I Wish You All the Best Read online

  “Did they ever get any better?” Hannah asks. And I can feel that knot in my stomach slowly crawling up my throat.

  “They didn’t really change,” I tell her.

  “I’m … I’m really sorry …” Hannah stares down at the wheel. “For leaving you like that. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, and when I found my chance, I took it.”

  I glance over at her, the guilt on her face obvious. She left just after her graduation. We were supposed to go eat lunch, but Hannah never showed. And when we got home, her room was completely empty. Mom and Dad both tried to call her, but she wouldn’t answer her phone.

  It took me almost a week to find the note hidden in our bathroom, the one with the name of her college and her cell phone number. Telling me to call her if I needed anything. I think it was supposed to be comforting, but really, it just made me mad. Because she’d left.

  She’d left me with them, to fend for myself.

  After that, Mom and Dad changed. I sort of became the punching bag for all of Dad’s issues. He didn’t actually hit me, but overnight, I essentially became an only child. The focus of anything and everything. If I did something wrong, it was blown way out of proportion. It was almost like they’d seen what’d happened with Hannah and were determined to make sure I didn’t turn out the same way. Except I don’t know how getting more frustrated with me over school and chores was supposed to change that.

  “Hey, you okay?” She nudges me.

  “Just thinking,” I say. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should’ve … I just …”

  I shrug. “Whatever.” I don’t want to have this conversation. Not right now.

  And if I have the choice, not ever.

  Sunday is a day of nothings. I sleep in way too late, not recognizing my room when I open my eyes.

  “Breathe,” I tell myself out loud, and for a second I don’t recognize my own voice. My heart pounding in my chest. “Just breathe. This is Hannah’s house, you live with her now.” I will my hands to unclench from around my sheets, but I can feel the sweat in the small of my back. I don’t remember what my dream was about, but Hannah was there, and Mom. “Breathe.”

  I spend most of the day in my room, sort of in this haze. I eventually try to draw something, anything, really, but any time I so much as pick up my pencil, it’s like my hand refuses to cooperate. After that, I try to watch TV with Thomas and Hannah, just doodling in the corners of the paper. Nothing too elaborate.

  I waste the rest of the day chatting with Mariam for a bit, trying to catch them up with everything that’s happened this weekend, before lying down. It’s hard to believe that it’s almost been a week since that night. It feels so impossibly long ago. My alarm comes way too early Monday morning. For the first time in a while, I’ve managed to get a full night’s sleep and I can’t even enjoy it that much.

  Then I remember my appointment with Dr. Taylor. Hannah took care of setting it up for me, but there was only one slot open, at noon today, so she is going to pick me up from school early and take me. I sit up with a groan and walk to the bathroom. Try as I might, there’s no avoiding my reflection while I wait for the water to warm. I eye the faint stubble that doesn’t belong. I still haven’t found the time or the energy to shave, even though I hate the way it makes me look. And then I notice the bags under my eyes, the way my hair falls over my forehead, and the scars my acne has left behind.

  Such a contrast to the other nonbinary people I’ve seen online. Their smooth, hairless, acneless faces, their trimmed hair that always seems perfect. These things I could never be. Because no matter how hard I will it, my body isn’t how I want to see myself. Not that there’s anything wrong with those kinds of enby people, I just … it’s hard to describe. Bodies are fucking weird, especially when it feels like you don’t belong in your own. But it’s too late for things like puberty blockers, and surgery isn’t something I want.

  Hell, even my name isn’t very “neutral.” It’s a boy’s name, even if there really isn’t such a thing. But changing it is long, and complicated, and I don’t even know what I’d change it to. I’m Ben; that’s just who I am.

  I don’t know what I really want, but it isn’t this body. It’s almost like it knows, with the way it taunts me. It takes everything I have not to climb back into bed, even though I know Hannah won’t let me miss this appointment. “What is wrong with me?” I whisper.

  I just need to make it through half a day. That’s it. Hannah’s going to pick me up before lunch and take me to the appointment. But even half a day feels like it will be too much. I breathe in and out. I can do this.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper to myself.

  “So where are you going during lunch?” Nathan leans over the counter, head tilted to the side like a puppy.

  We’re sitting in Chemistry. Thomas finished the lesson early today, so I decided to get a jump on all the homework I’ve been given. It’s a lot to handle after just a few days, especially since I’ve apparently missed the deadline on a few things. I also have to play catch-up in a few classes. I’m pretty much good in Art and Calculus, and Thomas promised me he’d help me catch up in Chemistry. But I can already tell I’m going to need a tutor for English. I’ve never been good at the whole paper-writing thing anyway. Too many rules that are too hard to remember.

  “What do you mean?” I rub at my eyes. All this stuff is starting to blend together. Dozens of signature lines and trying to figure out how much everything is going to cost me here. Or, I guess, cost Hannah.

  “I mean, we have the same lunch period, but I haven’t seen you there once.” Nathan sticks up his hand.

  “I go somewhere else,” I say, not really interested in this conversation.

  But clearly he is. “Where?”

