See Yourself Be Yourself

[50] Entanglement

"Would you like to rewatch the last scene?"

"No. I don't need to. I don't think so. I think I have it figured out before any big reveal. There is going to be a big reveal, right?"

"Maybe. But I would like to hear your thoughts. Your lovely thoughts."

“…Okay. Taking a stab in the dark, but I think we’re gonna find out that somehow the two of them are connected through some secret laboratory that managed to take his DNA and create a time-displaced copy of her. Because of the way they’re both referred to with the same analogies. Am I close?”

“…That’s what you’re going with?”

"Stab in the dark. Straining my thoughts as hard as I can."

"You're overthinking it when the answer is so much simpler: She's his daughter."

“But… wait… no. Earlier… that big sad scene. She’s, they’re both… right?”

Valerie smiled coyly and turned up her hands, like Justice tilting her scales. Misty practically strangled her pillow for support instead of potentially crushing Valerie on the couch.

“Well, let’s just continue and see how it goes.”

----

Past the evening’s cooldown, Misty settled into the familiar tension of a headache, pressing down on her skull like the fingers of some larger being testing the bars of a cage.

She didn't have much to offer the looming prospect of her freshly acquired uterus performing secret, painful duties.

The day the rain of another world washed Brent away, everything felt raw. The shattered space between her legs was just another wound in her heart. Just flesh, she told herself.

How she peed didn’t define her. Neither did what turned her on, nor how she expressed it. Whatever her body decided to do on its own schedule didn’t define her, either. Still, a degree of guilt felt natural.

She didn’t go through childhood as a girl. She never had to deal with the often-closed, battered restrooms on the far side of Brent’s elementary campus, shuttered without explanation. Girls got sent to the nurse’s office just to pee. That became the sharpest barb of teasing.

And then puberty. The source of so many scolding, scalding nightmare tales from Dina. Nothing in Brent’s puberty matched the horrors that invaded and pervaded the lives of every girl. He could never understand the degrading, the objectification, the suffering baked into and caked into every life until you just accepted it as normal.

Oh, boys have it bad too? As if. You will never understand what a false equivalency that is. Because the girls understand the boys better than the boys could ever understand one iota of the girls.

“Bullshit,” Valerie said under her breath, sharp as a pin, as Misty wandered down that doomed little hallway of thoughts.

“No one really understands anyone. The best we can do is listen and talk. Growing up sucked. I didn’t share the same experiences as a great many of the girls around me in school. And then there were some I felt on the exact same wavelength with, and they weren’t just girls.”

Misty squeezed herself close to Valerie, then folded into the tightest spot she could manage as she asked about the pain. The question came out small, a brave small.

Valerie stretched her legs. “Waves. Think of waves. Like a snug belt tightening inside. Usually it’s dull, but it can get sharper. I used to get stressed about eating, and my stomach would pretend it was a second uterus. Stomach discomfort is a decent touchstone. You can’t force it out the same way. Heat helps. And painting. Maybe that’s just me. But any helpful distractions. It’s your body getting rid of what it doesn’t need. So it’s like a lighter, cyclical stone in you… except your body put it there. I’ve heard having babies makes periods and endometriosis better, but that also sounds like bullshit. Contraceptives and hormones can moderate and suppress periods. You should see a doctor about that."

Misty felt a little echo of what Valerie described, even catching a touch of nausea. It didn’t seem like the doctor at the boutique wanted to put her on anything to lessen periods. Misty had only really been thinking about testosterone then, not estrogen-related options to manage this body on its terms. More stuff she couldn’t put off forever, like dealing with Mom.

Misty looked down past her chest and, a little breathless, tumbled through the question of how she should put her legs together. Valerie raised her eyebrows.

“Whatever feels comfortable,” Valerie said.

Misty rocked her head, not quite a shake. “I mean how girls are supposed to do it.”

Valerie grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “It’s really sweet, and sweetly hilarious, you think I’m some expert source on feminine things. Oh… aww…”

Her eyes widened and her expression softened. "You’re gonna wear the dress we found. And I'm guessing you want to do it right.”

Misty dipped her head with a shy smile. “You guess well. Or you have psychic powers. Or…”

“I know you. But it takes time for my brain to connect to what my heart feels. You don’t have to put on a feminine show for me.”

