This was it, wasn't it?
THIRTY-ONE
In reality, there was no way I actually had a full ten minutes to get Bree out of my apartment. Henry was as bad as I was, he'd probably arrived fifteen minutes ago and had been waiting in his car for an appropriate, non-creepy level of early to text me. That meant I really needed to get Bree out now or risk them meeting in the corridor, and the very last thing I wanted was for Henry to invite her in and have us all sit together and sip tea and talk about the weather. To avoid that, 'right now' was almost too late to be kicking her out.
“I need to go home anyway,” Bree said miserably while we were both trying to frantically fasten the ten million buttons on the front of her sundress. “Andrej's probably already there and making up some twisted, crazy story about how you attacked him and he was only defending himself but of course the police believed you...”
Meanwhile, I was alternating between swearing repeatedly and feeling terrible for kicking her out now of all times. “Fuck him,” I said, finishing with the last button and then trying to smooth down her hair. “Come back here tonight. I'll give you some money for dinner while I'm busy.”
Her hair wasn't cooperating, but she stood patiently and let me wrangle it anyway. “Trust me, once I've lain on it, it's a lost cause,” she told me as I tried and failed to smooth it into a less spherical shape. While I was doing that, she reached up and gently tested the skin around my eye. I flinched, because it hurt. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “I still can't believe he punched you. He's never done anything like that before.”
“Well, I was standing in between him and his ability to bury his head in horse-racing,” I pointed out, bustling her over to where she'd taken her shoes off. “And then I tore up his ticket to that.”
“I know, but I still can't believe he punched you.” She said, sitting down against the wall and pulling one of her shoes on. I knelt down next to her and got the other one. “Like, not that it's great that you've got this huge painful bruise on your face, but it's awesome that you can press charges against him.” She stopped for a moment in the middle of tying her laces. “It's just weird that he punched you. Like, he goes around telling everyone I ruin his life and blaming me for everything he does, and some of it I seriously think he believes. I mean, about taking your stuff, he was like, 'Your friend owes me for Easter, do you know how fucking shitty it was with everyone angry at you not being there, Bree? I had to endure that because you were too selfish to come home. Your friend owes me', and I swear to god he was serious. So I'm pretty sure even though he's full of it, he actually does think I'm this terrible person. But he's never, like, actively tried to physically hurt me before.”
Something occurred to me while I got the shoe she'd abandoned. I looked up at her. “Wait, do you think he's going to try and do something to you now because of what happened?” I still had that image of him shaking her fresh in my mind.
She shook her head, still looking thoughtful. “Nah, that's not what I meant.”
That wasn't good enough for me. “Come on, at least let me take you home myself. I can probably ask Henry to wait for twenty minutes while I do that. He'll understand.”
She rolled her eyes. “Min, I've been doing this for ages, remember? I'll be okay.” She pushed me with her foot. “And nice try.”
I looked across at her, pausing in the middle of double-knotting her laces.
Her arms were crossed. “I'm so not giving you another reason to put off breaking up with him. He's probably right outside and you're all like, 'Oh, how about that, Bree needs to be taken home so I guess I can't do it after all, bye'.”
Ouch. “I will do it,” I said, bracing myself on my bent knee and standing up. “I promise.”
I held out my hand and pulled her up, too, and she looked charmed by that. “Did you just help me get dressed and put my shoes on?” she asked me. “What am I, like, six?”
“Well, it seemed a bit rude to throw you out here half-naked,” I said neutrally.
“Says Ms. Would-Dress-Me-Like-a-Nun-If-Possible.” She stopped giggling abruptly and said, “Wait, wait, 'Mr'? I can't call you my boyfriend if I'm going to 'she' you, can I? It should match.”
“I should match, too,” I told her, “But I don't. Come on.” I caught sight of the clock and shooed her towards the hallway. Before I opened the door, I put a 50 in her hand and checked Henry wasn't already waiting in the corridor.
