TW: queerphobia

It's never the way you're supposed to find out.

It was me waiting for a response to the marriage proposal and finding the answer in the form of a credit-card receipt for a single one-way ticket to Berlin, Germany. Lennox had started to cry as soon as she'd seen my face, like she'd been waiting for me to somehow discover the truth. "This wasn't how I wanted for you to find out," she'd croaked between sobs, and my heart had cracked into seven thousand pieces, one for every mile between here and that stupid city in Europe. Sometimes, I wondered if it would've made a difference had she gotten the chance to tell me herself. I kind of doubted it would've softened the blow.

Still, this wasn't the way Manon was supposed to find out. I didn't think I'd ever forget that desperate sob and the thumping footsteps on the stairs or the way Elizabeth had jumped up to hurry after her.

That was also the way I found out I was in deep, deep trouble. Because at that moment, I knew I'd do anything for any of them, even travel halfway around the world to pay a visit to the biggest asshole alive and kick him in the nuts, exactly like Ma had taught me to. My instinct had told me to go after them, help if I could, but at that moment, Ari had appeared, asking if them being nonbinary was what had upset their sister.

Not much later, Camille had joined us on the couch, pouting because mommy was crying and she was scared and confused and she wanted mommy to smile again.

That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I'd sat there again, now soothing a shaken Elizabeth, her hair in rough tangles and the last remnants of make-up on her pale face smeared into a blur. She'd produced a muffled sound of thanks when I'd brought out the wine, the sweet white one she actually liked instead of the velvety red she pretended to prefer. There'd been silence, and I'd squirmed in my seat, wondering if she needed to be alone, if I was being too much again. I tended to do that when I was in love, and I was determined not to make the same mistakes— especially not with her. With this thing that could never be. This thing I should bury deep inside and get over as soon as possible. Because above all, Elizabeth needed a friend, and it would be selfish to deny her that.

She'd placed the wine glass on the coffee table before us and looked at me — looked so long my breath caught and my skin burned up and I suddenly wasn't exhausted anymore, just ready to flee all this gay panic. Then, she'd lain down, the crown of her head against my hip, her legs draped over the couch's armrest.

"I'm tired, Jessie," she'd said quietly, my name a deep sigh that made my heart beat a little faster. "I just want them to be happy. That's all I ever wanted for them. To have a childhood like mine."

And I didn't know if it was us being friends or us being tipsy or all the things that'd happened, but she'd started to talk, and she hadn't stopped. About climbing trees as a little girl, baking apple pies with her mother, her dad teaching her how to play the guitar, weekly board game nights, hikes and fishing and being on the water with the three of them.

About meeting a boy from the city and running away from home with him because her parents thought he wasn't good for her. And, unspoken, but so tangible in the tears escaping from her closed eyes, the guilt of leaving and not looking back.

It was that night that I swore Connery would thoroughly regret being born if I ever had the misfortune of meeting him.

Hakim had spent the entire day teasing me any moment the kids were out of earshot. "Texting your wife again?" he'd say, his shit-eating grin buried in his beard. Or "keep it suited for general audiences, will you?" or, "I think we should just switch your practice materials to stuff written by Elizabeth". Every time, I'd blushed crimson, trying to hold in the nervous laughter caught in my throat, until the moment he'd asked how my girlfriend was and Ari turned out to be standing behind us and I told him to quit.

Ari already thought something was going on between their mom and me. Best not feed their imagination. We'd talked to them about the drawing they'd made, making it clear it wasn't okay to out someone and that, though I loved them very much, I was the nanny, not their mom. They'd shrugged, suspiciously casually, and apologized for telling their teacher Elizabeth was pan, but the smug grin on their face indicated they weren't letting this go yet. Especially not when their mother conceded she was actually not straight.

Though the museum had been fun, we were all on our last legs by the time we pulled up in the driveway, and so, the sight of an overgrown silver Audi sitting behind the BMW made me produce a strangled groan. "Grandma! Grandpa!" Ari called out when they saw it, and before I knew it, they were helping their sister out of the car and dragging her and their new friend Faihd into the house.

Hakim gave me a look, wriggling his fingers, the nails painted a plum purple. "Pretend-to-be-straight time?" he asked, in an exaggerated low voice.

I snickered. "You bet."

We moved as slowly as possible, taking our time to get our backpacks from the trunk and to clean up the candy wrappers and empty juice packets the kids had left on the floor.

It was a good call, because the minute I stepped into the living room with a 'hello' on the tip of my tongue, a figure came charging at me, her arms spread wide and her eyes bulging like a horse's in distress. "You!" Mrs. Miller screamed in my face. "This is all your fault! You ruined my granddaughter!"

One glance at Ari was enough to help me understand where this was coming from. They were standing before their grandpa, Camille tucked into their side, their cheeks tear-stained, snot dripping from their nose.

Ice-cold drops dribbled down my spine, and I gulped. Oh, poor Ari. I'd known they were going to have to deal with less than understanding people, and yeah, the Millers were always going to be one of those, but I'd still hoped for a more civilized response than this one.

Just like last time with Mrs. Sosa, it was Elizabeth who stepped between the two of us, her hand brushing past mine, and I could breathe again. Judging by her stance, she'd been preparing for this, no hesitation as she said: "Your grandchild is the same as they ever were. Now I suggest you think about them before you say another word."

But it seemed like her attempts at restoring the peace were futile. Mrs. Miller scoffed, harshly shaking her head. "I have three granddaughters, Elizabeth!" she shrieked, pointing at the kids holding each other. Camille's lip was wobbling, and I finally unfroze, crossing the room so I could pull both of them towards me. "Three! What's next? Are you going to corrupt darling little Camille into thinking she's a boy? I won't stand for this!"