Releasing a breath, Misty nodded. “I know. But I have zero experience presenting as a girl. I did the deer-in-the-headlights thing for several days and no one called me on it. I have mentally role-played as Lillis. You and her have been my role models. Just watching and trying not to stand out. I can think back to Dina and Mom and how they presented themselves, but I’d rather not. I used to joke about a girl hive mind where everyone was trained in how to behave. Dina’s thing. But I just need some help.” Pushing all that out drew the tears to the surface too.

Valerie laid her hand on Misty’s back and rubbed gently before drawing her close. “I don’t have a sacred tome of absolute knowledge of how to woman. I can just offer what piddling, middling experience I’ve bothered to keep.”

She did her best to organize it. Getting body parts out of the way first. Discharge and smells. Where to wash and how to wipe. Care and comfort. What will hurt. How the flow will go. The color spectrum. Weapons and shields against the worst of it in glancing detail. What to watch out for as warning signs. But don’t worry too much. Bra care, for what it was worth with her smaller perspective. Why they both felt so friggin cold on weeks like this. Stuff she knew Dawn would bring up on the bra trip, but she mentioned it anyway.

Smiles and compliments, no matter how bullshit they seemed. Boundaries and bathrooms and where not to go. And probably the biggest and most important advice of all.

"Please also ask other ladies. Most will just volunteer stuff, especially when you're nowhere near ready for notes. And the company has five women from very different backgrounds. I mean, I can Google how to cross your legs in a dress and ask an AI to make reference pictures, but I avoided personal experience like the plague."

The phrase "other ladies" rang and lingered in Misty's head. Other ladies, other girls, other women. She needed something to drink and Valerie got it for her.

It was beyond obvious she was a girl. She had banged the hammer of acceptance. But saying it and feeling it were still vastly different things.

"I can't really think of anything else. As far as crossing your legs in a dress, you don't need to be proper. Just how you want to be. Okay?"

Misty nodded and kissed her. She returned the favor.

As the night dipped heavily over their eyelids, they traded sweet, embarrassing high school stories. Misty shared a friend’s home movie during lunch, with more cursing than Brent expected, and the time she tried to get an old game running on a laptop.

Valerie stargazed at the ceiling as she drifted back to her senior-year English teacher. He hunched like a crane, hooked nose, sharp school-headmaster severity. Aside from a stressful first day, he was actually the sweetest.

“I had a silent meltdown. I was worried I'd peed myself. I was sure my life was over. He went on about what was due in the first week. A minimum of ten hours of homework. Keep a journal. It’ll be checked constantly as part of your grade. A full essay at the end of the week. I was terrified. And then it happened. I only put it together later… I had a fear-induced orgasm. Fortunately, I had a change of clothes in my bag. Always pack spare underwear somewhere. I got chewed out in my next class for being late, but at least no one ever knew what happened."

Misty pulled Valerie as close as she could. A sympathetic ache settled in her, the aftershock of the fear and panic Valerie described. So many comforts swarmed through her thoughts. But Valerie didn’t need them. This was enough. Just being here.

Valerie wasn't alone. Nor was she. That felt like precious little against everything they still had to face, but it was enough. For now and for them.

The rest of the evening slipped by between mentions of favorite tracks Lillis always skipped. Misty was certain she knew precious few tunes, but each snippet Valerie resurrected tugged loose strands of memory, stitching her back to melodies she’d thought she’d lost to the mental ether.

“Why does she dislike music with words?” The question fell out of Misty’s mouth. It wasn’t quite rhetorical, not empty, and not a question she expected answered.

Valerie sat with it a moment. “Trauma. I feel. Lillis, sweet Lillis. She hurts. Obviously. And her coping method is to be sturdy and shuttered. She knows all. Confidently. Just do what needs to be done. It’s so easy. It’s so simple. Just do. And I get why she’s like that. It’s better than being frozen, fearful, and riddled with guilt.”

Misty let Valerie’s words linger, uncontested and unquestioned. After a few seconds, Valerie cleared her throat and added, “Or that could all be bullshit. I’m not her. But the sense I get fits. She needed to be a rock for Lucy when it came to their parents. But it’s hard to hug a rock, and it’s difficult for anything to reach beneath that hard surface. Again, I don’t know. But I feel.”

Listening, Misty marveled at how eloquent Valerie could be, how thoughtful. Then, in the next breath, she could go quiet, suddenly unsure of her own words. Misty felt the same way. She wasn’t uncertain right now, but she wanted to listen to the music in Valerie’s voice anyway.

They were both fading fast.

Misty lingered in a yawn and rubbed her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder, found the hallway, and traced it to Valerie’s bedroom, with the studio beyond.