  “Does it matter?” I sigh, shoving all the papers back into my bag, zipping it up with a little too much satisfaction. It hasn’t taken me long to figure out the quad is the “official-unofficial” smoking area. What they smoke varies between them all apparently, but they leave me alone and I leave them alone. It’s quickly becoming one of the best relationships I have at this school.

  I did the same thing at Wayne, except there wasn’t a courtyard or anything like it, so I used the back entrance of the gym. The one no one really thought about. There, I could be alone. I never had to worry about someone finding me or bothering me or asking me what I was working on.

  “I’m just wondering. Plus I’m your accountabilibuddy.” Nathan cracks a smile.

  I just stare at him with a blank look. “My what?”

  “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

  “You were just supposed to show me my classes.”

  “Are you okay? You seem a little irritable.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Okay, Mr. Attitude.” Nathan chuckles.

  “Please don’t call me that.” I rub my eyes again, like I could just wipe away the tired, burning feeling inside. I don’t even know if I’m talking more about the “Mr.” part or the “Attitude.”

  “It’s okay, man.”

  I think I sound angrier than I mean to. He’s just asking a question, after all. I guess I’m just stressed out about this appointment.

  To Nathan’s credit, he doesn’t look offended. “You should come to lunch with me sometime, my friends want to meet you.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I lean forward, burying my head in my backpack, already actively planning to never think about it. This morning has been a mess, and I’m sure it’s not about to get any better. “Doesn’t matter today though.” The phone on Thomas’s desk starts to ring, probably the front office.

  “Why?”

  “I have a doctor’s appointment. I’m leaving after this period.”

  “Oh, urologist?” he asks with probably the straightest face I’ve ever seen.

  “What? No,” I sputter. “And why was that your first guess? Never mind.”

  “Relax, man.” Nathan start
s to pack up his own bag. “I’m playing with you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ben.” Thomas hangs up the phone. “They’re ready for you in the office.”

  “Good luck,” Nathan whispers when I push my seat under the counter. A few of my new classmates glare at me as I make my way to the door, backpack thrown over my shoulder. Thankfully Thomas avoided any lengthy introductions, which probably means that everyone here is still wondering about this weird-ass kid who’s randomly been put in their class.

  “Ready to go?” Hannah grabs her purse as I push through the doors of the front office.

  “Yeah.” I’m not really, but I figure it’ll be better to go ahead and get this over with.

  “Had a good day so far?”

  Hannah’s got her car pulled up in front of the building. It’s unseasonably warm outside today, but it’s the first day I haven’t needed three layers, so I don’t plan on complaining. “So far.”

  Hannah spent the last two nights showing me reviews from past patients of Dr. Taylor, assuring me she is one of the best in town, which really only made me more nervous to talk to her. I wonder how much Hannah’s told her exactly, if anything at all.

  I’ve been mentally preparing myself to come out all over again, but I’ve been doing that for a while now. That was one of the things I realized early. If you’re queer, your life has the potential to become one long coming-out moment. If I ever want to be called the right pronouns, I’ll have to correct people and put myself out there first and who knows what could happen.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “To have someone poke around my brain for an afternoon?” I buckle my seat belt. “I’m thrilled.”

  Hannah shoots me this look, that sort of brows-pointed-down “you need to chill out” look. “Okay, sassy britches. I just think it will help, and it’s a short meeting. Only forty-five minutes.”

  “Hmmm.” Forty-five minutes too long if you ask me.

  “I haven’t told her anything.” Hannah’s car rolls to a stop. “About you being nonbinary. I didn’t know what you’d be okay with.”

  “But she knows Mom and Dad kicked me out?”

  “Couldn’t avoid that detail. Sorry, sib.” She glances around to check for the traffic before she pulls out onto the road.

  “It’s whatever.” I sigh and rest my head on the cool window, not knowing whether to feel relieved or angry that she shared that with a stranger.

  The doctor’s office is a part of this long row of complexes, the ones that look like an apartment building but are really just filled with offices. In this one alone, there’s a place where you can get your teeth cleaned and get a few X-rays done if you want, all while checking to see if you’re pregnant. I glare at the way they all seem to tower over Hannah’s car.

  I really want to ask Hannah if we can reschedule or something. I’ll even go back to school if I have to. Just anything to not be here. Do I really need to see this woman? Can I air out all my problems to a complete and total stranger? My eyes fly from the ground back to the buildings, my stomach clenching. There’s nothing for me to let out, but I can feel the bile rising.

  “Her office is on the third floor.” Hannah locks the doors of the car and stuffs her keys into her bag.

  I make it as far as the entrance, reading the board of names for the offices. There’s an entire block worth of counselors, their titles, their office numbers. I try my best to focus in on Dr. Taylor’s name, but it’s like my eyesight goes blurry for a split second. I close my eyes and pinch my brow, trying to calm myself.

  My hands get that same clammy feeling they did in the Walgreens that night. It’s this sudden feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut, like I can’t catch my breath.

  “Hannah?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” Hannah closes the space between us, grabbing my hand, and it takes everything in me not to pull it back. “It’s all right. Listen. It’s going to be okay. Dr. Taylor is going to help you, all right?”

