I Wish You All the Best

by Mason Deaver

“Mom! Please!”

  “God doesn’t want this for you, Ben.”

  I begged her not to say that, and then I started crying. But that must not have been enough. The door closed, and I wanted it to open back up. I wanted this to be some cruel joke on their part. One I could forgive them for later. I tried the knob, but it was locked, even the spare key they hid under this fake rock didn’t work because they’d locked the dead bolt too.

  I stop myself from rocking back and forth in the stiff chair, hoping, praying that Hannah can find me.

  What could I even do now? They wouldn’t take me back, would they? Would I even go back? Would Hannah have some answers? I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to tell her, or if she’ll even be able to help me. God, what if she’s as bad as Mom and Dad? She can’t be, can she?

  If only I’d just kept my goddamn mouth shut.

  I don’t want to believe that, but it’s been ten years. Since she graduated, since we last talked to each other, since she left me alone with them. She could be a totally different person. The kind who hates who I am. But then again, I thought Mom and Dad might not either.

  “Ben?”

  I jump at the voice, not daring to look up.

  “Benji?” It’s been forever since someone called me that. “Come on.”

  It seems impossible for Hannah to already be here, but who knows.

  “Hannah?” I murmur. My throat feels like it’s full of something. It’s harsh and prickly.

  “Come on. These are your socks, right?” She picks them up carefully. The disgust on her face is humiliating.

  I nod. “They’re ripped.”

  “They’re wet too.” She balls them up and throws them in her purse. “Let’s get you home.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t want to.” I feel like a child, but the thought of going back there—I can’t go back there.

  “I meant my place. Come on.” Hannah puts her hand on my shoulders so she can grab under my arm and help pick me up. I guess I have been sitting here for an hour, because all the blood starts rushing into my legs again, filling them with that television-static feeling I hate. We walk out slowly, each step sending a sharp sting up my spine. I’m silently praying that the cashiers have found something else to do so they won’t see us.

  Hannah’s car is still running, thankfully. When she’s finished helping me into the passenger’s seat, buckling my seat belt for me, she bolts across to the driver’s side. “I should’ve turned your seat warmer on, sorry.”

  At least the car is warm.

  “You feeling okay?” Hannah puts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking space, glancing between me and the rear windshield.

  “Yeah,” I say, even though “okay” might be the thing I’m furthest from now. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Everything is … it’s gone.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I don’t reply. I’m not though. Mom had made chicken for dinner, but since I’d been planning this for weeks now, months even, my stomach had been churning all day, so much that I knew I’d never keep down whatever I ate. Even now on an empty stomach, my appetite is nonexistent, and the thought of any sort of food makes me feel sick.

  “Ben?” Hannah says my name again, except this time she feels a thousand miles away. Then I hear her mutter, “Taking you to the hospital.”

  “No.” I grab her arm, as if that’ll stop her from making the U-turn. “I’m fine, I swear.”

  “Benji.”

  “Just, can we go back to your place? Please?”

  She looks at me with the same brown eyes I have, the ones we both managed to get from Dad.

  “Okay.” She finds another turn lane, her blinker clicking in the deadened silence of the car. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

  I shake my head. “Not right now.”

  “Okay, try to get some rest or something. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

  We ride in silence, the only real noise the low volume of the radio playing Top 40 songs. I try to sleep, or to ease my mind, to relax, to not think about what I’ve done. But it’s impossible. Because I said those three little words.

  “I am nonbinary.”

  Mom and Dad both sat there speechless for a few seconds. Dad was the first to react, asking for an explanation. That was fair, and maybe a good sign. I wasn’t quite sure but was willing to take whatever was thrown my way at that point.

  Dad used the T-word, and it came like a slap to the face. I’d never heard him use that word before. That was the moment my stomach sank. I tried to explain the differences, what being non-binary meant, but it was like every time I tried to speak, the more I wanted to cry. Then the yelling started, and everything was moving so fast. I couldn’t talk or make any sense of what they were saying.

  “You need to leave.” Dad pointed right at me.

  “Ben?”

  I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because my eyes are heavy, my mouth groggy and gross, and my limbs tight.

  “We’re here.” She puts the car in park but leaves the engine running, vents still spewing hot air.

  I stare at the house. The brown bricks and the green siding. I’ve seen it before, never at night, but in Facebook photos and posts. The only way I’d been able to keep up with what was going on in Hannah’s life.

  “You can sleep in the guest room, okay?”

  I nod and follow her through the garage, my feet going frigid at being exposed to the cold of the pavement again. Hannah unlocks the door quickly and leads me up the steps, flipping on the light switch of the guest room. “Bathroom is across the hall, if you want to take a shower or anything.”

  I stare at the bedroom: There’s a huge queen-sized bed, plenty of pillows. Definitely nicer than my room at home, but emptier too. There aren’t any pictures on the walls, or little toys on the dresser.

  “Here.” Hannah folds back the mirrored doors of the closet and grabs a stack of blankets. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure things out in the morning, okay?”

  I nod again and stare at the bed. Hannah looks like she wants to add something else, or hug me, or tell me it’s all going to be okay. But she doesn’t do any of those things.