“Can I—” was all she got out before Valerie sharpened to attention, covered a cough with her hand, and explained, too quickly, that she needed to tidy up her bedroom.

Misty blinked. “I don’t mind.”

“I do! It… I… shitshitshitshit… okay, but if my soul leaves my body, you know why.”

Misty leaned back with concern, but Valerie shook her head, waved her hands, and beckoned her toward the bedroom.

Valerie’s bedroom was as much of a mess as Misty expected.

More little cup bouquets overflowed with pencils, pens, paintbrushes, and other assorted artistic tools. Beneath a small end table sat a very dusty boombox that still played cassettes and CDs, with a lamp above it doing its best to light the room.

Half-finished plushies, mouths dangling open, flanked a cozy corner, most of them bundled together in an awkward pile. Bottles of air freshener and sterilizing wipes clustered nearby like a ragtag army against a relentless enemy.

A small mountain of board games rose like a colorful step field to one side. Film posters covered one wall, while another was devoted to animation, both foreign and classic. Then there was the space wall, crowded with planets and galaxies, a faint echo of what Lillis curated back home in the upstairs spare room.

Bookshelves were a given, overflowing with plastic-sheathed folders and yellowed, lightly feathered old, trashy mass-market paperback romance books. Photos and folios packed in beside them, along with permanent and disposable cameras. The mysteries section, punctuated by deerstalker caps, bled into the paranormal and unexplained. Nearby sat a few books on building sandcastles beside cookbooks, with old, colorful video game controllers perched on top.

It was impossible to miss the guitar tucked into the almost-sealed closet. Misty wasn’t an expert, but she recognized it: a soft-white acoustic with small black accents, resting on a cradle stand. It peeked out between hoodies in colors Valerie didn’t usually wear, even a bold green one, half-hidden behind patchwork presentation curtains draped around it.

Misty could also guess the thing that would mortify Valerie most if it were seen. A drawing table occupied one corner, smaller than the one in the art room, but covered with sketches. Under golden light sat one unfinished piece in particular, prominent enough to make Misty smile and fight down a blush.

Valerie drew in a deep breath and squeaked, “Uhhh… ahhh…”

Misty commented calmly, “You know now, but I don’t have… parts down there quite that prominent. The nipples, though… I should be flattered.”

Not that she treasured either aspect quite as much as Valerie seemed to, with the classical, tender presentation. And those were just the practice sketches on the edges. Front and center was a hesitant work in progress: secret Princess Misty, practically ascending to queendom.

Beside her, Valerie withered worse than her poor little houseplants, stretching with all their might toward the relief of the drawing table’s golden light. Misty was there to lift her up, anoint her cheek with kisses, and reassure her it was fine. Valerie didn’t fully believe her, but at least she didn’t sprint for the table and hide everything.

“I… God. I just, since last night, I’ve been maybe a little bit horny. I sent you a few and that’s… When we were cleaning, I had… I had, oh wow, I had even worse. Don’t go looking for it, please, God. I swear I thought maybe I was asexual, or even aromantic, and I don’t fucking know. Still learning new stuff about myself.”

With her arms wrapped around Valerie, Misty guided her to the bed and eased her down. The blankets lay in lumps, rumpled like wind-tossed storm waves in miniature.

"You play the guitar?” Misty asked after giving her a moment to force a few breaths through her nose, flop down for less than a micronap, and pop back up to hug her again.

“Not nearly enough to get good at it. But I know a few songs. Let’s see…”

Valerie pulled the guitar close, and the last of the tension slipped away as her fingers found the right places. She let out a long breath and started to play. Misty recognized it within a few measures: “Landslide,” by Fleetwood Mac. It was slow, but rich with emotion. Valerie didn’t nail every note, and Misty didn’t notice.

Misty remembered a performance by Stevie Nicks, and in her entirely subjective opinion, Valerie did it even better. Valerie rocked her head, looking like she was singing for a grand audience, yet still focused on singing for Misty alone. When it was over, Misty clapped eagerly and hugged her tight.

“I guess I’m alright,” Valerie admitted, cautious behind a reserved smile. She hinted at other songs she was working on, but held back on the details. She strummed an aimless, nameless melody while they took turns tidying around the bed.

On the other end of the bed, against the wall, Valerie had junk piled in the vague shape of a person, a shadow spoon. They cleared it away well enough that Misty could get comfortable, and they settled in together, around and eventually beneath the covers.

