Gray’s having a panic attack.

        They were supposed to try to eat the oatmeal, and they spiraled. It’s so lumpy, so thick, so awful in their mouth. Gray hasn’t eaten oatmeal since they were a toddler, and even then, they didn’t like it much. Something about the texture and the look of it makes Gray’s stomach turn. Most people don’t understand how anyone could be afraid of food; it can’t hurt you, and it isn’t scary at all. Gray can’t even explain it, and it’s not like they’ve never tried. It isn’t exactly an easy thing to explain to regular people. And it can be embarrassing for Gray: simply having an anxiety attack attempting to eat foods. They get stared at, questioned, among other things. Gray doesn’t understand why people can’t just mind their own business. One moment they were holding a spoonful of plain oatmeal, preparing to eat it – and the next, they were debilitated by anxiety.

        “I can’t.” They put the spoon down, curl their knees up to their chest. “I can’t do it, I’m sorry.” They can’t really explain what they’re scared of. Maybe it’s of choking. Maybe it’s of their body vomiting the food back of.

        “It’s okay.” Gray’s father kneels by their side, his hands on their shaking arms. “It’s okay; you tried. We can try again later.” Their parents are very patient, and this helps, although Gray can’t pretend they’ve never felt guilty about it. They feel guilty about being ill, and about having it affect their family. They want to get better, but they know it’s a long process. Recently, they ate their first banana and journaled about it, the way their therapist suggest they do. It was a strange sense of pride and euphoria, something Gray hasn’t really experienced before.

        They enjoy the beach. So far since arriving, they haven’t had much body dysphoria, but this of course can change at any time. It’s not hard for Gray to get away with looking androgynous at the beach: by wearing a tee short and baggy swimming trunks, they find it relatively easy. They play beach volleyball and soccer with Rome and his friends, who haven’t changed. But Gray has yet to meet their old friends, even though they’ve made plans to meet up. Back home, the name of their best friend is Amity, but things between them are sort of tense since Gray moved away.

        Gray sighs, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. It sort of helps. It make them so sad watching others eat, with no sense of shame or inhibition. People completely take it for granted, their ability to eat whatever they want at whatever time they please. Gray could do this, maybe, when they were a child, but even as a child they were a pickier eater than most. They take the hug their father offers, and throw the food on their plate into the trash. “I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back later, okay?” There’s a swimming pool in their hotel. Gray, yesterday, went swimming there and cleared their mind a bit, but they’re not in the mood for that today. Anyway, Gray isn’t really a fan of water, and that includes the ocean. They prefer walking in nature or visiting the zoo, or things like that.

        Amity and Slevin meet Gray at the entrance of the Naples Zoo, where they used to spend their free time together before Gray moved away. Slevin was always a girly girl, and she hasn’t changed: but Amity is nearly unrecognizable. “Hey,” she says, pulling her fingers through the purple streak in her hair. “Where’s your brother? You came alone?”

        This is why they haven’t been in touch. Amity, a brash girl, never was shy about her crush on Rome. This would be fine, in itself, if she weren’t so aggressive about it. Gray remembers her throwing herself onto him, handsy and outspoken, despite him saying he was uncomfortable. Gray ignores her greeting, following their two old friends into the zoo. “Hey, guys. I can’t believe it’s been two years since I’ve seen you." They feel out of place here, awkward, like they’re spending time with strangers. The girls feel like strangers. After enough time apart, everybody does. Gray’s guitar is in their hotel room, lying on the bed along with their notebook of writing. More than anything, playing music helps Gray calm down and sort out their stresses.

        Slevin wears a pink dress and a denim jacket. “I saw some of the demos you posted.” She was always the most supportive of Gray’s friends, and she’s definitely the one they missed most. “You’re good! Do you think you’ll ever send a demo to a record company?”

        This is something Gray has never thought about. They enjoy music, sure, but they certainly don’t think they’re talented enough to go anywhere with it. “I dunno.” They mumble, scuffing their feet on the ground when they walk. “Probably not.”

