“And so what if they do? I hope they see how amazing you are.”
I shake my head, bristling when she casts a nervous look at my mother who’s bustling around the kitchen in the distance. Shit, that’s why. My heart aches as I pull her in for a quick kiss before marching her down the hall.
“What are you doing?” she asks in alarm.
“Showing you something.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I burst into the main area of the house where my family is scattered around in various activities. Maman and Camille are in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Lea is strumming one of Gen’s guitars on a stool at the island. The younger ones are in the attached family room watching TV. This is about right. A massive mansion of endless nooks and crannies, but my family ends up piled together in the same vicinity. It’s time for Genevieve to see a different kind of love.
“Everyone! Can I have your attention, please?” I shout in French. Maman and Camille look over from the island counter. Lea straightens on the stool. The others twist back to stare at their weird brother who’s making a scene in the middle of the room. “We have something very important to watch right now. Sorry, kids, we need the television for a few minutes.”
“But Oliver, my bread,” Maman whines, and I give her a look that makes her sigh.
“Trust me, you don’t want to miss this. It will just take a second.”
Genevieve looks very confused when everyone stops what they’re doing and gathers onto, and around, the couches in the family room. “What’s happening? What did you say?” she hisses at me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I trap her in front of me behind the couch so she can’t bolt. I tell Eric to pass me the remote and switch the input. When I find Viv’s video on my phone, my blood rushes with anticipation at the evidence of what my genius girlfriend has put together. Maybe part of me is even being selfish right now. This is for her—to show her what unconditional love looks like—but this is also for me. My girlfriend is brilliant, and I want the people I love most to know it.
I mirror my display from the phone to the TV and feel her gasp when the paused image pops up on the enormous screen.
“Oh! A music video,” Lea cries, clapping her hands.
“C'est qui Viv Hastings? Une amie?” Camille asks.
“English, when possible,” I remind Camille who shoots back a sheepish smile.
“Sorry,” she says to Genevieve. “I asked who is Viv Hastings. Someone you know?”
“Kind of,” Gen says. Her strange tone gets my attention. Was there some excitement creeping through the anger in her voice? Her body is stiff against me, so I know she’s scared, but she’s not running or fighting me anymore either.
I press play.
For the next three and a half minutes, my family remains mesmerized in front of the screen. Genevieve relaxes as well, even leaning forward against the back of the couch as if straining for a better view. Me? I’m speechless. The video is incredible, as dark and raw as the song. The entire thing is a sequence of mirror fragments reflecting back glimpses of a girl. You can never see enough of her at once to tell who she is. An eye here. Lips there. A hand, a waist, a foot. The girl in the mirror is exposing herself in pieces, and yet creating a picture so poignant it has my stomach tight with emotion. I want her to find herself, to break free and claim everything she deserves. It’s beautiful and sad. Frustrating and hopeful. My fists clench in silent cheers for her to just break out.
And then I lose my breath. As the song fades out, a shadowed girl steps forth from the first intact mirror. Strong and confident, she stands tall in the darkness, her features obscured by intricate lighting so all you see is a halo of red hair reflecting around her shadowed silhouette. It’s Genevieve. And it’s not. It’s so simple, and yet so incredibly moving I’m fighting back a rush of emotion. It’s just so perfect for Genevieve’s metamorphosis into Viv Hastings. No one will know it’s her, until they do, and then there will be no doubt.
Applause erupts around the room when the video ends, enough excitement to assure anyone of the masterpiece we just witnessed. But while my siblings engage in animated chatter and demands to see it again, Genevieve’s nervous attention remains fixed on one person: my mother. It kills me that my girl can’t enjoy the magic of what just happened, the glowing response of everyone else. No, she’s still listening to that one flicker of doubt that’s been ingrained in her since birth.
After a long pause, my mother turns to face us, her eyes resting on Genevieve.
“This is you?” she asks in heavily-accented English.
Genevieve tenses and swallows. Her grip constricts on the back of the couch. “Yes. It’s me,” she says quietly. She’s braced for critique, ready to fight. I know what she’s thinking, can see it in every subtle movement and expression.
And then…
My mother’s smile grows into a proud grin. She pushes up from the couch and crosses around to pull my stunned girlfriend into her arms. Genevieve stiffens briefly before leaning into the embrace. Maman holds on firmly, tucking her into a wave of love that’s gotten me through years of adversity and tragedy. Tears well in Genevieve’s eyes as she lifts them to me over my mother’s shoulder, and I have to choke back some of my own. This is it, I respond silently. This is your surprise.
“You are so wonderful, Genevieve. I hope you know this,” Maman says quietly. “We are so proud.”
I wake up on Christmas Eve alone in Genevieve’s bed. Strange, she usually waits for me. This is her favorite time of the day, cuddled up and lingering in the morning, and due to the holiday, we both have two blissful days
