Daniel’s smile fades. “Oh. Yeah, I guess he will.” His face goes glum. But then he brightens. “Or, wait. I was in the kennel once when Gavin the office guy was giving a customer a tour. He said that to be boarded, a dog has to be up to date on shots. So like, you wouldn’t know that about a stray, right? So a stray couldn’t stay there.” He nods like he’s agreeing with himself. “Yes. Yeah.” He blinks and focuses on my face. “I’m glad you thought of that too. You’re a genius, Ash.”
My skin’s going pink, but for once, I don’t care. “Will he ask if you tried to call Tina?”
Daniel nods. “I actually thought of that. I’ve been trying to find her on Facebook but there’s so many Tina Martins. I messaged three I thought might be her. Only got one answer, from someone who didn’t know what I was talking about.” He checks his phone. “Make that two someones who don’t know. Still no answer from the third.”
“Who’s the genius now?”
“You. Still you. Definitely.”
I laugh. I feel so light and free and happy that I lean forward to kiss him again. But our helmets knock together and our chins bump and we both crack up.
“Awkward!” I practically shout.
Daniel looks embarrassed but happy. “So, um. When we get there . . . can you help me explain? I don’t think I’ll cry like a two-year-old, but”— he waves his hand—“let’s be realistic, it’s probably gonna happen.” He looks pained.
“Of course,” I say.
“Thank you.” Daniel smiles sadly. “My mom said once that her and Dad always wanted a daughter. I guess my life would be easier if I were a Danielle instead. It’s fine if girls cry at the drop of a hat. But for guys, once you’re past preschool . . .” He shrugs and forces a laugh.
I do too. It sounds like I tripped over a goat. Daniel says something about Mitch and Fiona that I’m too confuzzled to catch, and then we get back on our bikes and ride, and I can’t get the image of him as a girl out of my head.
If I found out he really was a girl, and I thought I’d kissed a girl instead of a guy, would I be mad? Or upset?
I think I would.
I think I’d feel like I’d been lied to.
I don’t know what to do with that. So I just keep pedaling.
14
Bodily Function
Daniel
I thought I was ready, I thought after joking about being a Danielle, I thought after we came up with a story, that I’d be cool. That I wouldn’t immediately melt down and beg Dad to please come home so my life feels like a complete picture again instead of a puzzle with pieces missing. So I can sleep at night and do photography and return to my regular level of freaked out instead of this DEFCON 1 nonsense.
But standing at his door at 10:42 a.m., holding a smelly, diapered Pomeranian whose tongue won’t stay in her mouth, I’m suddenly . . . not ready for this.
I can’t even knock.
Ashley lifts her hand toward the door. She raises her eyebrows to ask if I want her to knock for me.
I nod. She nods too. Then she waits a minute like she’s aware I need it.
She always knows exactly what to do. How to be around me without making me feel bad for feeling.
Cole used to be like that.
Ash knocks.
My heart pounds hard. I don’t even know if Dad’s here. Which, wow, how did it not occur to me until this minute that he might not be here? He’s a creative director at an ad agency and sometimes has to go out to LA to direct commercials. For all I know, he’s not even in town.
Footsteps inside, and the door opens, and he’s so extremely here that I freeze up and can’t even say hi. I just stare at his blue-gray eyes, level with mine, which is so weird, like he’s been bigger than me my whole life and then I barely see him for two months and I’m as tall as him now? Have his shoulders always seemed so small?
The familiar lines of his face morph from surprise to confusion and then alarm.
“Hi! I’m Ash.” Ashley sticks out her hand.
Dad shakes it, looking at me with one eyebrow up. “I’m Luke,” he tells her. “Actually, make that Mr. Sanders. Daniel, what are you doing here? Whose dog is that?”
“This is Ch—” Oh crap. “Uh, it’s sort of a long story. Can we come in?”
Dad glances into his apartment, then turns to me with an expression I can’t read. “Yeah,” he says like he wants to say no. He steps aside and we go in.
I stop dead. A woman with pale skin and long dark hair and dark eyes is on the couch, holding a tissue and a mostly empty glass of water. Like she’s been there awhile. Her eyes are puffy like she has allergies. The TV is paused on Mad Men. Dad’s favorite show.
“Daniel, this is Grace. Grace, this is my son Daniel. And—sorry, what was it? Ashley?”
“Just Ash. It’s nice to meet you both.”
Oops. I assumed Ash was short for Ashley.
“How’d you get here?” Dad asks me. “Did your mom bring you?”
“We biked,” I croak. My throat is a desert. Not just from running out of water on the ride.
Dad looks alarmed. “On busy roads? With a dog? How’d you—”
“We took back roads through neighborhoods,” Ash says. “Totally safe, don’t worry.”
“But that’s—what is that, fifteen miles?” Dad tilts his head at me. “I think I need an explanation. Please.”
My heart starts unraveling. When Mitch or I mess up, Mom’s like a school principal, all disciplinarian, ready to get us back in line. Dad’s not like that. He wants to know where we’re coming from, what we were thinking that made us do whatever we did. If we can’t see how what we did could’ve turned out badly, he explains it, patiently. It works so much better than