        Gray’s favorite part of the zoo is the sea animals. They’ve always loved penguins and aquatic creatures. “Why not?” Slevin hands her friends their tickets, buttoning up her short jacket. “You’re so talented! Don’t you think, Amity?”

        She nods, earnest. The teenagers walk, stopping to watch the exhibits and take photographs. Gray feels uncomfortable, as they always do upon receiving words of affirmation. “Not really.” Gray doesn’t know what it is about them; they just can’t accept compliments without feeling squeamish. They suspect it’s their lack of confidence, but they’ve never figured out how to actually become confident. Rome seems to have it mastered, and Gray’s always been envious of him.

        Gray’s new girlfriend is named Jazmin. Although Gray enjoys spending time with her, they don’t really have feelings of any sort for her- and it’s been a few weeks. Surely, they have begun to feel something by now, right? At first, they wondered if maybe it was just Jazmin they weren’t attracted to. They feel bad about this; she’s an attractive girl, as far as attractiveness goes, so Gray doesn’t know why she doesn’t do anything for them. Come to think of it, Gray doesn’t remember the last time they’ve had a crush. They can’t recall ever having had one at all. They know they have to break up with Jazmin. It’s hard. They enjoy the companionship, even if it doesn’t feel romantic. 

        “So, anyway…” Amity looks like a punk rocker, complete with facial piercings. “You didn’t answer my question before. Where’s Rome? Did he come, too?” She has a sly look in her eyes, the same one Gray remembers from their friendship days. “I’ll bet he’s even hotter, now.”

        “Ew.” Gray wrinkles their nose, feeling warm under the sun. “Don’t talk about my brother like that.”   

        “Oh, come on.” Amity chuckles, sticking her tongue out to expose a silver stud. “Don’t be such a prude. Everybody probably thinks he’s hot.” She does have a point, but Gray won’t willingly think about this. It’s not actually pleasant to remember people want to fuck your brother. “He’s, what, like eighteen now?”

        Gray sighs. “Nineteen.” Rome’s birthday is in two months, and he won’t let anybody forget. Rome’s always been obsessed with birthdays. When Gray turned sixteen, he threw a party for them, and it actually wasn’t a terrible time. 

        Graduation is in two weeks. Gray can’t believe they’ve come this far. They’ve thought about going to university, but don’t think this is something they’d enjoy. To be honest, Gray isn’t exactly sure what they want to do with their life after graduation, and it’s never been something they were really pressured to figure out. Maybe they’ll move out, but probably not.

. . . . . . . . . . .

 

        Snow is thirteen years old. This is something she hates, because she isn’t prepubescent anymore, and she can’t get away with looking like a girl. She had a recent growth spurt, and now has almost caught up to Lynx in height, a fact he has enough tact not to point out. She wants to take puberty blockers, but it’s too late now, and anyway everybody knows her parents would agree to that. Even if they accepted her, they’re strange about this – Snow’s willing to bet her parents would consider that child abuse, or something, even though it’s not. In Snow’s opinion, the abusive thing is to let your child feel depressed instead of helping them become who they really are. Snow is only just thirteen, but she’s smart. 

        It’s almost the end of the school year. Next year, Snow will start high school, and maybe things will be better. Maybe she won’t get teased as much.

        Snow’s mother is yelling at her. In the living room, her littlest siblings build a castle with blocks, while the oldest watch her interaction with her mother. Snow knew this would happen eventually, ever since she started socially transitioning without the knowledge of her parents. She was scared to do it, actually, but her older brothers said she should. It was easy for them to say. Snow is nothing like them. “What do you think you’re doing?” her mother is saying, waving her arms through the air to help get her point across. She always does this when she’s angry. “Skipping classes, telling people your name is Snow, dressing like …… that?” She has such a look of distaste, as if saying the words cause her physical pain. 

