Grace Under Pressure

My best friend Bonnie just looked at me. “You're kidding.”

She'd kept her voice down even though we were in the high school cafeteria and there were many conversations going on. Most were louder than ours. The monitors were too busy talking with each other to fuss about the volume of the buzz in the cafeteria.

For the umpteenth time, I wished that I had brown skin, dark eyes, and short dark curly hair like she had. I wished that I was as slender and tall as she was. She would've made a beautiful model. Instead, I was just me: pale skin, pale blue eyes, long pale blond hair, plump, and a foot shorter than her.

I shook my head. “I wish.” I fiddled with the pens that lay on top of my laptop computer. “Think of it like a dormant volcano. The pressure just builds and builds, and then one day it blows. That was me and my stepmother.”

“Do you remember what it was about?” she asked.

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

“Can you tell me?” she asked.

I didn't want to. I really didn't. Then I sighed. “Remember the day when I didn't want to be a boy anymore? When I wanted to stop being Sean and wanted to be Grace instead?”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Boy, do I ever. You were like a powder keg ready to blow at any moment. No matter what I said or did, you would just give me angry looks. A hidden minefield would've been easier to deal with.”

“That was the last argument I had with my stepmother,” I said. “She said that I was being a fool. That I didn't know myself well enough yet to decide which gender I wanted to be. Wait until I was a few years older. There would be time for it then. I disagreed. So did Dad. He told her that either the subject was no longer permitted at home or she could move out and take her things with her. The choice was hers.”

“So she left,” she said.

I nodded.

“And now she wants to meet with you,” Bonnie said.

I nodded again. “She emailed the school office today while I was in French class. At least I didn't have to talk with her in-person or via Skype or Zoom. The school office printed out the message and one of the administrative assistants delivered it to my teacher.”

“And Madame Courbet really doesn't like to be interrupted,” Bonnie said.

“She walked over to my desk and handed me the message,” I said. “She told me, 'I hope this doesn't become a habit with you, Monsieur –.' Someone snickered. She frowned, cleared her throat, and then continued. 'Excusez-moi. Mademoiselle Nichols.' I shook my head. 'Bon,' she said, went back to the front of the class, and continued where she'd left off.”

“What did your stepmother say?” she asked.

“She wants to meet me,” I said.

“After five years of almost no contact,” she said.

“Homemade birthday cards mainly, and sometimes homemade Christmas cards,” I said.

“At least they weren't store-bought,” Bonnie said. “That's usually a good sign.”

“What do you think I ought to do?” I asked.

“Before I answer that, could I see her message first?” she asked. “You don't have to let me.”

I took it out of my purse and handed it to her. She said nothing as she read it.

Hi, Grace. I was wondering if we might meet after school tomorrow. I've already asked your father and he said the decision should really be yours. After all, you're old enough now. It's been a long time, I know. I still have photos of you when you weren't a teenager yet. I can only imagine what you look like now. If it's not okay with you, just let the school office know and they'll let me know. Hugs, Mom.

Bonnie handed the message back to me and I put it back in my purse.

She looked thoughtful for a few moments. “Would it be all right if I was there with you? Just in case?”

“I don't think she's planning to take me away from Dad,” I said.

“Just in case,” she repeated. “You never know. Sometimes it's fairly harmless. Sometimes it isn't. Remember last year, when we were freshmen, and there was that nasty divorce between Naomi Taylor's parents?”

I nodded. “They seemed to care more about who had custody than anything else. She would come to school some days in tears. I would hug her as much as I could.”

“Same here,” Bonnie said. “But next thing you know, she was gone. It turned out that her father had asked for visitation rights and picked her up after school one day.”

“She was gone for a while,” I said. “At least a few months. They were picked up by the state troopers at a rest stop halfway across the country after someone reported seeing them.”

“I don't want that to happen to you, Grace,” she said.

“To be honest, I don't either,” I said and sighed. “I really don't want to do it like they do at prisons when visitors come.”

“It might be the safest thing to do,” she said. “Meet on neutral ground. That way it's less likely that anything will go wrong.”

“You still want to be there with me?” I asked.

Bonnie nodded. “If you'll let me.”

----------

The next afternoon, neutral ground was chosen by my guidance counselor: her room at the school office.

I sat on the opposite side of her desk, Bonnie on a chair next to me. My guidance counselor sat on our right, perpendicular to her desk. One of the high school's security guards escorted my mother to the room, then backed off and stood in the doorway. My stepmother looked at everyone, then gave me a slight smile before sitting down.

“Is this really necessary?” Mom asked me. “I just wanted to talk with you.”

