Isaac/Ainsley: Not Like Other Girls

After all that, I learned it's not that hard to dissociate your way through a wedding.

So much of it didn't require a lot of social effort. Yes, the other bridesmaids looked at me weird when I met them in the hotel lobby the next morning, and I gave Melissa a probably unsatisfyingly-flat reassurance when she asked me if I'm okay again. But after that it was easy. We all got our hair and makeup done; I let the other girls handle the obligatory small talk with the hairdressers and obviously we couldn't talk while our makeup got applied. Afterwards, everyone was too focused with helping Cayley navigate her big day to worry about me, besides the occasional concerned glance from Melissa.

We got Cayley into her dress and I silently watched her fiancée get his first opportunity to gawk over her. The wedding photos were a breeze; I just had to turn my brain off and do whatever the photographer said. He gave me a couple of reminders to smile more, which is a typical comment for me to get in my own life during the rare occasions I've had photos taken professionally, but he had criticisms and suggestions for several more of us so I didn't stick out there. The whole experience had the opposite dynamic from how it used to be when I went to weddings and bar mitzvahs as a kid: I now prayed for busywork and scheduled activities instead of facing the terrors of getting a break and being responsible for my own choices. Basically, I preferred the role of bridesmaid to the role of Ainsley.

The ceremony all went according to script, aside from the ringbearer faceplanting and some guest leaping out of his aisle seat to catch the rings before they hit the ground. Good thing the venue was indoors, I suppose. I cheered and clapped for the bride, fake-laughed half a second after the other bridesmaids whenever the maid of honor referenced some sorority story or in-joke in her speech. I mostly occupied myself strategizing exactly how long I had to stay at the reception before I could go home without causing suspicion, but to my surprise I actually found myself caught up in the ceremony a handful of times. Teared up a little. I think it's because I'd spent the last couple of days seeing a lot of Cayley and she came across as a shy, very nice person who deserves her happiness. Not that I didn't feel weird about it once I realized what I was doing, nor did it make me any better at shouting and cheering for her when the time came.

Finally the reception arrived. Just a few more hours before I got to relax. We had dinner and I made sure to focus more on eating my food when the conversation turned to subjects I was less able to respond to. When the bridesmaids all got up to dance, I activated the plan I'd come up with for avoiding a repeat of last night's disaster: I'd let the talkative groomsman I'd been paired with for the ceremony dance with me.

That certainly wasn't something I would've done fresh out the Inn a few months ago, but if there's anything I've learned since then it's that people who actually know Ainsley are far more terrifying to interact with than anyone who doesn't. Still, I found myself reminded of one reason I was so terrified to go out in public at first. It hit me after I'd already allowed him to invite me to the dance floor just how infrequently I interact with men anymore for more than fleeting moments; Ainsley's friends are all women, and so is the one person stuck in this misadventure with me. (Not that she'd consider herself stuck.) Really there's only the men at Ainsley's job, and her office is decidedly majority-female so being around them isn't especially nerve-wracking. This guy, on the other hand. He didn't do anything wrong. But everything about being around him-- the leading questions he asked me, the occasional comments, how he held onto my waist during the slow dance and how big his hands were, the way he kept scanning my body-- made it hit me that in this body I'm a woman, in a way that wearing bras, having a period and spending a weekend as a bridesmaid didn't. The sheer difference from how I would've interacted with him in my own body. And that is, deeply uncomfortable to have to think about.

But at the end of the day, my plan worked. I could respond to all his small talk and when it came to dancing I just let him lead me. I never had to live up to any expectations besides those related to the immediate setting. And nobody interrupted me to ask me if I was doing okay. As uncomfortable as it was, it solved the problem I'd hoped to solve. After I was satisfied with how long we'd been dancing I even let the guy have my number when he asked, as a tip of sorts, not that I plan on being prompt with any responses. And with that, I said my goodbyes to Cayley and the bridesmaids, made sure to hug Melissa and promise to see her again soon (we'll see. The upcoming holidays provide me with a lot of convenient excuses but I really did mean it), and went on my way.

I noticed an open window as I parked in front of the apartment, and when I walked in there was Heather, on the couch, a lit joint in hand. I was relieved to see her, which mostly only happens when I'm exhausted from trying to be Ainsley. It's never a great sign about how I spent my day, or my weekend in this case. "Welcome back, girlie", she told me. I looked down at myself in my bridesmaid dress and sighed, standing there for a few moments.

