Dora shook her head, the wind whipping at her hair. "I'm not going to stand by and let my kid get called a bitch."
"Or what?" Erica challenged. "What is the other option other than walking away? Beat up their mom? Hit a child? Get in a pissing match with words? Possibly get arrested?"
Dora opened her mouth to respond, but Erica cut her off.
"This isn't about Jesse being bullied. Do you know that?"
"Of course, that's what it's about," Dora shot back, swiping at her nose that had begun to drip again.
"No, Dora. It's not." Erica's dark eyes held hers. "You struggled with us in the beginning when we started seeing each other. Struggled with your sexuality. When Jesse came out, you didn't want him to wear dresses. You didn't want him to feminize himself. Oh, the kids all thought you were cool with it, but I had to talk you around. This is not about those boys in the store or their mom. It's about you coming to grips with yourself."
Dora struggled to respond through chattering teeth. It was so cold it seeped through her clothes. "That's just the thing, Erica. How can I come to grips with myself when I don't even fucking know who I am? Who am I? Who the fuck is Dora?"
Erica reached out a hand to stroke her wife’s cheek, but Dora pulled away, and Erica’s arm slowly dropped back to their side, the hurt in their eyes draining Dora's anger away.
"I'm not her." Dora tried to hold herself steady, but her teeth wouldn't stop chattering. She couldn't tell if it was the cold or nerves. "I'm not bi or gay or a mom or a fashion expert. I'm not Dora. I'm… I'm Serene." She glanced over her shoulder at Dora's children, watching them, pale faces drawn, noses and cheeks red from the cold. A howl of wind rounded the corner. Erica pulled the hood of their sweater up and went to the children, gathering them up. Dora watched as if from a great distance these strangers who were suddenly her family. People who belonged to a woman she couldn't access.
35
Barbara - February 2020
Barbara scanned the spreadsheet of receipts for January. Their sales were down almost ten percent and followers kept asking what happened to Dora. Her mother hadn't produced any new videos in over a month, and Barbara wasn't sure what to do. People were used to Dora uploading a video twice a week on YouTube and a podcast once a week. She also had a lifestyle blog that she updated twice a week with fashion tips, travel recommendations, DIY hair masks and conditioners, and facial cleansers and creams. Lately, Dora had let herself go. She didn't seem to use any of the high quality organic facial products at her disposal. Her hair often looked lank and a bit greasy, the roots puffy with new growth that she didn't bother to even out to match the permed straightened style she wore lately. Dora had stopped running and dark circles hollowed out her eyes, giving her a haunted look.
Dora––the woman her fans knew––wore bright colors and bright lipstick. Her skin was always flawless and dewy fresh, radiating health. That Dora was witty and laughed a lot. She was personable. On her podcast, also called Dora's Closet, she was a skilled host who knew how to ask her guests all the right questions. Dora read magazines, articles and books about her industry. She followed a slew of podcasts and blogs. Often Dora's fashion business intersected with Erica and Cuppa's Brides 2 Be wedding planning business. The sale of products from Dora's Closet was partly contingent on Dora's regular online presence. She was the face of the business. People wanted to connect with her, try new things that Dora recommended and consume new content that Dora produced. Barbara sighed and closed out the spreadsheet, opening Shopify and navigating to Orders to look over sales in the past week. A folder on her desktop caught her attention. It was simply labeled “Us.” Wanting a break, Barbara minimized the browser and opened the folder. She knew what was inside, but having recently read American Murder, the collection of images took on a different meaning for her. Barbara clicked on one of the pictures, an old photo of her mom and dad at the Santa Monica courthouse, skateboarding. Intrigued, Barbara opened another image, a grainy looking picture of her parents with some of their friends. She recognized some of them and slowly clicked through them all.
Dora, when she was Serene, standing next to Bets in front of the high school, laughing about something.
Her mom and dad and another boy. Dylan? Doing tricks on skateboards.
Enzo, standing in front of his house with a soccer ball under his arm, head cocked, index finger pressing into his cheek, giving Taylor a goofy grin. She was laughing at him, her head a blur of movement. Behind them were Dora and Julie, before Julie became Mara. Julie's mouth was open in mid-sentence and Dora had her head down. Barbara stared, fascinated at the next image. She couldn't recall ever seeing the picture before. A group of kids in a living room, some of them dancing, all of them unfamiliar with the exception of Kanani. Dora’s hair is in the process of being braided, a great poof of kinks sprouting off the top of her head, the back already a curtain of braids, shiny with the synthetic plastic added in. The young woman braiding Dora's hair is yelling something at the dancers: boys in their late teens or early twenties, with wiry bodies and looking very nineties in baggy jeans that hang off their hips. One of them has a flat top and the other is in cornrows. Kanani is bending toward them, one hand out, legs in a wide stance, singing. In the center of it all is a kid with a braided ponytail and large dorky-looking reading glasses, doing the splits