  “What is she going to do?” I try not to breathe too deep. I feel like I should be crying, but there are no tears, just this pocket of air in my lungs that I can’t get out.

  “She’s just going to talk to you about what you’re feeling, what you’re going through.”

  “What am I supposed to tell her?”

  “You tell her whatever you want, but it’ll help her to know at least what you identify as. That’s the first step.” I try to nod, but I still feel like I’m going to be sick. This was exactly how it felt before I told my parents.

  I can’t do this again, can I? I can’t come out all over again, not here, not right now.

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “Okay.” Hannah sighs, brushing the hair from her face. “Try this. You told me once already. Just keep telling me. That should be easy, right?”

  “What?”

  “Just keep repeating it back to me. It’s like that thing where words lose their meaning after a while.”

  “Do you really think that’ll help?” I ask. I mean, I guess it makes sense. In theory, at least.

  “If you get used to saying it, it’ll get easier. I think that’s how this works?”

  I take a deep breath and force the words out slowly. “I’m nonbinary.”

  “Again.”

  “I’m nonbinary.”

  “Come on, keep doing it.”

  “I’m nonbinary. I’m nonbinary. I’m nonbinary.” It’s silly, standing in the middle of a lobby, repeating back the same words over and over again. But it does feel easier with each time I say it, despite the heavy feeling in my stomach. “I’m nonbinary. I’m nonbinary.”

  “One more.”

  “I’m nonbinary.”

  “Good, you’ve got this.” She presses a hand to the small of my back and leads me to the elevators. “Just picture me if you have to, okay?”

  I nod. Just get there. Get in there so there’s no turning back.

  “And I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me. If you want to leave early, if you need me to sit in there with you, anything at all.”

  “Okay.” The elevator doors slide open, and we walk in together.

  I’m not exactly sure what to expect. Maybe stark white walls, ugly tiled floors, and an inescapable medical smell. But Dr. Taylor’s office looks just like what it is. An office. The walls are a light blue and decorated with colorful paintings. The furniture is bright too, and the floor is a warm hardwood.

  “Hello! Ben, right?” She smiles and opens the door wide for me.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Dr. Taylor, but you can call me Bridgette if you’d like. You can take a seat right on the sofa.” Dr. Taylor points to this hideous mustard-yellow couch that sits against the wall. By some miracle, it fits the look of the room though.

  “So.” Dr. Taylor grabs a small notepad and pen from her desk. “Your sister called to tell me about a few things.”

  She’s older than I thought she’d be. Maybe midforties? She’s pretty short too, with brown skin and short, tight curls.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “That you’d been kicked out of your home.” Dr. Taylor takes a seat in the chair across from me, folding her legs over. “And that you might need someone to talk to.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, a little surprised. I know Hannah said she didn’t tell Dr. Taylor anything else, but I didn’t really believe her. And now I feel bad for thinking my sister might out me like that.

  “That’s it. I thought it wasn’t appropriate to discuss anything further without your knowledge.”

  “Oh …” I’m not sure what to say. “Thanks, I guess.”

  She nods. “So, can you tell me why your parents made you leave?”

  I close my eyes, rubbing my knees. Here we go.

  “You don’t have to, but it might be a good starting-off point,” she says.

  “N
o, it’s …” I shake my head, picturing Hannah. Just say the words. Two little words, that’s it. “I’m … I’m nonbinary.”

  “Oh.” I hear the distinct sound of a pen being clicked, and then something being written down. Opening my eyes slowly, I watch her move. She doesn’t seem surprised, or horrified, or like she misunderstood me or didn’t know what I was talking about. “Did Hannah tell you that I work with a lot of LGBTQIAP+ youth?”

  That pit in my stomach is still there, but I can feel my hands relax. “You can say ‘queer’ around me, it’s fine.”

  She chuckles at that. “Sorry, a few of my clients aren’t comfortable with that word. So, you’re nonbinary?”

  I nod.

  “Can I ask what pronouns you use?”

  “They and them,” I say. It’s still weird, for some reason, to be asked that.

  “And so what’s the connection there, between you being nonbinary and your parents?”

  “I came out, or I tried to. They both sort of freaked.” I’ve never felt smaller than in that moment. The way Dad stood over me, his hand raised. I thought he might actually hit me or something, but no. He just pointed at the door.

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t know, just get out of this house.”

  I’d never seen that look in his eyes before.

  “Can you tell me how they behaved? As parents.”

  “Like parents, I guess,” I say. “I don’t really know.” As far as I know, they were mostly normal. But I don’t exactly have another set of parents to compare them to.

  “What was Hannah’s relationship with them like?”

  “She got along with Mom, for the most part. But she’d fight a lot with Dad.”

  “And you? What was your relationship with them like?”

  Better than whatever their relationship was with Hannah, but still rocky. And it only got worse as time went on, the fights getting more and more frequent. “Fine, I guess. Things got worse after Hannah left.”

  “When did Hannah leave?”

  I sigh. “The night I called her, that was the first time I’d spoken to her in about ten years.” My fingers find the little balls of fuzz on the couch and can’t resist picking at them, twisting them together until they get too big. I just leave them sitting there when I’m done.