  Guess even she knows it won’t be.

  She closes the door behind her, leaving the room even emptier.

  I undress down to my boxers and pull back the sheets, crawling into the soft, unused bed. I toss and turn, but after a few minutes it’s obvious I’m not going to be sleeping tonight. Every time I close my eyes I see their faces. So vivid, right there in front of me, yelling. And when I open them, there’s nothing but the dark loneliness of the bedroom. I reach over to the remote on the nightstand and flip through a few of the channels on the TV, my eyes settling on a rerun of The Golden Girls.

  Because I can’t be alone right now. Not tonight.

  Thanks for being a friend, Betty White.

  Yesterday actually happened.

  It takes me more than a few minutes to realize it wasn’t some super vivid nightmare, or a fever dream or something. It was really real.

  I came out to my parents, and they kicked me out of the house.

  To think I’d been ignorant enough to believe it’d go well. I really did. I thought that we could still be this happy family, no secrets between us. I could actually be me. And I should’ve known better than that.

  And now everything is over.

  Everything.

  I don’t know whether to cry or scream or do both. It feels like I’ve done more than enough of both. And it feels like I haven’t done enough.

  And at some point, I know I’m going to have to crawl out of this bed and pick up the pieces, but right now it can be just me. Just me, these four walls, and this bed.

  The universe doesn’t have to exist outside this bedroom, and that’s perfectly okay.

  “I still can’t believe them.” I hear Hannah’s voice echo through the house as I make my way down the stairs, because there was only so long I could stay
in my own little universe.

  “He just called from a pay phone?” That voice I don’t recognize, but it’s deep and gruff. I’m guessing that’s her husband. Thomas?

  There’s only so much you can learn about someone on Facebook without actually friending them. That probably sounds a little creepy, but I couldn’t risk Mom or Dad going on my profile and seeing “Hannah Waller” on my friends list.

  “When it was thirty fucking degrees outside.” Hannah drops something into the sink so hard that I’m guessing she’s broken whatever it was. I rub my eyes, unsure of what time it is as I try to guess where the kitchen might be.

  “Hannah?” I call out, glancing around the hallway filled with pictures. There are a few I recognize from Facebook. Some from what looks like their wedding day, others while her and Thomas are out on a boat. They look happy together.

  The door at the far end of the hallway swings open, Hannah pushing through, dressed in an oversized sweater and dark jeans. “Good morning.” She smiles, crossing her arms.

  “Morning.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to make the curls in the back lie down.

  “We made breakfast.” She leads me through the swinging door into the kitchen. The white guy from all the photos is at the table, empty plate pushed to the side. He’s sporting a beard and a shirt with a logo for a sports team I don’t recognize.

  “Good morning. Sleep okay?” is all he asks me.

  “Yeah,” I lie. My body must’ve finally shut down, because one minute I remember trying to laugh at something on TV and the next the sun was shining through the thin curtains of the bedroom. I’m guessing this is what being hit by an eighteen-wheeler feels like.

  “Oh, Ben, this is my husband, Thomas.” Hannah nods to the guy at the table. It’s weird to think there’s this brother-in-law I have now, one that I’ve literally only ever seen pictures of.

  Thomas raises his mug to me. “Nice to finally meet you. Hannah’s told me a lot of stories.”

  No doubt I was a kid in all of them. Hannah offers me a seat at their super tall bistro-style table that sits in the far corner, the windows letting in way too much light for so early in the morning. Though a quick glance at the microwave tells me it’s nearly noon.

  “Ben.” Hannah takes the seat next to Thomas, her hands folded. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  I suppose there really isn’t any avoiding it, and I do owe them an explanation of some kind. The problem is I don’t even know where to begin with this. I mean I know where to start, but it’s like my mouth doesn’t want to work, like it’s stuffed with cotton or something, and I know whatever I say probably won’t make much sense.

  “I’m going to go upstairs. Maybe you two should talk alone.” Thomas takes his mug and pushes his chair under the table, stretching his legs. I watch the kitchen door swing on its hinges after he leaves, back and forth until it steadily slows, and the door settles into its natural place.

  “Please, Benji, talk to me.”

  Okay. I can do this. I did it last night. Those three words and this whole thing could be over. But do I really even know my sister? Can she even help me? Maybe this was all some huge mistake.

  But she might be my only shot at some kind of normalcy, at least for now.

  “I’m … nonbinary,” I finally spit out. I even manage to make it two words instead of three.

  Hannah leans back in her seat, sort of staring at me and not staring at me at the same time. This was a mistake. I’d found somewhere to go and now I’ve fucked it up all over again. Jesus, where could I go after this? Mom will have definitely called Grandma, probably Aunt Susan too. And I can’t exactly show up at any of my classmates’ houses. Besides, how would I even make it back home without paying for a taxi or something? I push back in my chair, preparing to go upstairs and get my things before I remember I don’t have any things with me.

  At least that means a straight shot. Right out the door. There’s no way I’ll remember how to get home, so I’ll have to stop at a gas station or something, get directions. How am I even supposed to walk that far without shoes or socks?

