Luna

Page 26

Chris called that night. Shocker. He said he’d been trying to find me all day, that he’d waited at my locker before and after school and I never showed. A thrill rippled through me. He actually waited for me.
“Are you blowing me off — again?” he intoned.
“No, of course not.” Was I? Maybe. Probably. Yes. He’d seen Luna. How would he react? He’d look at me differently now. He’d see Liam as a freak.
“Were you absent?” Chris asked. “You’re not sick, are you?” He sounded worried.
Worried about me. “No.” I smiled to myself. “I didn’t go to my locker this morning. Or after school.” I didn’t stop there all day for fear of what I’d find. Messages. A mob. Clones of Hoyt. “I left right from class so I could go buy my brother a birthday present.”
Chris didn’t respond.
Was he going to ask? Make a joke about Liam? He wasn’t talking. Was he still on the line? “Hello?”
“So, um,” Chris cleared his throat, “where did you get those chemistry papers?”
I expelled the breath I’d been holding. “Don’t ask.”
“Don’t you want them? Or did you already make a copy?”
“No. I decided if I’m going down, Bruchac can kiss my ass. I’ll just repeat chemistry next year. Or take something else. Maybe genetics. I hear girls are good at reproduction.”
Chris laughed. He actually laughed. It made me laugh. Broke the tension. He said, “There’s a problem with Friday night.”
My heart stopped beating. I knew it. It was over. He couldn’t deal.
“My mom is having this rehearsal dinner and she wants me and Pam to be there.”
Good excuse. I wondered how long he’d been working on it.
“Regan?”
“Yeah. No problem,” I said quickly. Eclipse. Hang up the phone. Need to implode.
“So could we change it to Saturday?” he said. “I know it’s short notice and you probably have plans . . .”
My head was spinning. Plans? What plans? “No problem,” I said.
“Yeah? Okay, cool.” He sounded happy. Relieved. He couldn’t be as happy and relieved as me.
“What time should I pick you up?” he asked. “I was thinking we’d go to a movie. Maybe eat first.”
Eat? As in handle silverware? “You don’t want me anywhere near knives,” I told him.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I’m not afraid of you. Remember, I have armor.”
“Did you a lot of good last time. Be afraid,” I warned him. “Be very afraid.”
He laughed again. So did I. It went on like that for two hours. Just stupid stuff. Jokes. Laughter. Chris didn’t mention Liam. Neither did I. The subject never came up. The time wasn’t right.
When would the time ever be right?
The answer to that one was easy. I guess I just wanted to pretend for as long as possible that it wouldn’t ever matter.
Chapter 24
Liam was still in the shower when I peeked out my bedroom door Saturday morning. Good. I could sneak into his room and deposit my birthday present on his mattress.
Or not. I’d changed my mind about his gift. The new box was so tiny, he might sit on it. Instead, I left the present on his treasure chest, along with the card I’d addressed to “Lunatic.” He wouldn’t miss that.
Mom was in Code Blue crisis when I got upstairs.
“What do you mean they double-booked? They can’t do that!” she screeched into her cell phone. My ears squinched. Even Dad put down his newspaper and frowned at her. “Well, it’s first come, first serve. What?” She listened, her chest heaving. “Dammit, Andy! Where are we going to find a place now for a wedding reception two weeks away?”
God, take another Valium, I thought.
A box of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts sat open on the counter and I helped myself. The traditional O’Neill birthday breakfast, after Mom stopped baking cakes.
“Who got food poisoning from our caterer?” Mom hyperventilated. “Well, my gawd.”
Food poisoning? I dropped the doughnut back into the box. My stomach was breeding butterflies, anyway. Eight hours and counting till Chris. What was I going to wear? I’d trolled through my closet twice already and all the clothes on my floor three times. Nothing screamed Hot Date. I needed Luna’s expertise.