"Heather..." I asked, "Do you think there's something I'm missing, some obvious piece I've overlooked for why I'm so much worse at pretending to be... these lives, than you, or the people on the blog?" I had a lot of time to dwell on the drive back home. "Like, there's people who can but choose not to because they don't care, or there's horrible situations like kids in adult bodies who really can't do it. But I'm not in a position like that, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to. Can I figure it out and it'll just click into place, and I'll slap myself wondering how I could've been stupid enough to overlook it? Or is there something wrong with me and I'm just that different from everyone else?"

Heather thought for a little while. Answering that question probably wasn't the way she'd planned to spend her chill Saturday night indoors. So she didn't. Instead she scooched over on the couch, shrugged, and silently offered me the joint.

I hesitated, but not long enough to change out of the bridesmaid dress, before I sat down and accepted.

Isaac/Ainsley: Average Nightclub Experience

The wedding rehearsal amounted to a relaxing break. I just had to sit there and be quiet, walk up to the stage when told, and then stand there and be quiet except for some clapping and congratulations. Tolerate walking back to the table next to some talkative groomsman whose name I'm not bothering to remember. It's like the paint-and-sip was, just with a much higher sense of dread in the background.

I barely paid attention to the rehearsal dinner; it was basically the same situation as the bridal shower regardless. The real gauntlet awaited me at the end of the night: the bachelorette party. Below I am going to provide a helpful bulleted list of everything I disliked of what I knew I was likely to encounter:

• Nightclubs
• Dancing
• Loud music
• DJs
• Packed, crowded indoor spaces
• Dancing where others can see me
• Strippers...? (Nobody said anything about it, but I wasn't about to discount the possibility that the maid of honor had a couple surprises up her sleeve.)
• High heels
• Being expected to seem like I'm genuinely having fun with all of the above
• Dancing where others can see me in a packed, crowded indoor space with loud music, in high heels

Pacing back and forth across my room at the hotel attached to the venue, in said heels, just highlighted how unprepared I was for this-- how unwilling I was to prepare for this. I can match faces to names, memorize wedding schedules, plan outfits, even practicing makeup feels kind of rewarding, but I couldn't bring myself to make more than a couple of token attempts at walking in these things.

I stared into the mirror at the still completely unreal sight of this self in a little back dress. She only looked ready for the club from the neck down; actual night-out makeup is another thing I hadn't bothered touching. Eventually I came to the conclusion that it'd be more embarrassing to slip and fall in front of everyone all drunk than to show up to the club in sneakers. Hell, that wouldn't even be remotely weird if not for the whole bachelorette party dress code. And I knew, I knew I'd get drunk. That'd be the only way I could possibly take all this.

Being second-to-last of the group to arrive at the hotel meant I didn't leave much time for anyone to ask why I looked so out of it. I held my tongue from criticizing how Cayley and/or her parents paid for a limo, but I'll admit the inside was kind of cool. I caught myself thinking the girls looked prettier than me and wondered why I'd let Ainsley's appearance matter to me for anything other than reputation-preserving reasons. I tried not to spend too much time looking out the tinted window.

Too quickly we arrived at some sort of small nightlife-heavy strip that looked like it's pretending to be a downtown. We went to a couple of bars, first a dive-ish sports bar that was fairly uncrowded for a Friday night, then a busier, classier wine bar. Each time, I positioned myself so I'd be one of the last of the group whose orders would get taken and copy what one of the girls in front of me got. (This was my first time taking advantage outside a grocery store of being drinking age months ahead of schedule.) I made the best small talk I could, attempted to balance getting drunk enough to survive this with how little I knew about Ainsley's tolerance, and fiddled with my BRIDE SQUAD sash.

I'd never spent longer than twenty seconds in a nightclub before but nothing surprised me about the place. Maybe a little less crowded than in my nightmares, the music a little louder than I remembered. Grit the teeth. I was hoping to spend as much time clinging to the wall as I could get away with, but a couple minutes after we walked in the DJ gave Cayley a shoutout and put on a song the maid of honor submitted days ago, and we were all rushed out into the center of the club.

