“I’m not what you think, either. Now join me for a bloody drink. You’ve made me ask twice.”
“I will.” I gazed up at a chandelier dripping crystal and metal from the ceiling. That glitter was in Tamsin’s eyes, too, and I was afraid to look because I was goddamn sure I wouldn’t want to stop. “But not tonight.”
She walked me back to the train. Something was unfolding in me, delicate and see-through thin, a rose made of rice paper. Trust. I wanted to let her in. Let the bars down, let these feelings loose. Instead I kept my mouth shut and crushed that fragile white bloom in the black soot of my heart. Nobody got in. No-fucking-body.
As I jogged down the subway steps, she caught my arm.
“There’s something you should know. I told you Laney gave me . . . his name.”
All the warmth was gone now. Just cold, tired. “But?”
“But I didn’t tell you when.”
I put my hand on her. I didn’t have to ask.
She tried to read me, her eyes tracking back and forth rapidly. “It was summer. Near half a year ago.”
Before Inge heard he was in town.
Before anyone had known.
Nearly half a year ago I’d told Laney, Either I’m losing my mind or he’s back, and she’d said, I believe you. I’ll find him. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.
Little fucking liar.
“Thank you,” I said, and took the stairs at a run.
———
“Ingrid?”
The apartment was smoky blue with midnight, and empty. Where the hell could she be this late? Off living a life I wasn’t part of anymore. Laughing with some girl, leaning close. Dizzy from the alcohol and sweetness on each other’s breath. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and guzzled, and when my head came down I saw something stuck between fridge and counter. Flicked my folding knife open to fish it out.
School photo. Mina’s first-grade portrait. Dark eyes solemn, like mine.
I slid to the floor.
It felt as if a hundred years had passed since then, and I was old now, too old to understand anything. I stared blindly into the dark, remembering. Mina perched at the kitchen table, her pencil working furiously. Savaging her paper with the eraser when she messed up. It has to be perfect, she explained, as if I were the child. Or they won’t take me seriously. I said, Why not? and she answered, matter-of-fact, Because I’m a girl. Kari looked at us both and said, I’m a horse, and galloped around the table. I’m with her, I said. Giddyup. Mina rolled her eyes. Later that night she’d come to my room and asked me to read her writing assignment. The person I admire most is my big sister because inside she is a boy but can’t tell anyone, which I think is very hard. I would be sad if I could not tell anyone I’m a girl. I’d never told her anything. She figured it out herself. You can’t show this to anyone, I said, my voice breaking. Mom will kill me, Mina. Please don’t tell. Mina said, I won’t. I wrote a different one for class. This is for you.
I tipped the bottle into my mouth, but it was only dry air.
The front door rattled. Bell, Inge’s cat—named after her favorite feminist, of course—went bounding to say hello. I watched the tall shadow step through a portal of light. Watched her lock the door, go still, and turn to me, slowly. That sixth sense for each other. Always knowing exactly where I’d be.
“Hey,” I said.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.” To save me. Like always.
Languidly she unbuttoned her coat, not turning on a light. Scratched Bell’s head. “Do we need to talk?”
“I need to tell you things, Inge.”
“You never tell me anything anymore. Now you need to tell me Things. With a capital T.”
“This is serious. It’s about something I’ve been hiding for years.”
“Oh god.” She inhaled sharply. “Are you . . . are you trans?”
“You’re fucking hilarious.”
Ingrid kicked her shoes off. “Like you’ve ever successfully hidden anything from me, asshole.”
“I hid this. And I can’t anymore.” Deep breath. “It endangers you. Both of us.”
“If it’s about Adam—”
“It’s bigger than him.”
She snorted. “What isn’t.”
I turned my head away.
She said, “Shit. Sorry. Insensitive.”
“I’m not fucking around, Inge. We need to talk.”