Page 6 of Between Now and Forever

My brother is the only person I’m ever vulnerable with. But when it comes to my appearance and the way I dress, even he seems to have the same blinders on as everyone else and I can’t bring myself to tell him how exposed I feel right now.

So, I square my chin and shrug curtly, instead. “I like this dress and I like pink.”

He’s not convinced and his expression doesn’t change as he takes me in. “Clo- you hate dresses.”

“I don’t.” I sniff indignantly.

“And you’re wearing makeup and a wig. And youhatepink.” If he can sense my growing discomfort he’s ignoring it.

He still sounds confused.

I’m starting to feel nervous. This isnotthe reaction I expected or wanted.

“I don’t hate pink. I just like blue better,” I try to keep my voice level and remind myself that he’s just being honest.

I don’t wear makeup. Mainly because when I used to experiment with it, my father’s comments made it clear that it wasn’t doing me any favors. I don’t wear dresses, but only because I’ve never looked good in them.

As for my fascination with blue, it’s self-explanatory. It’s not just the color of the canopy we call the sky. It’s the color of the ocean; it’s what give lapis lazuli it’s glory. It’s what makes blueberries a superfood. It’s what becomes of fire when it’s at its hottest. It’s the color of our blood before it’s tainted by oxygen. My blue eyes are the only thing I have from my father. My mother once said to him in anger that his eyes were the color of his soul. I don’t know what it meant, but I knew it meant that I had a blue soul, too.

“It’s like you’re in disguise.”

This isnotthe reaction I expected or wanted.

It’s true, I don’t wear makeup, but it’s because the one time I did, my father told me that my lips were too big for my face and that the lipstick made me look cheap. But, I watched a tutorial on YouTube, and I made sure I played down my abnormally full lips.

“I just wanted to try something different.”

“Are you thinking of growing your hair?” he asks, and I swallow nervously.

“No.” The dark swirling mass of curls that never frizzed is a gift from my mother. My memories of her include the way her dark hair used to cover me like a veil of silk when she cuddled with me at night. It smelled like sunflowers, and the memory of being surrounded by it is like being suffused with warmth.

My father got rid of every picture of her. I only have one, and it’s just a profile of her. When she first left, I wore it long as a way to feel close to her.

When I was old enough to understand how the way I looked affected the way my father felt about me, everything changed. Being close to her, looking like her, was the very last thing I wanted.

I bought myself a box of dye and colored it myself because the only person I could ask for help was my stepmother and I avoided talking to her as much as possible.

It didn’t go well and my hair disintegrated and broke so badly I had to cut it.

Again, I did it myself. This time though, I watched a video tutorial on Instagram. The results, initially had excited me.

I didn’t look like her anymore and without all of that hair, I could see my bone structure. My face looked almost…pretty.

That evening, I went down to dinner excited to see what my father thought. When I told him and Fiona that I was going for the Audrey Hepburn pixie look, she laughed. “You’re more Scout Finch than My Fair Lady, Lizzy. Onlyreallypretty girls can pull off that look. It’s a shame you don’t wear makeup. At least with your long hair, we could hide your…stain.”

My father hadn’t looked up from his tuna steak when he said, “Nothing can hide thatthing. And what’s the point of makeup? Everyone knows what’s under there. If only she were really a boy, then it wouldn’t matter that she’s so ugly.”

I’d been breathless with the swift kick of pain his cruel, casual words delivered.

The knowledge that my own father, my only parent, thought I wasuglybroke something in me. His words didn’t just bruise my pride, they sank into my marrow and stayed there.

Not because I believed that he was right, but because I knew then that it must be what everyone else thought, too.

I spent all day making myself look like the girls they’ve bestowed the monikers of pretty and loveable on.

If my own brother, who knows and loves me best, doesn’t recognize thatthisLiz is therealme - fully manifested and on display, then maybe Duke won’t either.

My stomach dips and dread starts to taint the sense of excitement I felt when I first came downstairs.

---