This is what I was most afraid of. Everything else can be tolerated, but I can't dance. Not even in the sense of not knowing how to dance though that's also the case. I genuinely can't dance. I'm not able to let myself go in the way dancing takes. I can do very structured dances with instructions (there they are again), or things like slow dancing with a partner where there's a very limited number of movement options and I don't have to think about what to do with my arms, not that I've done even that much since high school. But free-form, nightclub dancing? Jumping around and cheering? Shaking your ass? All impossible for me without looking stiff and robotic. Like a parody of the concept. I don't know why I'm like this, someone who can't cheer, who can't scream, even if I were in a situation where I really felt like doing either, let alone in that nightclub. But I've always been this way, and Ainsley Thomas hasn't.

I tried anyway, for Ainsley's sake. Maybe I was wrong, and some combination of alcohol, peer pressure, and the possibility of an Inn-related brain structure change helping me out would let me fit in with these girls. No juice. I couldn't bring myself to move without half-assing it. Seriously, what am I even afraid of? Does it go deeper than fear? The girls mostly paid attention to Cayley or the DJ but whenever any remembered to take a glance at me I got a few raised eyebrows. Nobody said anything but I think they just didn't want to ruin the vibe. The longer it lasted the more worried I got that this humiliation ritual was bad enough that some stranger in here might be recording me for cringe compilation material. It was probably under ten minutes in when I finally announced, to no one in particular, "I'm going to go get another drink." I didn't know if anyone heard me over the thrum.

At the bar, which took some time finding a relatively uncrowded path to, I ordered a gin and tonic. There's not really a demographic that looks weird for ordering a gin and tonic, far as I can tell. I sat there with my drink and scrolled through Ainsley's Instagram looking at old pics in which it seems like she's genuinely having fun. Comparing oneself to the highlights-only side of other people's lives they post to social media never makes anyone feel better but it's much worse when you're wearing the very body you're looking at and knowing, maybe, you'd be theoretically capable of doing those exact things, if you were different. A tall guy slid in next to me and asked if something happened between me and my friends or if I just wanted to get away for a bit. Said a girl as pretty as me shouldn't have to feel this way. Offered to buy me another drink. I looked at him for a moment, silenced the lingering trace of Ainsley trying to give me a reason to at least hear him out, and very theatrically downed the rest of my drink. "Excuse me, uh. I have to go to the bathroom," I declared like I'm having a conversation with my manager about why I come across as less passionate about my work than usual. And I went in there and found an empty stall and cried.

Crying, that's something I'm not blocked off from doing for unknown reasons. I didn't do it much as Isaac, but I could, and as Ainsley it's way more intense and honestly kind of cathartic. Still silent, though. I don't like to make noise. I sat there on the toilet for who knows how long, catching up on some plant blogs I've neglected following for a while and overhearing women talking about things refreshingly unrelated to my problems even if often they also weren't having a good time. Until I heard the door open and someone shout, "Ainsley? You in there?"

It's Melissa. Back to reality. "Fuck I hope she didn't leave the building." She moved slowly across the bathroom until she arrived at my stall. "I know those sneakers, Ainsley, open up." Damn these flimsy stalls. I thought about ignoring her but that'd just give me more consequences to deal with whenever I saw her again later in the night, or at the hotel or the wedding the next day. Plus, ignoring her would only confirm that I'm actually Ainsley; if I could change my voice on command convincingly it might get her to back off. I opened the stall.

"Hi," I told her. Melissa blocked my view of the mirror, but I didn't need it to know my makeup would betray that I'd been crying.

"Yeah, hi," she added, clearly hoping I'd have a little more to say. "Are you okay? There's a right answer, by the way, so don't BS me."

"No." She got me there, how else could I even respond?

"Good choice." She allowed herself the tiniest moment of satisfaction before the facade broke. "Okay seriously Ains, you have got to fucking tell me what is going on with you. For the last few months it's like, like the life's been sucked out of you."

Oh, god. It's this conversation. The blog archives warned me this could happen but there's nothing that really prepares you for it being sprung on you, especially if you've had a few drinks.

"You stopped going out with the rest of us, you stopped asking how we were doing... You hardly even talk to me anymore and I'm really worried about you! I know Jaysen was, you know, a lot for you. And I get it. I've been there. You helped me through there! But right when it happened, you were feeling awful but you still kept us in the loop. You told me everything, Ains. So when you don't, I..."

Now she's crying, too. "I owe you so much, you saw how much of a fucking mess I was when we first met. All those hangovers you got me through back at the house, the, the whole thing with my dad... You've been there for me no matter what, and I, whatever it is, I can't let you go through it alone! You're Ainsley Thomas and you deserve better than that!"