Mom was still flaming about her caterer getting closed down by the health department when the door to the basement opened and my brother emerged. Rather ... my sister. “Good morning.” Luna strolled through the kitchen. Dad had his back to her, but Mom’s eyes fixed on the apparition. She shrieked, “Andy, we can’t have beans and franks!” She rotated on her chair so she was facing away from us.
Luna selected a lemon-filled doughnut and brought it to the table. Her outfit was new — a short jean skirt and yellow sweater set. She’d chosen the brown curly wig. As she slid into her seat, she began to sing softly, “Happy Birthday to Me.”
Surreal. I swallowed down my panic, for her sake. Of course this would be the next step in her transition. She had to do it sometime. Still . . .
She met my eyes and winked. Her face held a mixture of emotions: strength, defiance, fear. Make that terror.
“Happy birthday, Luna,” I said, lifting my OJ in a toast.
“Thanks,” she replied, toasting me back with her milk.
At some point Dad must’ve checked in because he turned his head and spluttered, “What the —”
“Get hold of Ellen Rosenberg and tell her we have a problem. Explain the situation. No, better yet, let me do that. You start calling around to every hotel and community room and estate we’ve ever used and find out what’s available. Call me back.” Mom punched the off button. She huffed and swiveled around to us. Her focus fell on Luna and she looked at her, through her, the way your eyes settle on an object you don’t really see. Your mind is somewhere else, anywhere else. Luna smiled at her. It was almost imperceptible, but Mom’s head shook from side to side. Her gaze lowered and she flipped open her Daytimer on the table.
Dad said, “What is this? Some kind of senior prank? You pulling a stunt this weekend?”
Luna licked her lips. Her cranberry-colored lips. Clasping her hands in her lap, she said, “Dad, I’m a transsexual.”
My breath caught. I’d never heard her say that word. It was always transgender. TG or trans. Transsexual. It took it to another level. More of an official declaration.
She added, “I’d like to change my name to Luna, with your blessing. And yours, Mom.” Luna addressed the presence at the other end of the table. What was with Mom? Back to Dad. “It’s the name I’ve chosen to represent the person I truly am.”
In response, Mom murmured to herself, “Food poisoning? Am I liable for that?” Dad threw back his head and laughed.
Luna found my eyes. And died inside.
Dad wheezed, “Good one.” He reached over and whapped Luna’s shoulder. “The joke’s on me.”
“No.” Luna’s gaze penetrated him. “This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been.”
Silence. The air in the room changed. Dad’s face sobered. Hardened. Mom flipped a page.
Dad’s head spun my way. “You lied to me! You told me he wasn’t gay.” He pointed an accusatory finger. “I asked you point blank and you lied to me.”
“Why does this always come back on me?” I shouted. “First Aly, now you —”
“What did Aly say?” Luna interrupted, looking hopeful.
I blanched. “Nothing. Forget it.”
Luna blinked a couple of times and blew out a breath. “Leave Re out of this,” she said to Dad. “It has nothing to do with her.”
Pressing a hand against her chest, she added, “This is about me, Dad. Me.”
Dad’s face registered ... what? Denial? Revulsion? “What. Are. You.” His tone of voice made me shrink in fear.
Luna swallowed hard. “Like I said, I’m a transsexual. TS, if you prefer. I was supposed to be a girl, and I am, but I was born in the wrong body. Think of it as a birth anomaly.”
“A what?” Dad shrilled.
“Nothing,” Luna mumbled. She picked up her doughnut and raised it to her mouth. Her hands trembled as she bit into it. She chewed and chewed and chewed. A tiny glob of lemon stuck to her upper lip.
Dad morphed. Into what, I don’t know. His face, his body, they seemed to grow, contort. Mom’s cell rang. She grabbed for it. “No, Andy, that won’t work. There’s no wheelchair accessibility at the Burnham-Grant.” She stood and marched off toward her bedroom.
She actually left. Was she blind? Deaf?
“Mom!” I called.
Luna said to me, “Please pass the napkins.”
I lifted the napkin holder and handed it across the table to her. She forced a thin smile. “Thanks.”