        Snow is scared of her mother. The woman always spanks her when she feels she’s in the wrong, and perhaps this has something to do with it. “I told you….” she mutters, and then wills herself to speak assertively. It’s challenging. “My name is Snow. That’s what people call me, because it’s my name-”

        Bryony lies on the floor on her stomach, looking back and forth between the woman and the girl, as if she can’t decide where to focus her attention. Snow’s father is almost home from work, and then he’ll side with her mother the way he always does. “It is not!” Her mom has a maniacal look in her eyes. Snow told herself she would stand up for herself, but it’s always so easy to think about doing something. Doing it in the moment is much harder. “That’s a ridiculous name, and it’s not the name I gave my son.” She says this word pointedly, but Snow doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Monty, but it isn’t appropriate at all. Have you been speaking to him?” Snow thinks her mother is being ridiculous. Some girls have penises. It’s just something that happens sometimes.

        “You mean Birch?” This makes her mother flinch, and it draws Lynx to the living room from the room she shares with him. “Yeah, I speak to him, because he’s my brother. And he’s been taking me shopping to get girl’s clothes and girl’s accessories!” She knows her mother won’t do anything about this. That would mean acknowledging Birch, and she hasn’t done this in years. In this way, Snow know she’s won the argument. But she knows she won’t win the war.

        “You need to stand up to her,” Lynx said once, a few days ago. “If you don’t, she’s just going to mistreat you for the rest of your life.”

        “I know,” Snow muttered, feeling ashamed and afraid. “It’s hard. I’m not outgoing like you…”

        She remembered what had happened when Birch was outed. She was ten, and was only just figuring out what it meant to be gay. Her mother had come home from the store one day, a look of fire in her eyes, like she’d just witnessed a crime of passion. “Birch,” she said, her arms across her heaving chest, zoomed in on the teenager like a hawk looking at their next meal. “Come here right now.”

        He was sixteen years old, a junior in high school; she’d interrupted him from his studying. Birch has always been particular about his studying. “Yeah, Mom?” She supposed, now, that looking at him it’s obvious he’s gay. Nobody picked up on that back then. Or maybe they did, and they just pretended not to.

        The woman frowned, ignoring Hyacinth at her feet, who was two years old at the time. “The neighbor just told me something interesting.” She looked at Birch, and then at Lynx, who was watching. “Any idea what it could have been?” 

        Her oldest brother frowned, looking confused. “No? Why would I know? I don’t even talk to the neighbor-”

        "You’re a sinner!” She hadn’t let him finish, but slammed down the Bible in her hands onto the kitchen counter. It was a very loud slam. Hyacinth had begun to cry, startled by the noise. Her mother had picked her up, cradled her on top of her pregnant stomach, and glared at Birch. “Aren’t you?”

         It was clear by the look on his face he had no idea what she was talking about. It was clear by the silence in the room that no one else did, either. “What?”

        Snow’s mother, at the time, was expecting her brother Aspen. Snow doesn’t remember how far along she was, but she remembers Birch meeting the baby before being kicked out. He hasn’t met Heron. Snow doesn’t know if he ever will. “Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” Their mother had rolled her eyes, struggling to place Hyacinth back on the floor. “You like boys. Don’t you?”        

        It was very quiet. Everyone had stared at Birch, and he had stared at his mother for a long time before saying anything. By then, she’d already known it was true, and he knew this. “Yes.” He stood tall, not even flinching under his mother’s icy gaze, which would have brought anybody else to near tears. “So?”

        She’d nearly fallen to the floor. Snow remembers the fear in her brother’s eyes: he wasn’t ready for this yet, but the choice had been taken away from him. She still wonders how the neighbor had figured this out at all, and why he believed it was any of his business in the first place. “Why would you do that?” her mother had said, clutching the edges of the counter like they were holding her steady. “Did you ever consider what people would think of your father and I if they knew we had a ….. a queer in the family?”