"Melissa, I--"

"And I don't wanna make this about me but, it hurts, seeing you like this. Not being able to talk to you, that you've gotten so distant. So please, please just. I need you to know I'm still here. I care about you. I love you. You've always told me everything, before. So, if you can at all, please..."

I took a breath, knowing this was unlikely to be a satisfying answer. Also I had to stop myself from outright sobbing. "Mel, I, I... love, you? Too. And I'm not. Having a good time lately. You're right. But I can't tell you, I know, I feel like shit, but I can't. And it's not Jaysen, it's, I really can't, okay?"

I grabbed onto her arm, not really knowing where that came from. "Mel, if you want to help me, I need you to trust me. Please."

Melissa looked to be in disbelief. Her face tensed as she clearly readied a plead over why Ainsley's being so difficult, why her best friend won't tell her what's putting her through so much pain.

But she caught herself. Anger replaced with simmering resignation. "Okay," Melissa said. "I'll see you later, then. When you're ready." And she walked out of the stall, leaving me to confront it all myself.

Isaac/Ainsley: Sorority Initiation Rites

Finally getting up to the point in November where I really had to start living Ainsley's life, between the wedding and the holidays, among other things. The wedding saga was long enough to split into several posts, so bear with me here.

Purple pastel V-neck midi-dress which conforms to the aesthetic of Ainsley's previous bridal shower visit but isn't the exact dress she wore to that. Slightly more eyeshadow than I'd wear to work, plus bronzer. A million reminders that everyone looks worse on a phone camera than in a mirror and that's why I don't look exactly like her past photos rather than me screwing up somehow.

Well, at least I look the part.

It was the day I finally couldn't escape, the day where my shame over ruining a borrowed life defeated my anxiety in a situation not directly related to keeping financially afloat. The day I actually see Ainsley's friends instead of trying to not sound too fake in the group chat. The bridal shower, which is merely an appetizer for my bridesmaid duties next weekend. One thing about having all your bridesmaids be sorority sisters who still live in the area means you can get away with things like a bridal shower a week before the wedding since nobody's going to have to pay travel costs, but it's. Well. I try to optimistically tell myself that it's better than just being thrown right in once I show up to the rehearsal dinner.

That's why I've been practicing my makeup even harder, reading through the group chat logs, anything that can be converted into a discrete problem with an actual goal. Something I could put on a spreadsheet, and did. Focusing on the practical elements of a problem to make the situation seem slightly less bad even if they pale in comparison to the painful reality has been my coping mechanism my whole life. This just raises the stakes.

So with that in mind I drove out deep into the Phoenix exurbs, throwing on one of Ainsley's playlists to hopefully distract myself enough to put me in a mindset closer to her. (It's really not bad. Lot of Fleetwood Mac in there.) I arrived at the tract townhouse precisely on time, which would give me a few minutes to ruminate over my situation and work up the courage to leave the car. I don't like being one of the first to arrive to anything, it makes me feel like I've been put on the spot. So I wait patiently, breathing in and out, calculating exactly the right moment I need to--

"Holy shit Ainsley is that you!?"

Before I knew it I'm pulled out of the car and into a tight hug. I was prepared for the hug but not the abruptness. It's Melissa, Ainsley's best friend from her sorority days. I owe her a few lunches.

"It's so great to see you! Seriously, I know I keep talking about it but, I'm glad to have you around, y'know? I really hope you've been doing okay."

She obviously doesn't think I've been doing okay. I blink. Remember to smile.

"...Wanna see some dog pics?"

Greeting the rest of Ainsley's friends went more or less the same way. Inside the townhouse were bride-to-be Cayley, her fiancée, mother and teenage sister, and the six bridesmaids, myself included. I had to reassure them that I'm not dead and try to dissociate enough to not look like I'm panicking. Fortunately the nature of the event meant I wasn't the center of attention, though Cayley came across like she's generally a fairly shy person who'd normally expect other people to drive the conversation. People like Ainsley Thomas. I know I kept getting looks from the other bridesmaids expecting a response that often wasn't coming. Even Cayley's mom did this a couple times. (Has she met Ainsley? I should research that before the wedding). Melissa was more than willing to pick up the slack, though, and so was the fiancée when he wasn't keeping to himself. I wonder if I'd feel more or less out of place here in his position.