“Didn't you used to tell me 'better safe than sorry'?” I replied.

Mom nodded. “I said that to a little boy who sometimes hurt himself when he played with his friends. You wouldn't believe how many bruises and sprains he had.”

“I remember,” I said. “I wanted to fit in and did whatever it took to make it happen.”

“But a semblance isn't the same as the real thing,” Mom pointed out. “Like a building with a façade.”

“I know,” I said. “That's why I made this change. I wanted the outside to match the inside. Otherwise, I would just have to keep pretending to be who I really wasn't. Living a lie.”

“What did your father do when he saw the real you?” Mom asked.

“He was surprised,” I said.

“I bet,” Mom said. “One day you look, talk, and act like a boy. The next day, you look, talk, and act like a girl.”

“It was more than just that,” I said. “I wanted a complete change. Not just my physical appearance.”

“You should see her bedroom now, Ms. Nichols,” Bonnie put in. “Pink walls. Stuffed animals and a pillow with the initial G on it. Girls' clothes.”

“What happened to your old clothes?” Mom asked me.

“Gone,” I said. “Along with my baseball, mitt, football, basketball, and gym clothes. I donated them all to Goodwill. I didn't want any reminders of my male past.”

“Any regrets?” Mom asked.

I shook my head, then paused and lifted a forefinger. “That I didn't do it sooner. I wish I hadn't waited so long. But I wanted to be absolutely certain.”

“And you are?” Mom asked.

I nodded. “How did you know what my new first name was? Your email didn't say 'Sean'. It said 'Grace'.”

“Your father told me,” Mom said. “I asked about Sean. He said that Sean was gone. I asked where our son went. Did he run away? He said that we didn't have a son anymore. We had a smart and beautiful daughter and her name was Grace. If I had a problem with that, then I shouldn't bother trying to make contact with her at all.” She looked at my guidance counselor. “It's official? The name change, I mean.”

My guidance counselor nodded. “Everything says 'Grace Nichols' now. She's even allowed into the girls' bathroom.”

“Then the change is complete,” Mom said.

I nodded. “Dad paid for the reassignment surgery. It was his Christmas gift to me last year. He was hesitant until he could tell that this wasn't just a temporary thing. He wanted to know that I was absolutely serious about it. I was. In fact, I still am.”

“She's much happier now than she ever was before, Ms. Nichols,” Bonnie put in. “She smiles more, she laughs more, she enjoys life more. Why would anyone want her to go back to being a boy?”

Mom made a face. “I didn't say I wanted her to do that,” she told Bonnie. “I don't care which gender she prefers to be. If she wants to be with her father, that's fine with me. I just want her to be happy. Okay?”

“Why did you wait, then?” I asked, trying to keep my cool. “Five years of cards. No phone calls. No meetings, online or offline. If you really cared about me, I think you would've made more of an effort.”

Mom looked down at her lap. “You're not making this easy for me.”

“The feeling's mutual,” I said.

“When she was dying, your birth mother asked me for a favor,” Mom said.

This was news to me. I barely remembered my birth mother. She died when I was two years old.

“What sort of favor?” I asked.

“That I would take care of you as best I could,” Mom said.

“And that included marrying Dad?” I asked.

“Not initially,” Mom said. “That came later.”

“Please tell me what she told you,” I said.

“I'll have to tell you everything, then,” Mom said.

I nodded.

----------

We were in your parents' bedroom. It was either here or the hospice. Your birth mother preferred being here. You wanted to stay with her, but we both agreed it was best if you slept in your own bed. I sat on a chair nearby. Your birth mother looked older than she really was.

When your birth father wasn't taking care of you, he was in his home office, checking that you had your papers in order. Including your last will and testament. If we were really quiet, we could sometimes hear him softly crying.

“I don't have much time left, Allie,” your birth mother said. “Maybe another day.”

“I'll be here, Debra,” I said.

“You've always been there for me,” she said.

“Likewise,” I said. “After all, you're my twin sister. We've been best friends since we were little girls.”

She smiled. “What times we shared.”

“They certainly weren't boring,” I said.

She laughed softly. “Definitely not. And the boys we dated weren't boring, either.” She looked at me. “I always wondered why you never got married.”

“Never found anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with,” I said.

Debra reached out with her hands and I held them in mine. They felt so weak.

“I want you to promise me something, Allie,” she said. “Something I won't be able to do after I'm gone.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Still as cautious as ever,” she said. “Some things never change.”

“I don't jump into the deep end of a pool without making sure it's safe to,” I said.