Their eyes lingered open, grand plans stacked high, so many things to talk about and share like special secrets. Before long, though, they were both asleep.

Misty at least remembered to set an alarm on her phone on the nightstand beside her. Reaching far enough to shut it off was the problem. She managed it anyway, then realized why it had felt like such a stretch: Valerie’s hands were clinging tight around her midsection. When Misty looked down and over, she found Valerie staring, tears still fresh at the corners of her eyes.

“Nightmare?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, please. I’d rather focus on this truth right now.”

“Okay…” Misty kissed her for comfort, settled back into the bed, and let Valerie hold her as close and tight as she needed, for as long as it took for the trembling to stop.

After, Misty got ready for work, mind already tugging toward what they might do tonight for their at-home date. Valerie contributed with gleeful notes about making pizza the way she liked it, splitting it over a movie of Misty’s choosing from her media shelf or streaming options, some of them more legal than others.

No final decisions got made that morning, not after showers, not as Lillis picked her up for work. They kept texting ideas anyway, trading private smiles. At the boutique, Valerie didn’t bother with any new feminine poses for customers or coworkers, but she did settle into a few cross-legs that felt especially comforting.

Most of her time was spent in the promenade, a pleasant advertisement for the boutique and, unofficially, a warning for all children. Explicitly warning children to stay away would’ve been the fastest way to lure their imaginations in, though. So whenever one wandered close, she put on the demeanor of a boring survey taker, full of paperwork, taxes, and zero silliness. It worked well enough that no one vanished in front of her eyes, at least not anyone she could remember.

She was just good enough at her job that her numbers neither rose nor fell, sufficiently boring to avoid suspicion. It left her time, tucked behind the show floor and in the doorway hall, to search, unsuccessfully, for where the Aperture might be hiding.

Around lunchtime, between salad talk with Lillis, Valerie pitched a few more movie possibilities. One rose to the surface.

"Logan? Is that an X-Men movie?"

Lillis wobbled her head. "Yeah. I found it more depressing than anything else. You seen any of the other films in the series?"

Misty had seen a few, a long time ago. Lillis warned her it played more like a dour Western than a date-friendly romp. With that in mind, they settled on the first animated Spider-Man flick for the follow-up.

Once it was settled, Misty couldn’t think of much else the rest of the day. She could barely focus on finishing her salad. Protecting the kids still came first, but none even approached the boutique with the promenade laid out the way it was. She kept attracting older men while her mind stayed far away, ignoring where their eyes landed.

By the end of the day, a few of the data-auditing requests Lillis put in came back as a massive file flush: scrambled, barely searchable, and largely redacted. Still, it was enough to send Prentiss’s way for deeper investigation.

Back home, Misty felt the day’s energized tingles run through her, like her body was trying to wake into an even clearer state of being. She looked down at the bargain dress laid on the bed and nearly forgot how to breathe. On Lillis’s advice, she pulled on a comfortable pair of bicycle shorts underneath.

The dress had felt abstract while buying it. Standing in front of it, about to wear it, changed everything. Navy blue, covered in golden flowers, it had a plunging V-shaped sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps. A lot of shoulder shown, and a lot of other things.

She loosened the sash at the waist, giving herself as much breathing room as possible, even though breathing was far from her thoughts. Then she stepped into it from the bottom up. Guiding the material over her wide hips was a whole journey. The straps were no big deal. But the bodice…

There it was, and there they were. Whatever mental male parts remained took several long seconds to inspect the view before getting to the practical work of adjusting and zipping. Careful adjustment came later. It didn’t need to be perfect, but she wanted it comfortable. As comfortable as this crazy new frontier could be.

Once the sash was retied and she was ready to go, her body lodged every protest at once: needing to poop, pee, and scream, all from how different this was from her acceptable new normal.

After placating the gurgles and rumbles, she checked herself in the fullest mirror available.

That bust just kept going. With a few more touches, she could be ready for any fancy dinner or night on the town. Paranoia slipped in anyway. The frail, faintly used spaghetti straps didn’t feel like nearly enough to restrain how much boob they had to deal with. She knew, rationally, that wasn’t how they worked, but she kept checking until her fingers stopped quivering and her breathing came back. The lightheadedness passed soon after.

Last came a simple brass necklace borrowed from Lillis. It took Misty a few moments to examine it properly and Google the lobster-claw enclosure. Just pull it open.

Her nails still wore a rough but full coverage of polish as she dug at the tiny tab. The necklace twisted and turned, and at one point she was sure she’d broken it. Eventually it popped open. Holding it in place around her neck, she tried to line it up. Then the cursing began.