It went moderately okay. The most frequent conversation topic was the upcoming wedding, which I could keep up with decently as the group chat had been pretty active about it for a while. Whenever I'm in a large group conversation with people who know Ainsley I feel the obligation to talk a certain percentage of the time so people don't get even more weirded out, so the wedding topic provided ample opportunity to dig myself out of conversational debt, so to speak. They talked about ASU's football season (going okay but not great, apparently) and Vince Gilligan's new show (I was bailed out of having to talk about it since I wasn't the only one who hadn't seen the episode).

I got some raised eyebrows when I gawked a bit about how much the last-minute catering switch cost. Ainsley is apparently well-known among her group for wanting an enormous wedding, which I instantly realized I'm a dumbass for not realizing that yeah, that sounds like her. And I dug myself even deeper with the only excuse I could think of: saying the breakup made me not want to think about weddings for a bit. My own wedding, I clarified to Cayley before she could say anything.

"Hey. Are you... How's that going for you, anyway?" Someone asked. "Does Jaysen still try to talk to you these days?"

"...No?" That was a lie. Every few weeks that guy will text me some bottom-tier meme that I'll just ignore. Not even a "hey bby missing u u up to anything tonite?" text, just the meme. Usually a poorly cropped TikTok screenshot. But I was so eager to end this part of the conversation that I didn't even want to divulge that much.

"Uh huh. And you still don't want to, right? 'Cause I swear, if that fucking guy--"

"No. Believe me, I'm done. I don't need him in my life right now and I don't really care if he tries. I'll just ignore him." Okay. Now time to smoothly navigate my way out of this conversation. "Oh, hey Cayley, can you tell me the kind of wine you got for this? Big fan."

Everyone stared. Melissa chimed in through awkward laughter: "Ains, I've known you for eight years now, and that's the most apathetic I've ever heard you sound."

I took a sip of wine.

Somehow the conversation moved back to normal topics. But now, after a long drive home full of replaying that moment in my head on loop, I can only think: I've got a whole weekend of this.

Toby: Dunia's Amigas

One thing about my schedule as a flight attendant being kind of random and longer than the number of hours I get paid for is that it makes finding time to hang out with her friends and family difficult.  I missed the family gatherings for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and though I talk with her friends online (at first at the real Dunia's prompting but more on my own these days) I don't see them in person very often.  I've gotten better at it (there was apparently a thing going around group texts back in October that Dunia had become a high and mighty bitch because I didn't compliment someone on her new hairstyle because I didn't recognize her with her new hairstyle), but I stopped worrying about it after a while, just thinking about the number of high school friends I've drifted away from since graduation even though we still live pretty close to each other.  It just happens, right? 

Maybe.  But other things also happen, like New Year's, which Dunia and her friends have been ringing in on the beach since high school.  Even though I've been living here and flying to other warm-weather cities for a few months, it hadn't totally sunk in that it was still summer weather - in my head, it just hasn't gotten cold yet.  But right around Christmas, I started getting texts from Ceci, Danica, and Ines asking what my schedule was looking like, and after a quick check in with Dunia, I checked her social media history and saw that they did in fact hit the beach every New Year's Eve. 

In bikinis. 

Now, I've gotten kind of used to having a Dunia-shapes body by now.  I still have a minor panic attack on the first day of her period, but what i see in the mirror or while taking a shower every morning doesn't shock me, and I've more or less of come to accept that what's in the closet makes a certain sort of sense.  It's got enough that you want some skin exposed to sweat from, the colors I thought were ugly at first look pretty nice on my darker skin, her wedge sandals are comfortable and give me a little extra height, and I'm even okay with my breasts being pushed up and together by her bras and halters.  The heels do make my ass sway, but I keep telling myself that it made Dunia feel confident and maybe I'll feel the same by the time spring comes. But I still mostly avoided even touching the drawer with swimsuits or the racks with club stuff.

No avoiding it, though, and I knew from experience by then that a girl takes a while to get ready, especially given that I still so a lot step-by-step from checklists on the phone rather than having any real instinct for it.  I spent a couple hours painting nails, doing makeup, and fixing with my hair before sending outfits to Dunia and being told that she wouldn't necessarily have chosen the belted skirt and crop top combo herself, but that it was probably okay for someone as nervous about things getting loose or coming off as me.  By the time I was done, Ines arrived to pick me up.  Ceci was already in the passenger seat, and Danica would join me in the back. 