Mr. Miller walked up to her, placing a supportive hand on the small of her back. "Victoria," he said, in his mumbling voice, "you're scaring the kids with your shouting. Let's be reasonable about this."

"I am not shouting!" she shouted, swatting him away from her. "If you don't cut out this nonsense, we'll be discontinuing our generous financial support. Don't think I've forgotten where you come from, miss one-horse town!" The insult was clearly directed at Elizabeth — she didn't even flinch, though, just glared, one of her sparking ones that reduced people to a pile of ash.

Mr. Miller shushed his wife like she was an anxious animal. "We'll do no such thing," he said, and though his tone was kind, he was frowning gravely. "Don't say things you'll regret, dear. I'd never let my grandkids go without the means to succeed in life." He looked up, his eyes taking in the sight of the kids pressed against me, my arms wrapped around the both of them protectively. Ari was shaking, sobbing softly, their tears warm on my hands. "And I'm sure it's just a phase."

"It's not."

Everyone turned their head to the doorway, where Manon was hugging her own body, wrapped up in an oversized grey sweater I was sure was her mom's, hands hidden in the sleeves. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she appeared lost, like she'd wandered in here by accident. Then, her gaze settled upon Ari. She smiled at them— it was the first smile I'd seen on her in days, and I might've squeezed Camille's shoulders a bit too enthusiastically.

Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly as she watched her two oldest kids, a silent plea in the way her lips twitched, like she was hoping for a reason to smile.

"Ari is non-binary," Manon said, crossing her arms, chin lifted, even as her face flushed. "And you are a hypocrite, grandma."

Mrs. Miller slowly dropped her arms, blinking rapidly. Out of all the children, Manon had always been the fondest of her, holding a very undeserved admiration for the older woman. "What are you calling me now, girl?" Mrs. Miller asked, her voice rising.

"A hypocrite," she repeated, this time tripping over the word. "Am I saying that right, mom?" That question was added hesitantly, wringing her hands together and staring up at her mom through her lashes. Elizabeth nodded, bringing three fingers to her lips, visibly trying to keep herself together. Manon shifted her attention to her grandmother again. "You told me dad didn't want to leave us," she continued, years of hurt making her voice tremble. "That he loved us. That he wanted us to be happy." There was another gasp from her mother, and really, had she not seen that coming? "And then Ari tells you something that makes them happy, and you get angry."

"Manon, dear," Mrs. Miller said, conjuring up a condescending smile out of nowhere, "I'm thinking about your sister's happiness in the long run. Someone has to consider how indulging in this strange behavior will scar her eventually."

Manon frowned. There was a kind of clarity in her squinty blue eyes that simply left me in awe, a strength she'd inherited from her mom. "Weird," she said, "you didn't think about that when you lied and said dad was a good person."

A zinging silence rang through the room, and my heart swelled up in pride. My brave, brave, smart girl. If I could ever be half as strong as her, I could be proud of myself. Ari rushed towards their sister and took position beside her, their legs spread wide, hands on their hips. "Told you dad was a douchebag," they said.

Only then did I remember Hakim was still there as well: he laughed, one of the booming ones, trying to stop himself by covering his mouth. Mrs. Miller noticed the plum nail polish and grabbed her husband's arm, seeking support. "Charles," she said, "take me home, now!"

Weirdly, Mr. Miller waved at the kids, giving them a small smile and earning himself a hissed "Charles!" from the bigoted bat he'd married — then Mrs. Miller huffed, and she stomped out of the room, practically dragging him with her.

The front door fell shut with a bang.

Hakim coughed. "Sorry," he said, trying to avoid everyone's eyes. "You were too awesome, Ari. Couldn't help myself."

Ari flashed him a toothy grin. "I know. Don't blame you." Then, they turned to their sister, throwing their arms around her waist and pulling her so close I was scared they'd squish her like a bug.

Manon, however, giggled. "Stop! I can't breathe!" But she was smiling, and Camille skipped towards them and wriggled herself into the hug, all of them laughing and shrieking like nothing was the matter at all — like all was fine. Like they were fine.

And maybe they were.

After all, kids were so much better at seeing that silver lining and treasuring it, at making the best out of scraps and snippets they'd found at the side of the road, at picking themselves up and moving on to the next opportunity.

Something was stuck in my throat, and I moved towards Elizabeth, exchanging a glance that said everything — how proud we were, and how relieved, and how much we loved them. Oh, how I loved these kids. It was such a warm, glowing feeling I wouldn't be surprised if my chest was going to explode at the next burst of happiness it'd soak up.

The tips of her fingers brushed mine, and my stomach flipped, forcing me to send her a wide smile. She smiled back, a hesitant one full of wonder, as if she couldn't believe what was happening, and squeezed my hand, her touch cool and light, eliciting another somersault.

Manon had finally escaped from the hug, hopping from one foot to the other as she looked up at her mom, a shy blush on her cheeks. "Mom," she said, "I'm sorry."

And yeah, that was the moment my chest did explode, into a million tiny lights floating around me, with Elizabeth saying an "oh, baby", and cradling her into her arms, pulling her close, muttering things into her ear that weren't meant for anyone else to hear.

Only when Camille tugged at my shirt, offering me a tissue, I realized I was crying. I wasn't the only one: she was going around the room, holding the box in front of everyone who needed it, and then did another round in case someone required more.

Elizabeth looked up, her tissue drenched. "So," she said, "how was the trip to the museum?"

And everybody laughed.