Bree had gone back to looking wistful while I did that. “You know,” she began, “I used to have this dream all the time that I came home from school one day and everything was back to normal. Like I'd walk in the door and everything was the way it always used to be, my parents were relaxed and happy and Andrej was locked in his room on the Internet, and I could smell dinner waiting for me in the kitchen. Mum would nag me to do homework. Dad would be clearing the gutters or fixing a tile on the roof or something, singing shitty 70s songs at the top of his voice. And now, every time I leave somewhere to go home, even though I know it won't be... this tiny part of me hopes that that will be the home I'll go back to.”
Oh, Bree. I touched her cheek. “Maybe one day it will be.”
She shook her head, resigned. “Nah, I know it won't. Not even with this police thing, because he has to be found guilty of fraud for that three hundred thousand to not be owed and there is no way my parents are going to charge him. Like, no way.” She sighed. “And I know that, I do. But, like, even now as I walk through this door,” she stepped out of it, “that tiny little part of me still hopes there's a home like that waiting for me.”
I couldn't go out into the corridor with her because I was still in my binder and Y-fronts, so I just leant on the doorway. I caught her hand through the open door, though. It was on the tip of my tongue: 'if you can't have a happy home there, I'll give you one', but I didn't say it. She knew it, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as having her happy family back.
“I want things to work out for you,” was all I told her.
She sighed. “Yeah, I want things to work out for you, too,” she said, changing the subject. “Are you going to be okay? Like, telling Henry? Is there anything I can do to help?”
I squeezed her hand. “Not unless you've got a time machine you can lend me.”
She brightened. “I wish.” She pulled me down for a kiss before releasing me. “And now I have to go before you get out of telling him!” she said, and jumped up and kissed me again, and then left.
I closed my front door and watched through the peephole as she went. Someone got out of the lift when it opened and Bree nearly collided with him. She apologised profusely and they had a brief conversation before they stepped around each other and she hopped inside the lift herself. The guy walked away from that exchange smiling, and she was smiling too as the doors to the lift began to close. She must have guessed I was still watching her, because she gave me a cheerful wave through the gap before she disappeared.
My face felt like it was about to crack down the middle from the smile plastered across it, starting with my taut stitches. I gingerly touched them, wincing. I didn't have time to dwell on that now, though, because in like five seconds Henry was going to be here. I quickly cleaned around the couch, stashed the packer and rushed off towards the bathroom.
I wanted to have a shower before facing him, because I probably smelt like Bree's vanilla shampoo and god knows what else and it seemed really disrespectful to have any of that on me when he showed up. So I texted him to let himself in and then shut myself in the bathroom.
I couldn't really wash my hair because of the gauze on my face, but I washed everything else, and just as I was putting the t-shirt back on and making my hair symmetrical, I heard my front door open and close.
My heart started pounding. This was it.
He's here, I thought. Here's here, I have to do this Jesus fuck I have to do this.
Every part of me kept hoping he would just get sick of my shit and take this fabulous opportunity to be t
he one to dump me instead. I made a face as soon as I realised how ironic that was; I'd been worrying for years that he would dump me because I wasn't good enough for him and now I actually wanted him to?
I rested my hands on the vanity and just stood there staring at myself in the mirror. He's going to finally see me like this, I thought. I wondered what his reaction would be, and then, imagining all the possibilities, I couldn't bear to face it. What if he was upset?
I heard the cupboards open and close, and then the tap turn on... I could hear sounds of him moving around my apartment too. He was whistling. He had no idea at all what was about to happen. Fuck.
Oh, god. Fuck. Fuck! How the fuck was I going to do this?
He'd been supporting me for four years. He'd done nothing but be completely available and there for me when I needed him. He was generous and kind and he'd just gone to visit my mother and she loved him, for fuck's sake...
How the fuck was I going to do this, really? This was Henry.
There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. “Are you alright, Min?”