Working the enclosure blind was an absolute nightmare. Her finger refused to find the right spot, and she didn’t have the presence of mind to line it up even when she got the damn thing open. The simple thing turned into an ordeal of several minutes, but she refused to give up and call for help. Another fragment of Brent that wouldn’t go away quietly.

Only once everything was together, the necklace in its proper place, her fingers twisted into trembling claws like the lobster clasp behind her neck, did she realize at least half a dozen ways it all could’ve been easier if she’d applied a few brain cells. Cracking her wrists and running cold water in the sink helped bring her mind back into focus.

Her body still tried to distract her with the most subliminal shifts and jiggles, her full form on display. The mental metronome swayed between insisting this was normal and freaking out at her loud cleavage. Just a normal body. Of a freaking hooker. Normal flesh. About to flash someone.

“You look so cute. Shame you aren’t going anywhere fun, like a dance.”

Misty died several imagined deaths at the mere idea of being out and trying to dance like this. Shivering relief followed when she remembered they were just watching a movie. Words were hard, but she managed to thank Lillis for the compliment, feeling like she was drowning in the North Sea. Tara glowered, no more than usual, curled around Lillis’s legs.

Moments later, a cautious trio of knocks echoed at the front door.

Valerie stood there with a little bag weighing on her right shoulder, wearing something different from her usual, but not drastically so.

Instead of her typical jeans, she wore soft black cotton pants, high-waisted with a wide leg. In place of her hoodie was a soft cardigan with barely a hood, the same familiar color. Underneath sat a fitted top, a kaleidoscope of soft colors splattered across her front like dreamy, out-of-focus tie-dye. The tones were lightly chaotic, yet perfectly placed. Soft white sneakers poked out beneath the sweeping hems, and her casual hair looked ever so lightly tamed. She smiled and waved as Lillis greeted her, but her eyes widened and her face brightened when she spotted Misty approaching.

“Oh my gosh! You look amazing! You’re so pretty! You look so cool! You look too cool for words! I’m sorry we’re just going to my place. Maybe we can grab a treat somewhere later, for fun?”

Misty’s stomach gurgled out a tiny scream as she offered a noncommittal, “Maybe…”

Crossing the cramped courtyard was as much adventure as she was prepared for. Even then, her eyes darted around as if she expected to be discovered for some strange truth she didn’t realize she was exposing.

Valerie’s apartment hadn’t transformed into a perfectly composed space, but the path from the door to the couch felt like a comfortable runway. The cleared, cushioned stretch let Misty sprawl without thinking too hard about where to put her limbs.

On the table, Valerie had chips and dip, deviled eggs, veggies, and fruit for early snacking. Nearby, she set out the ingredients for pizza dough. They took turns checking the recipe on YouTube, and they both second-guessed the warmth of the water for the instant yeast.

Rolling out the dough was the fun part for Misty, even though she scattered the flour a little too far. Of course, Valerie had a dedicated pizza maker for the occasion.

While they waited for the dough to rise for two medium pizzas, they watched funny short videos together and found other ways to occupy themselves. Misty noticed, and did her best to ignore, a few paranoid clips the algorithm suggested about the world ending because of the holes the boutique was punching in reality.

Once the dough was ready, Valerie slipped into her zone, shaping Misty’s pizza first and decorating it to her taste. Pepperoni was a must. She experimented with provolone to augment the mozzarella. Red peppers, artichoke hearts, and mushrooms were as far as Misty wanted to go. Valerie’s pie went with a white sauce, ricotta, chicken, and bell peppers, then a little arugula, parmesan, and mushrooms. Hers was crispier than Misty’s, and they split the results.

Misty relaxed easily despite feeling overdressed, with all the grease and flour dustings. Still, her mind seized on the uncertain connections in the film and took its fretful hints to heart. After Valerie dumped cold water on her awkward theories, Misty could see Lillis’s point. It was deeply depressing, but she also found it heartfelt.

She tried not to worry, not to read too much into Valerie’s fondness for it. The lighter flick made a good follow-up, even with a few grim moments. Misty didn’t crush the poor pillow too badly, at least.

“It definitely does multiverse shenanigans better than all these movies out there inspired by boutique stuff. But I think the sequel goes a little too far, saying in a meta way that one specific event, or one person, anchors all reality or it all collapses. I’ll never turn down more Spider-Gwen though. Always a blonde, heh…” Valerie said, her voice tangled in a yawn as she rubbed her eyes.