  “No, Ben, wait.” Hannah grabs my wrist, and I almost pull away. Her grip is too tight though. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” She looks at me. First at my face, then the rest of my body, as if I’ve somehow transformed right in front of her. “So, Mom and Dad kicked you out for that?”

  I nod.

  “Figures.”

  “I thought they’d understand.” I really, really did. I mean, I’m their child. I thought that might account for something.

  “I’m sorry, kiddo.” She nods to the chair. “Sit back down. Please.”

  I eye her before I take my seat again, rubbing my sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans. I haven’t showered yet, which makes me feel that much more disgusting. Like I’m covered in a film I’ll never crawl out of.

  “You’re eighteen, right?”

  I nod.

  “Have you graduated yet?” she asks.

  I feel like the answer should be obvious, but I have to remind myself again. She’s been gone for ten years. “No.”

  “Okay, this is a question I already know the answer to, but do you want to go back there?”

  Even at the idea my stomach clenches, like there’s a fist slowly closing around it. “No. Please, no.”

  “Okay, okay. It’s all right. We’ll need to talk about some things, okay? Like school, new clothes, everything else you’ll need. I’ve already talked with Thomas, and we don’t mind you living here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, kid.” She runs a hand through her red hair, a dye job, I’m guessing, since no one in our family has red hair. And the chances of her hair suddenly turning red naturally seem bleak. She hasn’t changed much since she left. There’s still no mistaking us as anything other than siblings. Same eyes, same pointy nose, same pasty white skin, same mess of hair. I wonder how different I look to her. “Sorry, I’m trying to think. Not really sure where to start with this stuff.”

  I can’t even look at her. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize, okay? This isn’t your fault.”

  I know that. Deep down, I do. But right now it’s hard to swallow. To accept it.

  “So, what are your pronouns?” she asks.

  The question strikes me. Not in the bad way. It’s just weird. Hannah is the first person to ask. The first person who had to ask. “They and them,” I say, trying to sound confident, but even I can tell I’m failing miserably.

  “All right. Well, it might take some getting used to, so I want you to correct me when I mess up, okay? Do you want me to explain everything to Thomas?”

  I nod.

  At least that way I won’t have to.

  Hannah gives me some of Thomas’s clothes to change into after I get out of the shower. “He’s about two sizes bigger than you, but I’ll need to wash these before you wear them again.” She bunches up my clothes in her arms. I drown in Thomas’s shirt, but at least the sweatpants have a drawstring. “We’ll go out shopping later, okay? Get you the basics,” she adds.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thomas and I talked about getting you into another school. He teaches at North Wake High School, called his principal this morning to see what we’d need to get you switched over. We, um …” Hannah sighs. “We also looked into therapists in the area, someone you could talk to.”

  On the list of everything I want to do right now, that is near the very bottom. Probably somewhere between fighting an alligator and jumping out of a plane. “Do I have to?”

  “Well, no, you’re an adult, technically. But I think it’d help. There’s one my friend Ginger and her son saw after he came out. Dr. Bridgette Taylor. Maybe she can help, she specializes in kids like … kids like you.”

  “You mean queer kids?” I say.

  Hannah acts like she’s waiting for my actual reply, my agreement, but when I don’t say anything else, she just sighs again. “Think abou
t it, okay?” And then she’s gone.

  I sit there in the silence of the room, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Like, what do you do when your parents kick you out of your house? When your entire life is upheaved, all because you wanted to come out, to be respected and seen, to be called the right pronouns? I almost reach for my sketch pad before I remember it’s in my backpack, at home. I can’t even do the one thing that might comfort me.

  So instead I make the bed, hoping it’ll give me enough of a distraction, maybe let my mind wander for a few good minutes. But it doesn’t really help, so when I’m done I walk downstairs.

  “What’s up?” Hannah’s still at the washing machine, hidden behind these folding doors in the kitchen, basket of newly dried clothes in her hand.

  I offer to take something, but she shakes her head. “I got it. Something wrong?”

  “No. Do you have a computer I can use?”

  “Sure.” Hannah leaves everything on top of the dryer and walks back into the kitchen and through another door. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow, but I do anyway.

  Their living room is smaller than the one at home, but it looks lived in, comfortable. Hannah was always a bit on the messy side, but it seems like she’s found a nice middle ground now. Or maybe this is Thomas’s handiwork.

  “Go ahead and set up your own account so you can log in to your texts and stuff.” Hannah grabs her laptop from its spot between the end table and the couch, disconnecting the charger. “If you have any questions, just ask, but I’m sure you know more about this thing than I do.”

  “Thanks.” I take a seat on the huge couch. I’m already at home with the laptop, since it’s exactly like my old one. I type in my email address and password, so that I can read or respond to any texts I’ve gotten. There aren’t any yet, but Mariam is probably still asleep.

  I still haven’t figured out exactly how I’m going to tell them about this. I almost log in to my Facebook, but I have to stop myself. Or actually, Thomas stops me.

  “Ben?” he calls.

  “Yeah?”

  Thomas is dressed up more than he was at breakfast. Collared shirt with a dark gray sweater thrown over it and matching gray pants. “I talked with my principal. She said she wants to meet with you, get you enrolled.”