His voice was so familiar; I'd forgotten what that sounded like and how comforting it was. It brought back sudden, unwelcome memories of yelling at the PlayStation together, chatting over dinner and the peaceful sound of him breathing next to me in bed at night. And, of course, the first time someone at Frost had smiled at me. That friendly face, and then his laughter when I'd joked with him. He'd looked twice at me then, pleasantly surprised, with a smile that lasted a bit too long. Four years too long.
“Yeah,” I called back. “Just give me a second.”
Well, I couldn't just hang around in the bathroom all evening, could I? I'd promised Bree I was going to do this now, I'd promised myself I was going to do this now, and doing this now was the right thing to do, and it was about fucking time I did the right thing by Henry.
I pushed myself up from the vanity and turned to open the bathroom door, expecting him to be standing there. It was a bit of an anti-climax when he wasn't.
Where I actually found him was reclined on the couch in the living room beside all the blankets and pillows—which he'd folded neatly, of course—wearing a nice suit and waiting patiently for me to emerge.
When I did, hesitantly and waiting for his shock and surprise and whatever other emotions he might have, I was the one that was surprised.
As if I didn’t look at all different from usual, he pushed himself up from the couch with a calm smile. “There you are,” he said, approaching me. “I was beginning to think I’d need to send in Search and Rescue.”
I stood there, my heart pounding, waiting for him to comment on how I looked. Waiting for that smile to fall.
It didn't. In fact, when he stood back and considered me with exaggerated concentration, I could tell immediately that he wasn't being serious. “You've changed something,” he said light-heartedly. Then he clicked his fingers and pointed at me. “I know. New lipstick?” He was grinning.
I wasn't wearing any makeup. “Henry...”
He pretended to swear under his breath. “Okay, it's not the lipstick. Different hair colour?”
Unsurprisingly, what was left of my hair was black and that was his point, he didn't want to talk about what was different. Of course he didn't. And, fuck, it was so tempting to just go with it, just one last time. I loved sparring with him. We couldn't, though. Not now.
My expression must have troubled him because his smile wavered. The minute I saw that, I panicked. I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn't bear to see him falter like that, and it was almost a reflex to rescue him.
I deadpanned. “You don't have to pretend, I know how it looks. I mean, I told the hairdresser one or two inches off the ends, and...” I gestured at my head. “Do you think anyone will notice?”
He looked so relieved I could see him visibly relax. “No, it's very subtle,” he said. “I think you're safe.” He leant in to kiss me, and I turned my head away so he couldn't. He did not miss a beat as he stood back. “Worried I'll take out the other cheek?”
“You do look sharp today, I couldn't take any chances,” I shot back, and then cursed myself; what are you doing, Min? I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to shut down our banter, but he was already speaking.
“Are you alright, anyway? What happened?” he asked me in a more sober tone as he reached up like Bree had done to touch the skin around the eye. I let him. “I heard there was some commotion at work today. Did you get into a fight as well?”
“Yeah, with Diane and Sean Frost,” I said. “Oh, and my senior manager. Unfortunately, none of those people was the one who punched me or I'd be a millionaire by now.”
“Who did punch you, just out of curiosity?”
I winced. “Andrej.”
He recognised the name and his eyebrows went up. Because of whose brother he was, that answer stopped him asking any more questions about my face. He just nodded and tilted my chin so he could survey the damage.
“Well,” he said, while he was considering my injuries. “I heard along the grapevine that your fight with Jason was quite intense.” His hand dropped and, with the straightest expression in the world, he added, “Maybe even... a boss fight.”
I groaned. “You didn't,” I accused him, and gave him a shove. “That's terrible.”
He laughed, looking pleased with himself. “Reservation's for seven. Let's go eat.”
As he walked towards the door, I remembered what I was supposed to be doing, and the smile dropped right off my face. Now’s your chance, Min, I thought.
I didn't follow him and he noticed, half-turning towards me. “You still want to go to dinner tonight, right? To celebrate a successful pitch? I booked somewhere really nice, you'll love it.”
