23

Of course, Prisha can’t take Tavi with her. But Ms. M gives Prisha her number so they can stay in touch and sends her off with a backpack full of tampons, baby wipes, and clean underwear.

Now for Sarah’s house. Turns out her dad molested her, and her mom didn’t do jack. We all but set the place on fire. There’s nothing to steal except a bag of pills hidden under the dresser. Sarah promises Prisha she’ll sell it, but I see her poppin a bunch before we even leave the house.

We think that’s it, until Danny says, “Do we have time for one more stop?”

“Yeah?” Baldwin asks, their hand on his shoulder.

His jaw tight, he nods.

I grab Danny’s limp hand. “We’re your ride or die.”

His dad lives in the gentrified side of town where Nelly goes to school but can’t afford to live. His house has well-tended rose bushes, bird feeders, and a bird bath. Storybook fruit tree and berry bushes. I can’t help but picture the man who trims those roses, fills those feeders, prunes those trees, and turns his child out into the cold.

Baldwin expertly parallel parks the car and Jane jokes about the time Baldwin got so tired of seeing some lady struggle to park that they got out of the car and did it for her. Jane is feeling a little better.

We all nod as we head toward Danny’s backyard. Danny jiggles the fence and lets us in. It’s just as beautiful out back as it is in the front with neatly manicured evergreens and even a squirrel feeder.

Danny pulls a key out from a ceramic toad’s mouth and lets us in. Jane agrees to be lookout and sits on the steps.

Inside the mudroom, I ask, “Ground rules?”

“Take whatever you need for yourselves. Don’t destroy anything. Just—alter things ever so slightly.”

We walk into a sitting room—as opposed to a living room, Danny tells a very confused me. He makes a Bed Bath and Beyond portrait of a jazz band crooked.

Baldwin cracks their knuckles as they look at all the family portraits on the mantel, which are all of Danny when he looked like a girl.

I look away because that isn’t him.

“So,” Baldwin says, “we’re gaslighting Dear Old Dad?”

Danny nods, looking miserable. He sits on the couch and props his Vans on the coffee table. “Notice there are no pictures of me beyond elementary school.”

I adjust the grandfather clock on the mantel to an hour earlier. Go sit beside him and clasp his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You know the last conversation I had with him?” He outlines it for me.

His dad: You go to the conversion camp. Or you don’t come home.

Danny: To be converted into what?

His dad: Back to what you used to be. Back to what you are supposed to be.

Danny: Used to be? Dad, I never was.

His dad: Your mother. She didn’t take care of herself when she had you.

Danny: Trans is not a birth defect. How can you throw me out? Do you know what happens to kids like me on the street? They end up prostitutes, raped, selling drugs . . .

His dad: That’s what being gay leads to. That’s what you’re fighting so hard to be. Just like your mother.

Danny: What the fuck, Dad? There’s nothing wrong with Mom. She’s a lesbian. That is all. I’m sorry she broke your heart. But she is who she is, and I am who I am.

His dad: silent stare.

“I ran out the door and didn’t look back.”

I climb on Danny’s lap, wrap my legs around him, and hug him so hard. Feel his breath on my neck. I admit to feeling distracted from the original purpose of this embrace . . .

Sarah and Prisha are bounding down the stairs with beautiful scarves in their hands.

Danny stops kissing me. He looks pale. I slide off him.

Danny stands up. “Those were my mom’s.”

“I know.” Prisha hands them to Danny. “I remember when you told me about them. Your mom wearing them and how she would let you play with them and pretend you could fly. They belong to you.”

Prisha and Danny hug. They’ve had these conversations already and I’m late to the party. I’m a jerk and I hate all the whispering going on between them. Danny stows the scarves in his bag.

“Everybody ready?”

I motion to Prisha. “Where is his mom?”

“He doesn’t know. His dad got full custody because he said she was unstable. Made her sound crazy. But it really it was him making her crazy because she was gay, and he couldn’t stand it.”

My stomach churns. “That held up in court?”

Prisha nods. “I had the same question. I have a cousin who’s studying law in Cali. She says we make the assumption that our courts deliver justice. But how can they when the people in power don’t represent the people they’re supposed to serve?”

Prisha is dope. Damn it. “I guess I get why she had to leave,” I say. “But I don’t get why she had to disappear.”

Prisha shrugs. “I know he’s tried searching for her online and hasn’t had any luck. He’s not sure what name she uses now . . .”

“Well, damn, we tracked down your dog. Shouldn’t we be able to track down his mom?”

Danny’s dad has stronger passwords for his laptop and his email account than Prisha’s parents had, but we still manage to get in pretty fast. Middle-aged white men aren’t that imaginative.

We end up with a ten-year-old email address for his mom, plus confirmation of her maiden name. I write both down on a scrap of paper and give it to Danny. He folds it up and puts it in his pocket without a word. Stands stone still. Then grabs a pen and my wrist. Writes THANK YOU. I grab it back and write when you’re ready on his.

We’re all dead silent as we pile into the car.

This wasn’t supposed to be about me, but I can’t help it: Danny’s dad’s words dance with my mother’s words in my head.

Like Padre said, it all comes down to decisions. My mother decided to not trust my judgment. Decided who I should be and who I should love. My mother decided I’m not good. Funny how homophobic people think being gay or transgender leads to misery but never consider that they’re the ones who cause it. Never consider that they are the ones who separate God from their kids.

Hell is now. Saying it happens later is a power play.