Page 23 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

Emma hung up her phone and shot Jamie an unimpressed look.

When she’d texted to invite Jamie wedding dress shopping with her, Jamie had been touched. Was it possible that Emma wanted their opinion more than it had seemed in the family text thread? It had sowed a tiny seed of hope that maybe they could connect after all.

“I can’t wait to see these dresses.” They looked around, trying to remember the names of Emma’s many friends, but didn’t see them.

In fact, they didn’t see anyone familiar.

Jamie had imagined a scene like in a movie, where Emma came out it progressively larger dresses, and when she found the right one, they’d all cheer for her and toast with champagne.

But apparently that was just in the movies.

“Is Mom not coming?”

It wouldn’t be unusual for their mother to have cancelled last-minute, pulled into this or that work crisis, but given Blythe’s excitement when they’d met for breakfast, Jamie thought family would’ve trumped work on a day like today.

Emma shook her head. “She’s already seen them.”

Jamie was confused. Had the cheering and champagne toasting already happened without them?

“So this is…just to show me?”

“You said you wanted to see!” Emma sounded exasperated, and Jamie already regretted driving across town on their lunch break.

“Emma, I do want to see the dresses. I just thought other people were going to be here. It’s not a problem.”

Emma’s irritation turned to excitement, and she grabbed their hand. “Okay, be right back.”

She rushed off down a hallway marked Brides .

Jamie pulled out their phone and flopped onto a fluffy-looking couch, wincing when it was harder than it had looked.

Amelia : Dude, what about the abandoned Six Flags?

Amelia’s text was followed by a sheaf of photographs that presented a tangle of nostalgia, rot, and impish reclamation.

Graffiti decorated the SpongeBob SquarePants ride; a purple, green, and yellow carousel had been relieved of its horses; the skeleton of a roller coaster stood against the summer blue sky, weeds taller than Amelia’s head choking the structure.

Absolutely perfect! , Jamie texted back.

They zoomed in on the photograph to see the details of the graffiti.

“Excuse me.” The woman who’d spoken wore all black and stood with her hands clasped behind her back like a docent.

“Hi,” Jamie said.

“If you’d like to come with me, I can take your measurements while you wait for your sister.”

Her voice had the lulling, unflappable quality that Jamie associated with post-op nurses and childcare professionals. It said, I am very good at making sure everyone remains calm . It filled Jamie with anxiety.

“Oh, I’m not getting a dress, so I don’t need to be measured,” Jamie said in the case-closed-thanks-bye voice they’d perfected for moments such as these.

“Of course, yes. I will be measuring you for your suit. Your sister explained everything.”

Jamie fumed. This was why Emma had invited them for this special private viewing.

It wasn’t her desire to share this moment with Jamie, nor was it because she valued their opinion.

It was an ambush. Emma and their mother wanted them in a woman’s suit—the kind bridal boutiques made out of taffeta for mothers of the bride, in iridescent fabrics called shit like “perfect pearl” or “evening solitude.”

Jamie would rather don a hair shirt.

They managed a “No, thank you” through gritted teeth.

“I’ll let you and your sister discuss it,” the woman said and faded silently into the background.

Emma swanned down the hallway, grinning, and for a moment, Jamie remembered her wrapped in their mother’s wedding dress when they played dress-up as children. She had always wanted to be the bride.

Her smile faltered when she saw Jamie’s face. Her eyes cut to the woman who’d approached Jamie, and guilt flickered in her expression. She opened her mouth and shut it again, chewing on her words. Jamie waited.

“I just thought it would be easier for you,” Emma said finally. “You always say how busy you are, so I thought you could kill two birds with one stone.”

“And did you also think that when I told you I’d get a suit in the color you requested, I was planning on getting fitted for it at a wedding dress store?” Jamie kept their voice low, not wanting to attract attention. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t think that, Em.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Why do you care who makes your suit?”

“I care,” Jamie said, voice quietly poisonous, “because the suit that they’ll make at a place like this will be a woman’s suit, and I do not want a woman’s suit. Obviously.”

“They’re very good at what they do,” Emma sniffed. “I’m sure it will fit you excellently.”

“It’s not about that, and you know it. What the hell is wrong with you, Emma? I told you I’d take care of it, and it would be in the color you requested.” Jamie hissed. “Why do you care who makes my suit?”

They’d meant it as a rhetorical question because Emma was being intentionally thick, but then Emma bit her lip.