“Henry...” I sighed.
He persisted. “I think they even serve that gold label red wine you really like,” he said. “Or maybe we could do champagne this time, now that your stressful project is over and you can finally relax?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Henry, please. Look at me.”
He opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment. He was struggling and it was so painful to see him do that. Eventually, he said, “Well, if you'd feel more comfortable we can always go somewhere more casual.”
It was awful listening to him doing this. “Aren't we going to talk about how I look?”
“We did, Min,” he pointed out. “You've cut your hair. Look, it's quite dramatic, but a lot of the celebrities are starting to get rather masculine haircuts, so I suppose it must be in at the moment. Just don't Skype your Mum until it's grown out a bit, okay? You'll give her a heart attack.”
It was so tempting to just leave this conversation. To agree with him, to go to dinner, to relax and pretend everything was fine. I couldn’t, though, not anymore. I had to do this.
I bit my lip, and pulled my t-shirt flat across my front. I was wearing the binder, so there wasn't much to look at. “And this,” I said. “This is pretty masculine, too, isn't it?”
His eyes dipped to my smooth chest, and then returned to my face. He asked very carefully, “How are you expecting me to respond to that, Min?”
I dropped my hands, sighing heavily. “I don't know, Henry. Hurt? Confusion?” I said. “Something?”
As soon as I'd said that, I realised exactly what was so wrong. He wasn't responding. If Henry had arrived here in a dress with long, curled hair and make-up, I would have been shocked by the suddenness of it. I would have been confused and hurt that there was apparently this big part of him that he wasn't sharing with me. And I may not actually have shown him either of those things, but I sure as hell wouldn't have been able to act like everything was perfectly normal. He was, and I couldn't figure out how or why.
“You think I should be confused because you got your hair cut?” he asked, as if I was overreacting. He walked back over to me, his face in a gentle smile. “Don't be silly,” he said. “I know why you've done it, and if you find it liberating, then I'm happy for
you.”
Somehow, I couldn't believe that he did know what I'd done it. “Why do you think I did it, then?”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “What happened to you in high school has always stayed with you, and I know a big component of that was the fact people had trouble distinguishing whether you were a boy or a girl. With things being so difficult for you at work at the moment, I imagine there's a certain freedom in just reclaiming that and owning it so you can feel like you triumphed over that part of your life.” He paused. “And I’m not sure I should be saying this: but to be honest, Min, I think that's what Bree's about, too. Didn't you tell me right after you’d met her that she reminded you of the girls who teased you?”
I just frowned at him. I'd never thought about it like that, and that worried me.
He clapped my shoulders and dropped his arms. “So, no, Min, I'm not confused. I am hurt, because wouldn't you be if you partner was sleeping with someone else?” I flinched. “But I understand you're still deeply affected by the events from high school, so if doing all this helps you heal and close that part of your life so you can let yourself be happy...” He smiled. “Then I'm happy.”
My heart was already racing, but I started to be able to feel it hammering against my ribcage.
Fuck, was he right? I hated doubting my judgment, and I hated this feeling of not knowing and not understanding myself, and—no, that wasn't it. I hated caring that I didn't understand myself. I'd been fine all day with no desire to figure everything out straight away and had continued to be fine until this very moment.
And now I was just standing here with my jaw open and with absolutely no idea which one of us had a clearer head about my gender issues. We both had such a deep investment in being right that it was the same tangle of feelings I'd had earlier in the day when Andrej and I were...
I swallowed. No, I’d been right, then. And I was right about this as well.
I wasn't trying to reclaim anything by transitioning, that wasn't what it was about. The feelings were deeper than that, and if I thought back to why I'd always wanted baggy uniforms in the first place and why I'd wanted my hair cut short at twelve, all of this went back to before I was teased. It just became a problem in high school when I didn't look how people expected me to.
Under My Skin Page 74