        Most people probably would have been upset by this. Birch had just shrugged and looked at the woman with a steady gaze. “Well, it’s not really any of your business, and I don’t really give a fuck what people think of you, so…” Snow knew he was scared. He’d never have shown it, but she could tell by the look in those sad eyes of his. He’d known all along what would happen after this came out. He knew all along he’d be kicked out. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t fought this: he had, many times. One day, he just came home from school, and all of things were outside, and all the locks on the home had been changed. Snow’s parents knew this was the only way they could keep him out.

           “Don’t get lippy with me!” Her mother had shouted, too worked up to even realize her husband was home from work. “You will change your ways, or you will not live under my roof; do you understand me? Your father and I will send you away if we have to.”

           Birch snorted. “Good luck with that. Can I get back to studying now? I have a big test coming up.”

           Snow always felt awe toward his absolute apathy. Maybe apathy isn’t the right word for it. He’s stubborn, assertive, and yeah, maybe a little apathetic. Snow has tried to learn from him, but she’s never had the skills. It’s crazy how people can be from the same family, raised in the same environment, and become so different.

           Their mother had stepped closer to him, a finger in his face, nearly tripping over Hyacinth. “Go to your room.” This was her go-to threat, as if most of her children didn’t actually enjoy this. “Wait until your father hears about this!” She was threatening, sure; Snow was always intimidated by the woman. She’s taller than her, now. Snow wishes she’d just stop growing.

           For a short moment, Birch had pretended to think. Then he’d scratched his chin, shrugged his shoulders, said “No, thanks,” and meandered back into the living room.

  . . . . . . . . . . .

          

          Gray is graduating. If they’re being honest, they didn’t really think they’d accomplish this. Everyone knew Rome would graduate, even though he’s a slacker; he has ambition. There are many people watching, including the family of Gray’s girlfriend, Jazmin. They still haven’t broken up with her, even though they know they’re running out of time to do it: Gray is a coward and can’t work up the nerve to tell the truth to even those they care about. As they wait in line, Jazmin several spaces ahead, Gray thinks about what they want to do after high school. It’s still a mystery, even though every of Gray’s teachers said they should have it figured out by now. Gray has never been a fan of dressing up. For this occasion, they wear dress pants, a button up tee-shirt, and green suspenders. At his graduation, Rome was out very late having fun with his graduating class. Gray hopes they don’t have to do the same.

         They wait a long while for their name to be called. This is because Gray’s surname starts with W, and everyone crosses the stage in order. They’re tired and cold, although it hasn’t been as bad these days as usual, and that’s probably because of recovery. Gray has to admit they assumed they’d be dead by then. Maybe they’re a little surprised they’re not.

          Tonight, Gray is meeting Jazmin’s parents. They feel conflicted about it: as her partner, they’re meant to feel excited, and a little nervous. Instead, all they feel is dread, and slight nausea. It isn’t like Gray hasn’t tried to like Jazmin; actually they can’t quite figure out why they don’t. For anyone else, she’d be the whole package: pretty, funny, compassionate. Gray doesn’t think they have a type or anything. They feel the same sort of boredom toward everyone.

   "I need advice,” Gray said to Rome, after meeting him at the beginning of the graduation ceremony. “It’s about my girlfriend, Jaz.”

        Rome, as always, had been busy making conversations with people. Most of these conversations occurred between him and some of his old high school teachers, who were always fond of him. Of course they were, he was sporty and popular. What’s not to like about that? At Gray’s request, he gave the teenager his full attention. “What’s up?”

        Gray tugged at their suspender strap, nervous and a little sweaty. It’s not a particularly hot venue, but Gray gets nervous easily. “We’ve been dating for a month and a half, and I still don’t even really like her….” They felt shamed to admit this, as if they knew they were being unfair to the girl. “I don’t know why. I try really hard to-”

        Most of the time, Rome hates when people speak without looking at him. He makes an exception for Gray, something his sibling is grateful for. The boy looked inquisitive, perhaps suspecting something he didn’t let on. “Hey, that’s okay. Not everyone will be your type, that’s normal. I’ve dated lots of people I wasn’t attracted to.” He’d obviously meant this to be helpful. It wasn’t, really.