They hadn't seen Dunia/me for more than a passing word since September, and wanted to know all about the glamorous life of a flight attendant, so I could apply plenty of small talk amid all their relationship drama.  They pulled no punches when it came to how their ex-boyfriends were pigs (you hear about how guys have no idea how dirty or frank fields talk when we aren't around, but it's still an earful!) while also making insinuations about what Dunia's was doing while overseas.  I defended him, although I've only really talked with him online, tentatively because his hours don't really line up with Dunia's and I'd rather consult her before saying something that could mess things up.  Maybe he's dumb enough to cheat on Dunia (not getting into the looks I've inherited, she's pretty cool), because I can say from experience that guys will do really stupid things off the opportunity comes, but if Dunia doesn't think so, I'm not acting like I think so. 

At least it let me say "I've got a boyfriend serving overseas and I don't think he'd like that" more that night than I had for the rest of December.  Most guys were pretty chill about it - there were a lot of girls in the club showing way more skin and looking more eager to hook up than I was, including Dunia's friends.  Ceci seemed to be the one most eager for some sort of rebound fling, too the point where Ines was asking me to help keep an eye on her, while Danica was more looking for the best dancer, because she's really good, to the point where she seems to almost get bored just casually bopping around and shaking her butt.  She's got an eye for the guy who can pick her up and spin her, for example, and sometimes the rest of us would just stop what we were doing and watch. 

By the time we headed for the beach, there were a couple guys in tow - Ceci hoped in her new friend's passenger seat and I moved up front so Danica and her guy could make out.  That left me chatting with Ines, who seems pretty cool, before we got to their favorite public beach. 

I had enough rum in me (aside from Dunia being Cuban-American, it's something I don't feel too girly ordering but which doesn't seem too masculine for her) that I was pretty bold bringing my handbag with the little green bikini into the bathroom stall.  I figured that I'd put on bra and panty sets dozens of times by this point, and the only difference was that I just wouldn't continue getting dressed.  But by the time I had my hand on the door latch so I could go to the sinks and touch up my makeup, I either suddenly sobered up a bit or something, because even with a matching wrap on my hips, my ass suddenly looked twice as huge and inviting as usual my boobs seemed super bouncy, and the thought that any of the knots I had twisted myself to tie in ways you don't learn in the spots could either come loose on their own or at a guy's slightest pull was echoing through my head.

Didn't happen, thankfully, and we had a good time - we don't really have food trucks in North Dakota like they do here, there was a lot of great music, and there were fireworks.  I guess that's more "big city" than Miami particularly, although we probably wouldn't have been wearing swimsuits if I'd wound up in Minneapolis!  I did kind of find my head spinning because of it, though:  Girls in bikinis was always exciting and full of potential and distracting (Ma would go on about how I shouldn't let them distract me or make me give into temptation), and here I was, walking around the beach, getting fried plantains and the like, and it's kind of a head-trip that I'm hanging around with three girls who are acting like it's not really sexy at all most of the time, just talking about their lives, and the fact that I can sort of slip into just chatting and not really be thinking about what dudes are thinking of the show I'm offering, or even feel like I'm putting myself on display, but then I'll notice just how amazing Ceci's rack is and look away embarrassed and wonder if guys are looking at my ass.  I mean, obviously, some are, because they will come right up and tell me, sometimes in Spanish, which sounds even weirder, but more on that another day.

It was probably the most fun I can ever remember having on New Year's Eve, though, even if it did end with me being driven home by a very hot girl while we were both wearing bikinis but nothing beyond that.  Apparently Dunia coming home practically naked isn't a big deal to her Dad, who was asleep in the recliner until I maybe closed the front door too loud, which I guess isn't a big deal, but, like aren't fathers supposed to be more paranoid about their daughters running around half-naked?

Anyway, I'm glad I did it, and I'm feeling less nervous about answering Dunia's friends' texts now, even if my weird schedule legitimately has me not able to meet up with them that often.

-Toby/Dunia

Rusty/Monica: Is dying my hair really unprofessional?

It looks really silly writing it out like this, but Dad, Katey, and Jonah all think I look silly, and it was kind of impulsive, but I think it works for me and it's not some crazy blue color or anything, and I just felt like changing things up a little.

