Page 8 of Yearn

J was nine, non-binary, and used they/them pronouns. That fact alone had shocked their school, had lit up every PTA meeting with gossip. And it had ignited war inside this house.

Their father Scott had fought Teyonah over it, night after night, shouting that J was too young to know anything about themselves, that it was a phase, that she was coddling them.

But she had stood her ground. I’d stood in the basement apartment and overheard her talking about it to her friend.

“I told Scott that we are going to respect our child’s feelings, whether we understand them or not. We can’t force J to be anything more than what J wants to be.”

That was the woman I adored, fierce, protective, and unyielding when it came to her children’s dignity.

Apparently, a few weeks later after that argument over J’s decision, she caught Scott cheating. A blonde paralegal from his firm, lipstick on his collar, coke still in his veins.

She threw him out that night.

The boys didn’t know the truth. They built their own stories out of silence. Oliver thought their dad left because their mommy worked too much. J thought it was because of them. Because they weren’t the boy Scott wanted them to be.

J had confessed it to me weeks later and it had gutted me.

Since then, I’d been careful with J. Careful with words. Careful with corrections. Careful never to let them feel like they were wrong for being exactly who they were.

And I’d sworn that no one, not even their father, would ever make them feel that kind of shame again.

I stood and stepped back. “Do you two want to hear a joke?”

They both nodded.

I held out my hands. “Why did the doctor carry a red pen?”

Oliver widened his eyes. “I don’t know.”

J shrugged.

I winked. “The doctor carried a red pen, just in case he needed to draw blood.”

Oliver threw his head back and cackled so hard his bow tie almost came undone.

J howled and shook their head. “Dom! That is so corny.”

“What?” I chuckled. “I think that was an award winning joke.”

Then, a loud sound suddenly broke the air—tires crunching on gravel.

Oliver began jumping up and down. “Mommy is coming! Mommy is coming!”

He nearly tripped over his own shoes in excitement.

“Okay.” My chest tightened. “Positions.”

I herded them to the door and crouched low so my eyes were level with theirs. “This is your moment. She’s going to open that door and see you first. Take her to the gifts. Don’t forget to say thank you for being your mom and give her big kisses.”

Oliver puffed out his chest. “I’m going to give her the biggest kiss on her cheek!”

J bit their lip and nervously nodded.

Fuck. I thought we had a little bit more time.

Heart hammering, I straightened and turned toward the kitchen. “She’s on her way, Chef Marco!”

The chef poked his head out and wiped his hands on a spotless white apron. “The appetizer is ready, Dominic.”