        “Yeah.” Gray’d sighed, trying to delay the task they had at hand. “But I don’t think anyone is my type. I’ve never even had a crush and I’m seventeen. Is that normal?” They suspected it wasn’t. Everybody else Gray’s age had dated and even had sex with people, and Gray has no interest in that. 

        It’s busy here tonight. Gray’s at the same venue their brother was for graduation, and they’re familiar with it. Further into the building, Jazmin giggled with her parents and random classmates talked about their future plans. “I mean…” Rome shrugged. He has a large scar next to his lip, from the surgery he had as a young child. “Maybe you’re aro. Ever considered it?” Rome had had no trouble sorting out his sexuality, and Gray was jealous of this. It seemed he’d known since he was in junior school.

        “Aro?” Gray frowned. “What does that mean?” They’d figured out their gender identity on their own, but this was a bit more complicated. Gray knew they were asexual, and they’d come to terms with this. But couldn’t asexual people still have relationships and crushes?

        When it comes to the queer community, Rome is much smarter than Gray. There’s still a lot he doesn’t know, but he’s been around enough people to have learned more than the average teenager. “Aromantic,” he’d said, patient. It’s not his fault Gray doesn’t know much. “It means you don’t feel romantic attraction. Lots of people are aromantic.”

        “Really?” Gray’s never heard of this before. Knowing they weren’t a freak brought a small bit of comfort to them. “I’m not just a weirdo?"

        "No!” Rome looked around, taken by all the people walking by. “You’re totally normal!” It was strange for Gray to have a term that described them. All this time, they were convinced there wasn’t one. Aromantic, asexual, agender…. they’re basically a triple A battery. “Aro people are valid,” Rome had added, as though he were concerned Gray doubted this. “You don’t need romance to be happy, anyway.”

        “Yeah.” Gray felt immensely better. But there was still the task of breaking up with Jazmin, and this brought them a feeling of dread and guilt. “Can you help me break up with my girlfriend?” They knew this was a long shot, but couldn’t help asking anyway.

        Even though Gray had expected Rome to reject them, it still made their stomach drop when he shook his head. “She needs to hear it from you, dude. Just tell her the truth.” Rome has dumped a lot of people, but he knows it never gets any easier. When Gray grumbled, he offered a smile. “It’s not as bad as you think it’ll be.” He gave the teenager a pat on the shoulder, and quickly took off to chat up a slim redhead. Gray wonders what it’d be like to be charismatic. Probably, it’d make their life a lot easier.        

        Jazmin is approaching the stage. Gray has been here all day, and still waits for their turn. They see their family in the crowd, waiting patiently to congratulate them. When Jazmin’s name is called, she bounds eagerly onto stage to claim her diploma. Gray’s turn is nearing, and they don’t know whether to feel excited or horrified.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

        When Grace was a little girl, she used to pretend she was getting married. She’d dress up in one of her mother’s fancy dresses, which would always be far too big on her, and make Bronte act as the officiator in her pretend wedding. It’d always be to some celebrity she was currently crushing on, or a boy at school, but the whole thing seemed so silly. Grace was always a romantic like that, Bronte supposes. She’s always had a dream of falling in love and getting married. Bronte’s never shared this wish, but she always secretly hoped her sister accomplished everything she wanted.

        The night of the accident, Bronte knew she shouldn’t have been driving. Grace had taken her keys, and Bronte had lashed out and shoved her. This was her first regret. She wasn’t normally one to drink to excess, but she hasn’t had a drop since that night. When Grace was in the hospital, she’d said a secret prayer to whomever may be listening that she’d never drink again, so long as her sister was okay. Grace isn’t all that assertive, which Bronte had always given her hell about. She regrets that now. She regrets a lot of things. The worst part is you can’t change the past; you can only dwell on it for the rest of your life. Everybody makes mistakes. But Bronte’s almost cost a life.

