Little Nephew

As Michael walked cautiously into the room, he felt heads swivel towards him in awkward shock. Like a record scratching in a movie, conversation halted and all eyes fell on him. His cheeks reddened, but he tilted his head high in defiance. The silence was deafening, continuing on and on for what felt like years before his brother came over to greet him. Jeremiah was visibly uncomfortable, but Michael ignored it and made a beeline towards the bar. His family slowly continued their talking, but the air still held tension. He cracked open a Corona and took a big gulp, the cold liquid burning down his throat as his eyes welled momentarily. He spotted his cousin Jenny nursing a glass of champagne in the corner and headed over.

“So… Jenny.” He coughed. “How’s, uh… life? Going.” Michael cringed internally at his horrible social skills. Jenny squirmed a bit.

“It’s okay, thanks. How about you, uh….”

“Michael. It’s Michael now.”

“Right. Michael. That makes sense. How are things?”

He took another quick swig of beer, praying the alcohol would kick in soon to make the evening tolerable.

“Yeah, it’s good. Bit weird. I’m a lot happier now though.”

“Ah.” She looked down.

“Yeah.” He, too, turned his gaze towards his shoes.

“Dinner time, everybody!” His brother’s voice rang out amongst the crowd. Michael was relived at an escape before remembering the pain of past family dinners.

He sat down next to his siblings, avoiding the glares from his father. Food was served. Conversation slowly began- the recent election, inflation, family drama around their grandfather. Michael didn’t have anyone to talk to, but that was fine. He directed his attention to the food, hungrily and messily ripping apart his share of turkey.

“Michaela!!” The booming voice of his uncle Joe snapped Michael’s eyes up as he arrived- fashionably late- to dinner. Michael’s tongue was suddenly heavy, his chest burning. He hadn’t heard his deadname in months, and the sensation of cold electricity shot down his spine. He gripped his beer can, bracing himself.

“Long time no see, little niece!” Joe was obviously drunk, the stench of alcohol and cigars enough to make Michael gag.

“Uncle Joe, I’m not-“

“What’s with all this?! You gotta beard! What are ya, a crossdresser? Hah! Is this a costume? Cmon, little niece, tell me the deal!” He slurred his words, hooking an arm around Michael’s shoulder. How did he not know? Michael had told his parents and assumed they’d tell the whole family. All eyes fell on him- uncomfortable, pitiful, yet too prideful to step forward and say anything. He looked to his cousin Jenny, praying that maybe she’d come to his aid- they used to be so close- but she just grimaced and avoided his gaze. Of course. Of course no one would come to help.

“Uncle Joe.”

“What, little niece? You gonna tell me you’re a tranny or something? Imagine!” He guffawed, met by zero laughter from anyone else. Michael’s jaw clenched at the slur as his fingers dug into the can of beer. He shoved Joe’s arm off him and stepped back.

“Actually, yeah.” He glared at his uncle, trying to prevent tears from welling up. Michael remembered the moments he cherished with this very family, this very uncle. Roughhousing, playing charades and Wink Murder, eating mince pies and seeing who can chug milk the quickest. He remembered the love and support his family gave him. So why did they turn their backs on him now?

Michael held his head high, stood his ground, puffed his chest. He was practically snarling as he looked at every one of his family members.

“I’m transgender, like I told my parents. Like I told my siblings. And like I expected each one of you to know.” He spat this part at his mother, who looked queasily at the tablecloth.

“My name’s Michael. I’m a man.”

Silence.

Pure silence.

“Michaela, please. Don’t do this.” His father pleaded with him, but Michael wasn’t having it. He stood up, chair screeching against the wood floor.

“No. You are my father. You’re the one who’s supposed to support me, be there for me! I came out to you and mom two years ago. I sent you a letter while I was in the hospital after surgery. You saw my social media, you talked to my siblings, you knew how happy I was! Why can’t you just-“

“I raised a daughter!” His farther slammed a fist down on the table. “You are my daughter. You are a woman. Stop this nonsense, you’re making an embarrassment out of yourself!”

Michael stared at his dad. Into his raging eyes. Into his defensive walls, his ignorance, his bigotry. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on for hours.

“This is Hanukkah, dad.” His voice was angry, yet calm. Quietly menacing.

“This is a time for acceptance. Family.” He pointed at the menorah in the middle of the table.

“This is a time for celebration and love. I am your son. I. Am. Your. Son.” His father flinched at the words.

“So either show me some goddamn love or don’t expect to talk to me again. Family is chosen, and I’ll gladly cut contact with every one of you if I have to. I have standards, and right now none of you are meeting them.”

More silence, deafening, words hanging suspended in the air. Time like syrup. Like fantasy. Like dreams. No one spoke, no one moved a finger. Michael had more to say, but he was done. He didn’t owe any of them an explanation. He sat down, still glaring at his parents.

Uncle Joe coughed.

“Well, okay, uh. Michael, was it?”

“Yes.” His voice was cold and defensive.

“Cool. Cool. You’ve, uh. Changed.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” A small chuckle from sister egged Michael on. Joe smiled.

“Yeah, ha. Nice to see ya, Mike. You, um… you gotta girlfriend?”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon.” His cousin Isaac furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, wouldn’t that make you a lesbian?”

Michael cringed, but before he could say anything Joe put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nah, Isaac, Mike’s a guy. When you date girls, does that make you a lesbian?” He laughed, and Isaac huffed. “Course not.”

“Exactly. So Mike ain’t a lesbian either. Aight, someone get me a Bud Light.”

And just like that, everything was back to normal. They ate dinner, drooled over dessert, drank too much, lit the candles, played Cards Against Humanity, and opened presents. Once the party winded down, Michael stepped towards his uncle.

“Hey, Uncle Joe.”

“Ey, it’s Mike!” Michael grinned gratefully.

“Yeah! I wanted to thank you for defending me.”

“Of course, I love ya.” Michael tried not to well up.

“I love you too, Uncle Joe.”

“I’m glad, little nephew.”