“Wait, why do you care?”

Emma’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. Mom suggested that we have the shop make you a dress in addition to the suit in case you’d change your mind and wear it.”

“Mom suggested,” Jamie echoed.

They could imagine their mother and Emma, picking out fabric for the dress they secretly wanted to see Jamie in.

Discussing what silhouette would flatter Jamie in the way they hoped.

Jamie felt like they’d swallowed a snake.

It writhed in their guts and tried to slither up their throat until they couldn’t speak.

“Come on,” Emma said. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to have the option.”

How old would Jamie have to get before their family saw them as themself rather than the frustration of what they’d hoped for?

How much would they need to achieve before their family valued their dreams and goals?

And the question that really made the snake writhe: Did Jamie care? Was maintaining a relationship with their family worth the disrespect they would have to tolerate?

As Jamie contemplated this, Emma went on, defending their mother like she always did and finally lathering herself into, “Besides, it’s not even about you. It’s my wedding.”

“Emma,” Jamie said, exhausted. “You get that I’m nonbinary, right? And you get that asking me to wear a dress when I’m not a woman feels really bad to me, right?”

“I’ve been a really good sport about all that stuff,” Emma hissed, leaving Jamie wondering how she could possibly have gotten that impression. “So yeah, I thought maybe you could just give me a break for this one day so I can have my wedding the way I want it. But I guess that’s too much to ask.”

Once, tears would have pricked Jamie’s eyes, but now the ball of betrayal, disappointment, and shame rolled down their throat and settled in their gut.

Emma had never accepted them. She’d just been playing along until the moment it inconvenienced her too much, and now she wanted them to tuck themself away.

“It is too much to ask,” Jamie told her. They let Emma hear their sadness. “Going against the deepest parts of yourself. It’s far, far too much to ask of anyone.”

Emma gaped. Jamie realized that if this was the way they left it, this could be the last time they ever saw Emma. Her in her wedding dress, midafternoon, standing in front of the sign that said Brides. The ball of emotion threatened to come back up.

“You look really beautiful in that dress,” Jamie said. They just had time to see Emma’s expression soften to confusion before they walked away.

***

Later that evening, Jamie knocked on Edgar’s door, desperate to lose themself in Edgar’s sweet embrace. Part of them had thought that Emma would text or call to apologize, so they kept their phone on vibrate in their pocket all afternoon at work.

She hadn’t.

Edgar answered the door smiling shyly. He’d styled his hair the way Jamie had at the store. Jamie touched it gently as they stepped inside.

Edgar’s smile disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping Jamie’s shoulders.

“It looks really good,” Jamie said.

“Jamie.”

Their throat ached with the threat of tears.

“Bad day,” they choked out before they found themself enveloped in the warmest, most comforting hug of their life. Enfolded, enveloped, they slumped a little and let Edgar take their weight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Edgar asked, stroking their hair.

Jamie sighed and let Edgar ferry them to the couch.

They told him about the bridal shop and Emma and their mother’s plan. Edgar’s fists were clenched the whole time Jamie was talking.

“I wish…” Jamie said, then shook their head.

Winners don’t wish; they work! Their mother’s phrase popped up uninvited in Jamie’s mind.

“Wish what?” Edgar asked.

Jamie lifted his fist to their lips and kissed it. Edgar unclenched his fingers.

“I wish I had a sister like yours,” Jamie said. “A partner in crime. Like it was Emma and me as a team calling each other to talk about whatever irritating shit our parents did. Instead of it feeling like the three of them are a team and I didn’t get picked.”

“I hate thinking of you being left out of your own family like that,” Edgar said.

“I don’t get why they act like they want me to be so involved in this wedding stuff, but they don’t want my real opinion. So why ask me?”

Of course, that probably wouldn’t be an issue after today.

Edgar murmured soothing sounds, but Jamie didn’t want to think about this anymore. All they wanted was to be taken out of themself.

Jamie wrapped their arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily. Edgar smelled so good, and his arms were strong, and his chest was warm, and Jamie just wanted to feel loved instead of judged or manipulated.

Jamie kissed Edgar’s throat, loving the way Edgar pressed into them. They sucked on his skin until Edgar gasped and his knees shook. He clutched at Jamie’s shoulders to stay upright.

“I want you,” Edgar said, eyes begging.

“Yes, whatever you want. Tell me.”