That led to an obvious question…

"How many versions of us do you think are out there?"

They rested their heads against one another.

“Well, there’s at least one of you. Two, since you got… sorry.” Valerie scrunched her face up, but Misty squeezed her hands.

“No sorries. I got rained on. I got washed away by another me. A frozen, broken copy in a storm.” Misty picked up the words without fear.

“If there’s another me, I hope she doesn’t feel… or he, or they don’t feel, the kind of crap that I do. Although this right here is so very nice. Worth it to be in my own shoes.” She gave a playful glance from Misty’s perspective, looking down, and repeated, “So very nice…”

That brought back the laughs.

Misty’s thoughts drifted, uninvited, to rest on cleavage. Valerie met them with playful energy.

“I need to find my college scrapbook. I got roped into a dance and I’d recently discovered the power of three bras and socks. It was like three weeks of fashion experimentation, and I was so weirdly popular after things with Nick ended. But that wasn’t me. Honestly, being with Nick wasn’t me either. I’m right here, sitting next to you, and it feels like the most beautiful harmony.”

The night felt perfect even though plenty of things weren’t. The dress pointed out delicate little hairs on Misty’s legs she’d never really noticed before, and now they bugged her. Valerie felt the slightest tummy rumbles from her experimental pizza combinations, though she refused to blame the pizza.

For a few minutes, thoughts of an excursion outside flared up, Valerie’s noisy, contemptible car as their steed. Nearby snacks and ice cream won instead, and the day slipped away.

They made it to bed again. Valerie tried another melody, lightly played on her guitar. It didn’t have a name, and no lyrics were ready yet. Misty still loved it with all her heart for where it came from. Fresh blankets came warm from the dryer to wrap them up and push away what cold still dwelled in the early spring evening.

When morning returned, Misty felt relief that no tears blurred Valerie’s eyes, only warm, cheerful smiles shaping her gaze.

Another day of careful creeping investigation, one paperwork scratch at a time. They didn’t add much to their knowledge, aside from finding several unknown shell companies for the boutique. Misty had a sneaking suspicion the Ashford Institute didn’t actually exist, except on paper and a few mysterious Delaware fields. Still, she noted the name, based on Prentiss’s newest discoveries.

"Ready?"

In the break room, Misty adjusted her bag as her phone broke out in a screaming alarm. She’d set it so she wouldn’t forget it was Methodist volunteer dinner night. With how spacey she’d felt all afternoon, it was probably a good idea.

"Yeah."

They picked up Valerie at one of the shops in the promenade. She’d taken the bus, and she relayed a simmering story, teeth clenched, about how tense she’d felt on the way.

“I know it’s profiling, but I saw someone at the bus stop who reminded me of the back of the head of the thief who took Vivi’s phone. I wanted to…”

She rhythmically hit her right leg several times with a fist.

“I don’t know if it was him, but I’m still so upset it happened and there was nothing I could do about it.”

After covering a sneezing fit, Lillis said, “My sweet little vigilante. You gotta let it go. Check the chat. Vivi already has a better, nicer, free replacement phone through her insurance, and now she’s looking for new cases and accessories. It’s fine. She’s fine. No reason to dwell and get upset about it.”

Valerie stared out the window as Misty leaned toward her. “That thief is still out there.”

“You’re not responsible for that, just like you’re not responsible for a whole heck of a lot of other things you seem to feel responsible for. Except making sure a whole bunch of people get fed tonight.”

Misty did what she could to ease Valerie’s tension, squeezing her hand and resting her head against her. The tightness in Valerie’s neck loosened, but she still seemed withdrawn.

The church sat off a broad avenue lined with so many trees that Misty didn’t realize they were beside it until Lillis was already easing into a nearby spot. The campus wasn’t ostentatious, just a single-floor sprawl with a round main worship space that looked repurposed from a classic record store or the common room of a 1950s high school. A long, patient line had already snaked along the back of the complex, with fewer disheveled men than Misty expected for a charitable dinner.

Children bounced on their heels and piped up eagerly to one another. Women of all ages pressed their heads against the pale brown bricks, and a few rhythmically rocked in place on imaginary seats.

Tabby, a hurried Black woman with her right shoulder wrapped for support, ran point. To Misty’s surprise, she greeted Lillis specifically and tenderly as “godless heathen,” then followed it with quick hugs and brisk gestures about what needed doing. Ruth and Barbara were younger, though not by much, with tight curls of black and brass and big pots poised to be set out.

