached from the things that were actually happening. These fears weren’t rooted in reality.
Okay. Rewind. Focus. Try again.
What’s your truth?
Is it the same as everyone else’s truth?
What’s really real? Don’t you know?
Idiot.
Deep breaths. Focus. Go over the facts. Keep it simple.
I’d just moved in: that was fact.
I hadn’t seen my uncle in years: also fact.
He was now a priest: fact.
Priests said prayers: fact.
Right. Okay.
Difference between fact and fiction distinguished.
Of course it offended me that Uncle Bryan had seemed to imply I was in a bad space. But he clearly meant well. This was what I would choose to believe: he meant well but was awkward and offensive by accident. If he’d known I would be offended, he wouldn’t have said that. Or he would’ve phrased it a different way. He might not have wanted me here, but since I was here, he seemed to be trying to be helpful and caring.
And I guess he wasn’t all wrong about me being in a bad space. Being bigender wasn’t the problem. My parents weren’t either. Fault lay with the people who’d hurt me. Yes, they were a bad space. The worst.
My aunt and uncle were family. Family who seemed to want to get to know me despite years of silence.
“So,” my uncle tried. “Some of the sisters said you stopped by the bake sale?”
“Ah. Yeah. I talked with Sister Bernadette a bit. She was nice.”
He nodded with surprise and approval. Like perhaps this was a promising sign. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see you earlier. I teach a summer class, so things have been hectic.”
My aunt cleared her throat. She looked at me and braved a smile. “So your mom said that you sew?”
“I used to,” I said, only then aware of the sting of the past tense. Used to. A huge part of my life was dead. Erased. Without that, what did I have? Before getting into cosplay, I didn’t have friends. I made excuses for my isolation: people my age just didn’t like the stuff I did; I was an old soul in a young body; what I liked put me on a higher level of consciousness than many; I was better and really I didn’t need those people anyway.
But I craved it. Craved contact. When I got into anime and cosplay toward the end of middle school, I was brought into a community. And maybe my new friends didn’t care about the other things I liked, maybe they weren’t into the arts the same way I was, but there was an undeniable bond. I was part of something. I was the beautiful boy.
No more.
Without those memories, I had nothing. I was nothing. But if I kept those memories . . .
For a second, I could see him in my mind. One second too many. I’d rather be nothing than that used, tricked-out joke.
“I made a lot of cosplay.” They gazed at me, confused. “They’re, uh, they’re costumes, for Japanese animation mostly. Sometimes I use the term interchangeably with comics and other stuff. I would dress up and everything at conventions. It’s really fun. I mean was really fun.”
Aunt Anne Marie’s lips pursed. “You shouldn’t be partaking in dressing up. It’s demonic.”