It wasn't really a hard holiday season, really - Dad, Jonah, and I went out for Thanksgiving dinner while Katey went with Omar to his family, and then I went and visited the original Monica's family again for Christmas.  They're nice folks to be connected to on social media but once a year is kind of the right amount to see them.  Monica's an only child but has a bunch of cousins, who are cool, and her parents are nice.  Having a mom and a dad feels almost excessive in some ways, although they're not being my mom and dad makes certain things weirder.  Like coming out as aro-ace.

They probably would had an easier time with it if I'd told them I was gay, or trans, or a 16-year-old boy who had been turned into a copy of their daughter by a cursed Inn a year and a half ago.  People really don't get it when you say you're not interested in having sex or particularly worried about pairing up, because it seems to occupy a really staggering amount of most people's thoughts, especially once you say it's not a big deal.  I kind of get it, because I did think about girls a lot before becoming one, but sometimes it feels like it makes people dumb or crazy. 

Of course, that means I was the odd girl out when hanging around with Katey, Omar, Dad, and Jonah on New Year's Eve.  We had fun bar-hopping, but being with two couples meant every guy and a surprising number of girls thought they were helping by hitting on me, like I needed someone to kiss when the ball dropped and wanted to start the year with a stranger grabbing my butt.  Anyway, after the ball dropped, Katey and Dad both decided to start the New Year's at their boyfriends' places and I went home.  I hadn't even gotten out of my party dress when I saw we were out of toothpaste, so I went back downstairs to grab some from a convenience store, then grabbing a couple Monsters so there'd be a couple in the fridge when I woke up, then somehow winding up in the beauty aisle, seeing hair dye was on sale, and grabbing a box.

I wasn't dumb enough to try it before going to bed, but did decide it would be a fitting first thing to do in the new year, so I went for it.  It's a pain in the neck and I went to my phone at one point to see what it would cost to have a salon do it (not cheap!). But once I got all the foil things out and took another shower to rinse, I looked in the mirror and really liked what I saw.  I was just getting out of the bathroom when Dad came home and stopped dead in her tracks.  "What have you done?"

"I dyed my hair red!  Not, like, fire-engine red, I'm still pretty obviously a brunette, but now you guys can call me Rusty again!"

"It's a little late for second thoughts about being Monica, isn't it?"

"I'm not having second thoughts; it's just that I just spent a week in California and seeing pictures of her on the wall, and afterwards talking about Monica's family and Monica's old friends, I kind of thought it was a shame I couldn't really get people to call me Rusty, or that it would be weird to suddenly ask to be called Nicky or whatever, then when I saw these on sale...  Well, I was a little drunk, but it still wasn't a bad idea!"

"Not a bad idea?  You've got to find a real estate broker who will hire you and sponsor you for your license, and you've decided that's the time to look less serious?"

"It's not a big deal - like, someone meeting me for the first time might totally think it's my natural hair color, even though I look a little Asian!  It might help me stick out!"

She just shook her head, taking off her heels and only half-closing her door as she changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants.  "I just don't see why you'd do it!  It's one thing to try to do all this nonsense with your looks for work or to get someone's attention, but you think you don't care about guys and this isn't the sort of thing that seems likely to make a positive difference."

I left to go to the gym while Dad tried to figure out how to find bowl games on streaming, and when I got back Katey was there, and she just didn't seem to think the red suited me.  Neither of them has started calling me Rusty again, though it's just been a couple days.  The folks at work barely noticed, though, and I haven't had an interview since doing it.

I dunno, I kind of like what I see in the mirror right now, but is this a crazy thing to do while trying to get a new job where folks will treat you like a professional?

- "Rusty Monica"

Arthur/Penny/Millie: A Christmas Card!

The big news first - we got a Christmas card from Millie!  Ray and I were kind of paranoid about whether it was the real deal at first, because one of his current cases is an identity theft thing and we would be very easily catfished in this situation.  Fortunately, we've got some of Millie's handwriting to compare, and it looks the same, albeit bigger.

It doesn't really say anything that helps us find her, except that she's "visiting family" for Christmas and the downtime is really making her miss home.  It also means we can't tell much from the postmark, since she's not where she usually is. 

