Page 74 of Courageous Hearts

I hum noncommittally. I’m not sure how much of a difference it would make. There’s nothing that could repair our relationship. The last time I saw my father was over four years ago, right before I left town. He called me a “faggot” as I walked away. Said he’d hoped he’d seen the last of me.

It didn’t hurt me as much as make me feel ashamed. Because, once, I was that person slinging hate onto others. Hiding behind a false bravado.

I was all too glad to walk away—from him, from this town and the shameful memories it held. I’d hoped it was the last he’d see of me, too. My dad hasn’t tried to make contact since then. I can’t say the same about Diesel.

“I’ll go get that pasta,” I say, pushing off the couch, welcoming the excuse not to wander down memory lane.

“All right,” Sara says, pulling out her laptop. Probably to get a little work done.

Grabbing the keys to my rental, I head outside. It’s officially fall now, but unlike in Chicago, it hasn’t yet dipped below seventy degrees during the day here in Plum Valley. Which means it’s pleasantly warm—and sunny to boot—as I drive into town with my windows rolled low.

When I pull onto Main Street, the place looks as deserted as I’d expect for mid-afternoon on a weekday. I pass by the only person walking down the sidewalk and turn into the parking lot that sits behind the buildings on the south side of the street.

The bell above the market door jingles when I enter, and I can’t suppress my little huff of laughter. I don’t bother grabbing a cart or a basket. I head right over to the dry goods aisle and grab a box of spaghetti. It’s in the same place it used to be.

I’m stepping up to the checkout counter when the employee there raises their head, eyes widening.

“Bo?” Stephy Martinez says, a wide smile gracing her face as she looks me over.

A suffusion of warmth hits me, equaled in part by my surprise that Stephy didn’t deadname me by accident.

I never officially came out as nonbinary until after I’d left Texas. My few friends knew—Will and the kids at the LGBTQ+ group we went to in San Antonio. Sara knew, and her neighbor Nash. And word spread a little, which I was fine with.

But I was still figuring myself out for most of my junior and senior years of high school. I wasn’t confident enough to truly own that part of my identity while I was still living here in Plum Valley. And the couple times I’ve been back, I haven’t exactly gone around parading myself off. I’ve mostly stuck to visiting Sara.

I guess I didn’t expect folks would know. But more than that, I didn’t expect there would be such quick recognition. There was no hesitation on Stephy’s part. She called me Bo, as if that’s who I’ve always been. And that, in and of itself, makes me feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I didn’t realize, until now, that I was subconsciously bracing for my first interaction in town to go badly. That I was expecting to have to explain myself even just a little, as I so often have to do in my everyday life as someone who simply exists outside of our society’s gender norms.

“Hi, Stephy,” I reply warmly, falling into an easy smile as I slide my lone package of spaghetti onto the conveyor belt at the checkout.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says in an excited tone, ringing up my purchase. “Are you back in town for long?”

“Just the week. Visitin’ my aunt Sara and a few friends. And Coop,” I add. It’s so easy to lump him in with my friends because he is one, but he’s my family, too.

“O’course,” Stephy says, chuckling. “That Cooper. He’s a hoot. And hey, tell your aunt I tried that recipe for kale chips, and they were real good.”

“Sure,” I say with a chuckle of my own.

In Plum Valley, Texas, there’s no such thing as a stranger.

I pay for the pasta, and Stephy hands it over. “And Bo? I hope you don’t mind me sayin’, but you look happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.”

My face flushes, but I nod. “Yeah. Guess I am. Thanks, Stephy. It was good to see you.”

“You, too, Bo. Take care now.”

I give Stephy a smile, and she waves as I head out of the market. Shaking my head a little at the unexpectedness of that interaction, I walk down the short street toward Whisked Away, the bakery where Tru works. The air outside is fresh but smells of the country, thread through with that ever-present hint of livestock, and my steps feel light as I approach the bakery’s front door. I’m already imagining the evening ahead—the baked spaghetti dish with my aunt and then probably hanging with Cooper, Will, and Tru. Maybe a bonfire out back at their house. Likely some singing with Coop.

But when a voice calls out from behind me—“Bobby”—all those hopeful plans and good feelings evaporate like the early morning mist in the valley.

I stop short, my entire frame freezing before I force a calming breath through my body. Turning slowly, I prepare myself for what I’m about to find, knowing exactly what to expect but not relishing it. I knew this was bound to happen, running into my brother. It’s the main reason I came back here, after all. But I thought I had more time. I figured I’d have to call him. I didn’t think we’d happen upon one another midday on Main Street. I should’ve anticipated otherwise.

When I set eyes on Diesel for the first time in two years, it’s a little surreal. He looks exactly the same. Same dark hair, like mine. Same blue eyes, too. Same broad frame he’s always had and slightly wrinkled t-shirt. He’s barely changed at all over the years, apart from growing into his body more. Aging a little.

But he’s the same. And I’m not.

It’s hard to reconcile. I’ve come so far in the last couple years, and yet it feels like I’m standing in the past. Like I’m looking at a faded memory brought to life before my eyes.

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