“Isaac will need someone,” Debra went on. “A companion. A friend. Someone.”

“And you immediately thought of me,” I said.

“He knows you,” she said. “Maybe not as well as he knows me, but better than he knows any other woman.”

“Not only that, but I look and sound like you,” I said.

“I'm not asking you to marry him,” she said. “Just keep him company. It can be as platonic as you like.”

“What if he wants something more than platonic?” I asked.

“Tell him that he'll have to find someone else,” Debra said. “That isn't why you're there.”

I nodded. “Anything else?”

“Sean,” she said. “He's going through a rough time. I'm not sure what the future will hold for him, but whatever it is, please support him as best you can. Even if it means something you might not agree with.”

“Such as?” I prompted.

“I'd rather not say,” she said. “Please don't ask him. When the day comes, he'll let you know what he's decided to do.”

I nodded again. “Anything else?”

Debra looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I think that's everything.”

“You do realize that Sean and I don't always get along?” I asked.

“I know,” she said softly. “Please tell him not to blame you. It wasn't your fault. Genetics are like gambling. You never know quite how things will turn out until much later. You just hope that you'll have a long, healthy, happy life. And just because one twin is doing fine, doesn't mean the other twin will also do fine.”

“We're proof of it,” I said.

She nodded. “Do the best you can. I've willed as much as I can to you, to give you as much financial help as possible. That might be another reason that Sean is mad at you. He probably thinks you don't deserve to inherit anything from me.”

“Maybe you should give the money to him instead,” I suggested.

“Too late,” Debra said. “It's been signed and notarized. However, you're welcome to give him as much as you want to. But that choice will have to be yours, not mine.”

I checked the clock on top of Isaac's dresser. It was after midnight.

“You shouldn't have stayed up so late,” I said. “You need to rest.”

“I'll have plenty of rest soon enough, Allie,” she said. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I'm not tired enough,” I said, but yawned in spite of myself.

Debra smiled. “You're a lousy liar. Another favor?”

“Depends on what it is,” I said.

“Please go to bed,” she said. “There's no sense in you wearing yourself out for my sake.”

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded and looked at the bedroom doorway. “Besides, I won't be alone.”

Your birth father stood there, looking at her.

I stood up, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep well, Sis.”

“You too, Allie,” she said. “See you in the morning.”

I gave Isaac a hug and left their bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I got into bed in the guest bedroom and did my best to fall asleep.

But halfway between then and sunrise, I woke up suddenly. I knew why. My twin had just died.

----------

“I owe you an apology, Grace,” Mom said. “I should've told you all that years ago. It might've prevented the arguments we had when you were still Sean.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “I'm grateful that you didn't wait any longer.”

Mom looked at me, but said nothing.

“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?” my guidance counselor asked us.

“That's probably everything,” I said.

Bonnie nudged me in the ribs.

I frowned and turned to her. “What was that for?”

“Go on,” Bonnie told me.

“What?” I asked.

“She's waiting for you to say it,” Bonnie said. “Don't let her leave with it unsaid.”

“I thought it was supposed to be voluntary,” I said.

“Don't you want to say it?” Bonnie asked me.

“She doesn't have to,” Mom told her.

“I know she doesn't,” Bonnie told Mom. “I just thought maybe she finally felt like saying it of her own free will.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to,” Mom said. She stood up and rubbed her lower back. “My tailbone definitely needed a rest break. One of the downsides of growing older. The joints just aren't as flexible as they used to be. I guess I'll be leaving now.”

I took a deep breath, let it out. “Mom?”

My stepmother looked surprised. “Yes?”

I stood up and walked around my guidance counselor's desk. “Do you think … maybe … you could come over and visit Dad and me this evening?”

“If it's all right with him,” Mom said. “He might not want me to.”

“I'll ask him and see,” I said.

“Anything else?” Mom asked me.

“Just one thing,” I said, and hugged her.

I felt her arms go round me, holding me close. Tears were wet on my cheeks. When I was a boy, I'd been afraid to cry in public. But now that I was a girl, I knew I could cry whenever and wherever I needed to.

“I've missed you so much, Mom,” I said softly.

“I've missed you too, Grace,” she said and kissed me on the forehead.

“I wonder, though: do you ever miss Sean?” I asked her.

“A little bit,” Mom said. “I'm sorry for what you had to go through when you were Sean. You deserved to be happy and now you are. I've lost a son and gained a daughter. A wonderful, amazing daughter.”

“And I have my stepmother again,” I said. “This is even better than Christmas and my birthday put together.”

“It sure is,” Mom said.