Dad’s lips receded over his teeth like a snarling dog. “You’re sick,” he hissed. “You are sick.”
Luna set down her doughnut and wiped her fingertips. She scooted back her chair and replied calmly, “I’m going out now. I have an appointment with a manicurist.”
I said quickly, “Would you like me to come?”
Luna met my eyes. The answer: Would I ever.
I braced the table to stand, but Dad blasted me with, “Where do you think you’re going? Sit down!” He shot to his feet and thundered past Luna, who was moving toward the foyer, extracting her car keys from her purse. Dad impaled himself against the front door. “You’re not leaving this house dressed like that. You look like a ...a clown. Go downstairs and change.”
Luna’s spine fused. “No. This is who I am. This is how I choose to live the rest of my life.”
“Not in my house you don’t. Not if I can help it.” Dad’s fingers clenched in a fist and he drew back his arm.
I toppled my chair, racing to throw myself between them. I heard myself screaming, “No, Dad, don’t! Stop it.”
Dad spread out his left hand and thrust it at me. Though his hand never made contact, the force hit my chest like a brick wall. I gasped for breath. “Stay where you are, Regan. This is between Liam and me.”
“It’s Luna,” she said.
Dad’s fist balled tighter. Hard, white-knuckled. His elbow extended farther back, arm vibrating.
I couldn’t move; couldn’t speak. I was frozen in time and space. I imagined the crushing blow to Luna’s face, lethal in its intent, in its execution. Dad was big, strong. And more angry than I remembered him ever being.
Luna held her head high, waiting. Almost daring him to do it. Seconds ticked away. Years.
Then, slowly, Dad released his fist.
My lungs collapsed.
Luna reached around him for the door knob. “Excuse me,” she said.
Right in her ear, Dad said, “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.”
“Dad!” My voice was raspy.
Luna poised for a long moment, her hand on the knob. She stared straight ahead into the solid wood, into the nothingness.
Please, God, I prayed. Make this not be happening.
Dad said, “I mean it, Liam.”
Luna’s arm fell to her side. Every bone in her body seemed to disintegrate as her shoulders slumped. She said, “I realize I’ve been a big disappointment to you, Dad. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the son you wanted. I’m sorry.” Wrapping her arms protectively around herself, she plodded through the living room toward the basement stairs. Defeat hung in the air like nuclear waste.
“I hate you,” I spat at Dad. “I hate you!” Pivoting, I stalked down the hall to the master bedroom, where Mom was still on the phone. Still!
“Hang up,” I commanded her.
Her eyes flickered over me.
“Hang. Up.” The venom in my voice startled even me.
“Andy, I have to go,” Mom chirruped. “I’ll call you right back. Try that conference center in The Springs, okay?” She disconnected. Sighing wearily, she asked, “What?”
“What?” I repeated. “Mom. Clue in. Do you know what’s happening here?”
Her eyes fell to the phone in her hand. “I don’t have time for this. Not today.” She lifted the cell to her ear.
I walked over and snatched it out of her hand. I threw it across the room, where it cracked the wall.
“Regan!”
“Mom!” I practically yelled in her face. “Why did you leave? Liam is transitioning. Do you understand what that means?” Of course she didn’t understand. “She’s changing her sex.”
She blinked about a dozen times in rapid succession. “Why does he have to do this now,” she said. “I can’t deal with this today. I’ve got a wedding with no reception hall and a caterer under investigation by the health department —”
“Shut up.”
Mom’s jaw went slack. “What did you say?”
“I said, shut up. Listen to me, for once. Liam needs you. Luna needs you.” We all need you, I didn’t say. We always have.
“Luna.” Mom clucked her tongue. “Where did he get such a name?”
I couldn’t believe what she did next. She walked across the room and retrieved the phone off the floor. She began to punch in numbers.
“Mom, for God’s sake —”
“I can’t handle this, Re!” she screamed, sounding on the verge of hysteria. “I can’t handle it today.”