Misty and Valerie barely had time to blink before their places were set, duties assigned, and work underway. They didn’t need to say much. Lillis cheerfully set the tone.

“Good evening. Welcome. Head down there for your bowl. Cake’s to your right. Utensils and napkins are at the end. No, you don’t have to pay anything. Donations are in the little room next door if you’d like. Take as much as you need. Careful, it’s hot. Would you like a topping for your cake? Here you go. My pleasure. Thank you for coming. If the front is full, there’s seating all along the left. Please keep moving up so everyone can eat…”

Misty eventually fell into a supplementary rhythm of her own. Valerie looked lost, but she could handle keeping trays heated, supplies stocked, and everything organized. She was more diligent with this space than any of her personal ones.

“Would you like some cake? And, um, topping too? I think there’s cherry. You’re welcome. The cake’s right here. Do you want something on it? I can add it. You need a little more? Here you go. Careful, it’s hot. Napkins are over there. Rolls too, I think. I don’t think it’s spicy, but it is warm, so just… careful holding it. My… my pleasure. Make sure you get some cake too.”

Several little kids beamed wide just to be here, marveling at the setup. Some wore mischief like a second shirt, trouble itching to breach the surface. Others were quiet, waiting to be told what to do. One in particular stood out, hair crimped as neatly as could be, brilliant brown eyes watchful in an unexpected way. A little boy, shorter than most, polite as anything, his voice stronger than Misty expected. She made his plate border on too much to carry even while he talked about coming back for more.

“They’ve got it over there. I’m sorry it’s a little messed up. I have napkins. If you need more, there’s also a roll. I’m sure you can come back. Just a second, let me put it down. You’re welcome. Take some cake. You can sit wherever there’s space, or… let me get that. Okay. My apologies. I appreciate it. Sorry, sorry, I need to stretch my hand. All right. Better. Here’s some cake. You’re… you’re welcome. Toppings are right there if you want. Those are the choices. Okay. I got it. Thank you…”

Each of them settled into their spots. Valerie stayed uncomfortable the longest, but she built a routine out of pivoting and talking. She made extra time for the kids too, meeting the energy of several boys.

Lillis had said it would only be two hours, just hard work. Misty felt it. Her feet throbbed, her hips ached, and her neck flared like it didn’t care about the clock. Water and cooldown breaks helped.

No one really gawked at her the way they did at work. A few little girls stared and traded open-mouthed glances, but that wasn't a problem.

The pastor was an older woman with a rugged grin and close-cropped, nearly white hair swept into a bright, powdery swoop. She handled the heaviest items like they were nothing, refilled pots, hauled boxes, and kept the whole room moving. Between runs, she popped over to welcome people, trade quick questions, and send them forward with cheer.

Camo pants, a white shirt, an unbuttoned Levi’s jacket. A simple name tag read Pastor Beth, and a plain gold cross rested at her throat. Misty remembered what Lillis had said about the pastor having a theory about the Emmett particle. Curiosity tugged at her, but she had no idea how to bring it up naturally, so she kept serving and smiling.

The dinner lasted forever and also vanished in a rush, like a kind storm that left only mild chaos behind. Pastor Beth found Misty in the first real pocket of quiet.

“Misty Amanda Hollins, or Brent Lewis Hollins? What do you prefer?” Pastor Beth asked. “And thank you for volunteering. We’re blessed you made it.”

Misty cleared her throat, covered a cough, and glanced around for Lillis. She was nowhere nearby.

Pastor Beth tightened her grin. “Names are my thing. Even if I only hear them once.”

“Misty,” she said. “Just Misty is fine.”

“We’re really glad you’re here tonight, Misty,” Pastor Beth said. “Are you local? Do you have a church?”

The drive hadn’t been too bad, but this place was still at least half an hour out of the way. Misty took a long sip of water while she searched for the safest answer.

“I’ve only been to church a handful of times,” Misty said. “Christmas programs. Food drives. My family’s complicated with all that. I pray, sometimes. I just never really got involved.”

Pastor Beth nodded, patient as a metronome. “Sounds familiar. I was the same way after I left the army. I feel that. And no matter how old you get, that wisdom you expect to kick in never shows up on schedule.” She paused. “But praying is good, prayer is a place to start. Would you like me to pray with you, just for a minute? Only if you’re comfortable.”

Heat rushed up Misty’s neck, her heart suddenly sprinting, like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “I don’t know,” she said. “Lillis mentioned you had a theory about the Emmett particle.” The words came out faster than she meant them to.

