Page 72 of Loving Lauren
Their weekly coffee meetings had become something Sierra both looked forward to and dreaded. Some days the conversation flowed easily, others were stilted with the weight of everything unspoken.
When Lauren appeared at movie night, Calliope’s smile was polite but cool. Jett made space on the couch but didn’t engage them in conversation. The group was civil, but Sierra could feel their protective energy. They texted often, sometimes called just to talk about nothing. It wasn’t romance, not yet, but something tender was growing in the space between. Hope could be terrifying when you’d already lost everything once.
The community center buzzed with its usual pre-class energy as people filtered in with their sketchbooks and rattling pastel boxes. Sierra adjusted the sleeves of her favorite cardigan while scanning the room.
Lauren lingered by the doorway, tugging at the strap of their art bag like they were working up courage.
“Hey there,” they called out.
Sierra looked up, and her face lit up the way it always did when she saw them unexpectedly. “Hey, you made it!”
Lauren shifted their weight, almost shy. “So, I have a proposition. Razor Braids announced a last-minute show Saturday night. I thought maybe... just as friends... we could go together? I still owe you that T-shirt. We could make it a group thing, but if it’s too much like a date, I totally understand.”
Sierra hesitated, not because she didn’t want to go but because of what saying yes might mean. Lauren’s words tumbled faster.
“Maybe it’s too soon. I totally get it if you’re not ready. I just didn’t know when they’d be back.”
Her smile was genuine. “That sounds fun. I’m sure everyone would be up for it.”
Relief softened their whole posture. “Great. Perfect. I’ll text you details later.”
The moment lingered between them, longer than casual friendship allowed, until Sierra clapped her hands to gather attention.
“Alright, everyone. Tonight’s prompt is a little different. I want you to think about the first time you felt genuinely misunderstood. Not ignored or dismissed — but misunderstood by someone who mattered to you. Don’t draw facts or literalscenes. Capture the feeling. Colors, shapes, movement. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but you.”
The room settled into that sacred creative silence — markers squeaking, charcoal smudging, papers shifting.
From the front of the room, Sierra caught Lauren gripping their pencil so tightly their knuckles went pale. They stared at the blank page for a long time, frozen. When their hand finally moved, it was with a kind of urgency that made Sierra’s chest ache. She couldn’t see the details from here, but she noticed the fierce pressure of the strokes, the way the pencil snapped under their hand.
By the time she called for everyone to wrap up, Lauren was still frozen at their seat, the broken pencil tip lying forgotten. Other students packed up and trickled out.
Sierra crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair beside them. “Hey. You doing okay?”
Lauren blinked like someone surfacing from deep water. Without answering, they folded the drawing once, then again, until it was a tight square tucked into their bag.
“I didn’t think it would hit me that hard,” they admitted.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
A long pause. Then a nod.
They walked out to the courtyard behind the center, settling on a concrete bench. The evening smelled faintly of lavender from the flower beds, mixed with the lingering tang of charcoal still on their fingers.
Lauren kept their gaze forward. “I always had this soft quality that other kids could sense. Even before I had words for what I was feeling, they knew. My dad started calling me ‘sissy’ before I even understood the word.” Their voice cracked. “He’d say Ineeded to toughen up, that the world would eat me alive, and it did. Kids can smell difference, and the words they used... Sometimes those cut deeper than fists.”
Sierra’s throat burned. She placed her palm open on the bench, an invitation.
Lauren stared at it for a long moment before threading their fingers through hers. Their hand trembled.
“My mom didn’t stop it,” they went on quietly. “Sometimes she’d say maybe if I tried harder to act normal, things would be easier. Like it was my fault for not being the son they ordered.”
Sierra squeezed their hand, tears stinging her eyes.
“I used to think if I could just perform well enough, I’d earn their love. But nothing I did was ever enough.”
Her voice shook, but it was steady with conviction. “It was never your fault, Lauren. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
Tears slipped free on both their faces, not loud sobs, just a quiet release. Lauren gave a watery laugh. “Not what I thought would come out of tonight’s prompt.”