        Yesterday, Grace was at home preparing for her brain surgery. This morning, she’s due to go in, and Bronte swears she’s more afraid than her sister. This is probably false, of course; she’s not the one getting her brain operated on. None of this would be happening at all if she had just been responsible: let her sister take her keys, and call a taxi or her parents like anyone else would have. Bronte always hated being told what to do. When she calls Grace, there’s no answer, and so she assumes the girl’s already in surgery. . It’s a dangerous procedure with little chance of change, but Grace swore she wanted it, and nobody can change Grace’s mind once she has it made up. She was always too good for Bronte. Never once blamed her for her brain injury, even though everyone knew it was her fault. It could have happened to anyone, she said, a little white lie she told Bronte to put her conscience at ease.

        The last time she spoke to her sister, she was baking muffins and talking cheerfully about her plans for after recovery.

        Her phone rings, a call from Grace. What a suiting name for her. She answers quickly, knowing it’s nearly time for Grace to go under. “Good morning! Are you at the hospital? You have no idea how worried I was all night last night." 

        She expects Grace to answer quickly, as she always does. But it isn’t Grace who answers at all. “Hi, Bronte.” It’s a man’s voice, though it isn’t particularly manly. “Sorry, this isn’t Gracie; it’s Birch.” Bronte hasn’t met him. Of course, Grace is very fond of him, from how she speaks of him, and that’s enough for Bronte. The call has her worried, though. Perhaps her sister is already in surgery, and Birch is calling to update her. She doesn’t think the guy’s very fond of her, and she can’t blame him – it is her fault, after all, that any of this has to happen at all.

        She can’t help herself. “Is Grace okay? Is she already in surgery? She said it was supposed to start early, but I didn’t know exactly what time.” It’s seven thirty. Bronte was up all night, unable to sleep. She’s not usually a worrier, but this is different.

        Grace misses Italy. She’s wanted to go back for a while now. Hopefully, someday she and Bronte can make that happen. Her friend speaks in a monotone, slow and slightly cold. “She never went in.” This is strange. This, also, gives Bronte no choice but to assume something else has happened. “I’m only calling you because I know Gracie was going to give you updates.” He sounds a bit unfriendly, but Grace says this is how he sounds all the time.

        “Oh.” Bronte hates uncertainty. She always has. “What’s the matter, then? She decided not to get it?” This would be unlike Grace, but there’s not another possibility Bronte can think of. 

        “No.” He doesn’t speak much. Bronte paces her apartment, the phone to her ear, completely drowning out the traffic driving by outside. “She drowned." 

        The line goes silent. For a moment, Bronte forgets where she is. She’s surprised, honestly, the phone is still in her hand. “Really?” She knows this is silly to ask. The guy may be a grouch, but he probably wouldn’t lie about something like this. “When?” She feels dizzy. If there wasn’t a doorknob in her line of vision to hold onto, she’d likely just collapse. “Birch?”

         “Last night.” They live together. Bronte wonders how this happened, and what’s going to happen now. “In the bath.” She knows there’s more to it, and wants to pry. Grace has a service dog. Bronte knew her bathroom door doesn’t have a lock, in case she ever needed help. So, how could this happen? She knows, accidents happen. But most are the result of negligence.

        She can’t find her words. The line is so quiet, she needs to check and see if the call is still connected. “How?” It was an accident. Grace is stubborn; she likes doing things herself. “What happened?” She isn’t sure she wants to know.

        If Birch were here, judging by the sound of his voice, he’d probably be rolling his eyes. “Seizure, obviously.” Bronte supposes maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he wasn’t there. Oh. There was always the possibility of this happening, but no one ever wanted to think about it. “Anyway,” he says, sounding emotionless, “thought you’d want to know.” And then he hangs up, abrupt and without saying goodbye, and Bronte is left with so many unanswered questions.