“Not knowing is a perfectly normal place. I do. I sure do mention it a lot.” Pastor Beth’s grin tugged sideways. “But that’s my thing. I’d like to sit with you for a minute and see what we can do for you. No pressure.”

Cautiously, Misty held her hands out, and the pastor took them. She asked a few questions about Misty’s situation. Misty answered, careful and brief. It didn’t take long before Pastor Beth seemed ready.

She framed it with the formal language Misty recognized, Lord God above, Jesus Christ, all of it.

“We call upon You to embrace Misty and stand with her. Quiet her fears. Protect her. When she feels lost, be her compass. When she feels trapped, make a door where there was only a wall. Root her in love. Let her know she is precious, and she is not alone. Bless the love she has for Valerie. Give them tenderness that does not demand perfection, and courage that does not harden into fear. Teach Misty how to be strong in ways she can’t imagine yet. Guard her soul. Give her breath when panic rises. Give her fierce, quiet hope. Hold Misty in Your hands tonight. Hold Valerie too. In Your mercy and strength, amen.”

Misty closed her eyes and listened. Part of her hoped everything would click, that these words would unlock something new. Instead, the moment passed as quietly as the distant sounds of cleanup would allow.

“A place to start,” Pastor Beth reminded her, as if she could hear the shape of Misty’s disappointment.

“Yeah,” Misty said. “Right. So… your thing?”

“Pretty simple. And a little silly.” Pastor Beth’s grin returned. “I think it’s a sign of God. I’ve heard people claim it’s literally God, the particle itself, and then they start talking like the detector nanoparticles are the same thing, like they’ve bottled God and aimed Him at other worlds. That’s where they lose me.”

Misty scrunched her brow.

“The smallest, least-assuming thing we’ve ever found, but present at all points, all times, in harmony with itself.” Pastor Beth looked past Misty for a moment, like she could see the thought hanging in the air. “I like to think it’s a sign, a whisper from creation, reminding us what matters. ‘Before Abraham was, I am.’ ‘Where can I go from your Spirit?’ He declares the end from the beginning. And in Him all things hold together.” She huffed a soft laugh. “Again, just a theory. Reason and reflection aren’t the enemy of faith. They’re a muscle you exercise so faith doesn’t turn brittle.”

It was a lot for Misty to absorb. She couldn’t quite stomach the idea of the boutique handling God particles, pieces of God, anything divine. Pastor Beth noticed and steadied her again.

“The important thing to remember,” Pastor Beth said, “is that you are never alone. We get reminders of that in a hundred ways. Even when we think we’re lost, even when we feel distant from anyone who cares, even in our darkest moments, we still have a companion. Patient. Loving.”

Misty sat with that, nodding once to herself even as uncertainty kept seeping back in.

“Thank you,” Misty said, then stumbled. “I just don’t know. It feels like I can’t… I don’t even know how to handle the challenges I have, that so many of us have. It feels like no matter what we do, there’s no way to overcome them. Bad things. Bad people.”

“Bad things and bad people come and go,” Pastor Beth said. “But some things, the most important things, endure.” She squeezed Misty’s hands once, gently. “There’s always hope. Sometimes your worst enemy is you, holding yourself back with doubt and fear, shutting yourself off from truth and light. You don’t have to do this alone. Let go a little. Trust there’s something greater than you that can look out for you, guide you, stay with you, and help you see what’s real.”

Misty smiled and gently withdrew her hands. She appreciated it, all of it, the time, the care, the insistence on beginnings. Lillis had said the same thing in her own way. A place to start. Yeah. A start.

Part of Misty kept hoping the truth would arrive like a clean click, like the missing puzzle piece that made everything else obvious. Getting over the boutique. Getting over herself.

But there were no magic words that instantly untangled the mess. No great revelation. Maybe she was just missing it. Maybe she needed to sit with what was said. Maybe some combination of those phrases would snap into place if she kept turning them over. If only she’d recorded it. Instead, the best she had were the pieces still stuck in her head.

Pastor Beth bid her good night, went to help with paperwork, and left Misty alone with her thoughts.

“You ready? Lillis said she’s gonna pull the truck around. You alright?”

Valerie was dappled with a few spots of sweat and smelled a little more pungent than she probably wanted, standing that close to Misty. Her hair was even more mussed than usual, extra floppy.

With a breath, Misty nodded, got to her feet, and gently took Valerie’s hand.