I shake my head. Tamar unwraps a square and pops it into her mouth. “Anyway, I still think you should talk to him.”
“I would! But he won’t text me back.”
“So? Text him again. Don’t harass him or anything, but let him know you want to talk. People mess up. If he doesn’t get that, maybe he’s not as awesome as I am.”
She’s trying to cheer me up, but this feels like it’ll take a lot more than a simple text to fix. “I will. I’m not sure how much it’ll help, though.”
“That’s all you can do. It’s up to him to decide if he wants to forgive you.”
“Okay.” I make up my mind. “I’ll text him again.”
“Good.” Tamar blows a big pink bubble, then looks over at me with a serious expression. “Do you want me to use ‘she’ when I talk about you to other people, or something else?”
Is it weird to be thrilled when I don’t even know the answer to her question? It makes me want to grab her hands and twirl in a big circle.
“‘She’ is fine, for now. I still have a ton of stuff to figure out. Like, is there a way for me to have a nonbinary mitzvah ceremony? I don’t even know.”
Tamar sits up straighter. “That is a really good question.”
“Yeah. I’ll probably have to find someone to talk to at temple.”
“Let me know if I can help. Or if you want me to make a Venn diagram for anyone. I’ll do it, no problem.”
That’s the Tamar I know and love.
“I’ll for sure ask.”
I push myself up from the bed. “I should get home before Mom’s off work.” I meet Tamar’s eyes. “But if you do need to talk, about Moves or your parents or anything, I’m here. I mean it.”
Tamar nods. Her bubble pops. “Got it.”
“See you soon?”
“You’d better.” Tamar types something into her phone, then waves it at me. “I’ve already picked a date on our calendar.”
My phone pings with the new entry as I head for the door. “Got it!”
“Hey, Ana?”
I stop, looking back at her. “Yeah?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“Our goodbye hug.” Tamar stands and heads to me, rolling her eyes. “Duh.”
I’ve never wrapped my arms around her faster.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I wake up before Mom on Friday. Even though we agreed not to set an alarm, the sun shines through our window. It teams up with my internal clock, coaxing my eyes open on my normal weekday schedule.
Mom’s soft, measured breaths tell me she’s still asleep. Now would be a good time to follow Tamar’s advice and text Hayden. I reach for my phone—
—and totally chicken out.
Not ready yet. Nope.
There are plenty of other messages to respond to. Tamar’s texts flood my front screen, full of emojis. I skim through them and reply back.
Faith also texted me a couple of days ago, asking if I was okay after Mom told Mrs. Park to leave for the rink without me. I didn’t know what to say then. Explaining myself feels simpler now, even if I’m not ready to share all the details.
6:27 a.m.: Hi! Yeah, I’m fine.
6:27 a.m.: Just got stressed about my program.
Her replies arrive fast.
6:29 a.m.: If you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.
6:29 a.m.: (I promise not to tell people at the rink.)
Mom would totally approve of her properly punctuated sentences.
6:30 a.m.: Thanks. I hated my free program and finally told my mom, that’s all.
6:30 a.m.: Now I have to figure out what to do with my new costume because I don’t like skating in dresses!
Her next texts pop up right after mine.
6:31 a.m.: And I’d rather choreograph & cut music than skate to it. What a combo.
6:31 a.m.: I might have an idea about your costume, but I have to get dressed. Text you later!
That brings me back to having to figure out what to say to Hayden. It’s been days since we’ve talked or texted. For the last two months, we’ve sent each other a steady stream of texts, most silly, a couple serious. Now I can’t find the right words. It’s like I’m at center ice, waiting for the music to start without having a clue what my first steps are.
I type out a long message, then copy and send each line individually.
6:36 a.m.: I’m really (really, really) sorry I didn’t tell you my real name.
6:36 a.m.: Or warn you about the posters.
6:37 a.m.: Do you know what nonbinary means?
6:37 a.m.: Actually, can we talk before your class next week? I’ll explain everything.
I hit send as fast as possible. Hayden probably isn’t awake, unless Mattie got him up early again. I shut off my phone anyway. I’m finally trying to make things right, but that doesn’t mean I want to read an angry response if Hayden decides to tell me off.
Carefully, I climb down the ladder. Mom shifts as I step onto a creaky rung but doesn’t open her eyes. The lines on her forehead are smooth.
Today is supposed to be about us, but I want this morning to be all about Mom. She works so hard to pay for everything. She makes sure I keep up with my homework and prepares meals for me, even when she’s exhausted. Now I want to do something for her.
Opening a cabinet, I scan each shelf. Special occasions call for special meals. My thoughts move immediately to pancakes.
I don’t want to make just any pancakes. I love the fluffy, syrupy kind, but Mom’s favorite comes from a traditional recipe Grandma Goldie taught her when she was my age.
I stack ingredients into my arms. Soy, salt, oil, and flour all get placed gently on the counter.
Chopsticks and a mixing bowl come next before I stop dead in front of the refrigerator. We usually go grocery shopping on the weekend. I open the door and scan the shelves, but it’s just as I suspected. No chives