It was kind of a relief, though, because Christmas has been a lot of going through the motions, as Ray, Harmon, and I didn't really feel like shopping, but Ray and I have friends who like hitting the holiday fairs with us, and Millie is still a kid, albeit a teenager (or "tween", I guess), which means her friends are very excited but there's a lot of eye rolling at what they get, so we kind of did it anyway.  I wound up doing a lot of shopping for Millie saying I was shopping for friends, and kind of hoping she won't mind if it's lightly used when she got back, and also for Ray and Harmon. 

Christmas morning was kind of strange, obviously, because none of us wanted to act things out for the others, but Ray did get me a couple things, and then there was Harmon.  It would seem rude not to get her anything, but the things she's been dropping hints for are outfits and accessories, because apparently her time as Alicia has her thinking I haven't really been making the most of what I have.  We try to make it clear that this is kind of inappropriate, as she may not be able to take it with him, but she shrugs out off, saying you've got to live for today.  I've mostly gotten her books and such anyway. 

We've also spent the last week splitting the work of grading midterms, which had been interesting.  I'm a lot more sympathetic to some of what the students do that would probably have rubbed me wrong a year ago, and we both have different skills when it comes to spotting when students use AI.  It's kind of an uneasy truce situation right now, because she's discovering that junior high will wear you down, no matter how energetic, and also groaning about communicating with my editor and setting up signings for the new book.  I think she thought that school vacation was going to be vacation for her as well, but, ha!

Still, heard from my daughter, so I can't get too upset.

-Arthur/Penny/Millie

Tom/Kiara: Custody

I could tear my hair out.

You haven't seen a lot of me on this blog lately, and that's largely because my life is frankly terrible. Between trying to put the finishing touches on this industry-rocking story that is probably not going to get published, I have to do homework, track down the real Kiara, and oh yeah, raise a baby.

I should be thankful for the immense support system I have with the women in Kiara's life, but all I can think is that none of them should be in this position. This stupid girl got pregnant at 16 when she was in no position to capably raise a child, and her mom and grandma just stepped up like that was a normal part of life, like that was kind of what they were expecting all along. Between the three of us, we make for two pretty good parents I guess. And then there's Baby-daddy.

Sienna's dad is a dirtbag kid named Byrd. Personally, I can't stand the sight of him. Dead-eyed, greasy mullet hair, stinks of B.O. He has custody every other weekend, which is a relief in some ways and a frustration in others because I always feel like I have to check his work. I'm relatively new to this, but I am a functioning adult and I know the baby's habits and needs pretty well at this point.

Byrd's parents have been pressuring me to give up custody. They both work, they're in a better financial situation than Kiara's family. Byrd dropped out of high school to do drywall for his dad's company so he has income too (which he contributes to Kiara) and giving the baby over to them would make a certain level of financial sense by consolidating all of that, but while they may have more money, what they don't have is time and resources. Sienna is getting better care here, whether it's with me or Kiara's family. Personally I think the kid needs more stability. I'm not trying to deny Byrd his rights -- strictly speaking, he's got more rights than I do, I'm just trying to do what is best for the baby. Add to that, I still have it in the back of my mind that I could coax Kiara into taking her life back if I could find her, and I would like to keep it as close to how it was when she left it as possible.

I struggle with whether I'm doing the right thing. If giving the baby up is selfish, or if holding onto her is.

There is a complicating factor here, which is that Byrd has recently started dating someone new. And that someone is Kiara's younger sister Cerie. Yes, it's deeply messed up. They're out to all hours getting drunk and high, which would be fine if they were normal teenagers, but I've made it clear to Byrd that if he wants me to consider handing the baby over to him he would have to clean up his act. "I can't let this girl fall into the hands of such an immature kid."

"I'm older than you!" he counters.

"Only on paper," I sneer back.

And then there are nights I'm awake until 2 AM and she won't stop crying because this teething thing is going badly and I've got an exam I haven't studied for, and I think "I should just throw in the towel."

Whoever did this to me really had it in for me.

Then Christmas comes and despite the huge financial burden, we get her dressed up in a little red dress to see Santa and "open" her gifts on Christmas (she doesn't know what's going on but she seems to like ripping paper and banging on boxes) and my heart melts into my uterus. I love the kid. For all she cries and poops and grabs things she is not supposed to, she is adorable and gettig that little kiss from her and listening to her babble makes me think she is the most precious and important thing in theworld and I need to protect and nurture her at all costs. I hate being a mommy but I love the kid. Make it make sense.

-More-Kiara-Than-Tom