Marc/Dustin: Whistleblower

What luck to be coaching kids' soccer during the year when the World Cup is not only in the U.S., but practically on our doorstep. Not like the tartan army was up here, but I do have ties to Boston, and it's been kind of interesting experiencing all that even from afar.

I don't know if this is why certain parents are having strong opinions on what goes on in under-twelve soccer games, but it's certainly been noticeable

For the first little bit, I just wanted to be in Dustin mode. I would be here for months, and nobody around who knows my secret, so was good to just act and be treated the way I look. Now, when some of the older fellas in the program see me, a "young stud" turning down female attention when we go out for beers, they're a little bit aghast, but I just shrug and say I've had too much female drama in my life lately and leave it at that.

After settling in and getting comfortable, I reached back out to Mary to see how things stood with John and to co-ordinate our return. John had been back to the house and things seemed to have reached a good place so in my view it was time to make peace and try to move forward.

Both of them ended up coming up for a weekend, one of the last of the program, but Mary wasn't feeling good in the heat, so she stayed at the Airbnb while Koti visited me at work, mostly just standing on the sidelines and watching me lead drills. After practice, I saw a number of texts on my phone along the lines of "Those shorts really work for you." "Yes coach!" and "I'd blow your whistle."

But before I could address that, she accompanied me into the administrative building to hand in some logs.

And when she saw who was behind the desk, she let out a throaty, wicked laugh. "You've got to be kidding me!"

And Christine just looked at me like, "Um, what's going on here, Dustin? Who's your friend?"

Yes, okay. I happened to find out about this job because it was hosted by the school board that Christine works for; the job I enabled her to get by funding her move from Maine when I was Ed. There's a connection there, and I also thought it would be nice to check in on her, even if she didn't know who I was.

So when we got to the car, Koti kind of nudged me playfully. "Are you hitting that?"

"Am I-- what? No! I'd never... she'd..." damn, Koti got me stuttering and stammering again.

"Good," she said, "I mean, I want you to be happy, but I'm not sure I'm ready for you to move on."

I let out a big sigh.

We went back to my place to talk some more. She asked if she could take a shower, because we'd been out in the sun so long, and I said fine.

She came out fifteen minutes later with one towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair. I invited her to have the room to herself so she could get dressed, and she declined.

"I want you to know something," she said, leveling her gaze at me.

"What's that?" I said, making sure to maintain eye contact.

"I'm actually, weirdly excited to be John again."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. I was skeptical. John has always seemed so enthusiastic about the Koti life.

"Oh yes," she leaned back in her chair, her towel's tuck loosening. "I've come to realize this is not meant to last."

"This what?" I asked, wondering if she meant this 'John and Marc' stuff.

"This youth," she said. "It's been said no wise man ever wished to be younger, but whoever said that hadn't been to the Inn to test it out. It's exhausting, and the only reason it was bearable was having you. You made me feel like I was living in a fantasy every day. But without you, life is just life. It's boring tasks, made worse by expectations and assumptions and trying to fill a role. It's making the decisions that will see you through for the next several decades. I've already done all that. I'm tired of it. I can't live Koti's life for her. I'm in my 60's, I've earned my rest. You're younger, all this jumping around feels different for you. Thanks to Koti's body I have the energy to do it on a day-to-day basis, but then I remember what thirty or forty years actually looks like and feels like, and I don't want it."

I nodded, but then asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

She sighed and adjusted her towel. "Because I don't want to waste time. and I don't want you to walk on eggshells with me. I want to be my old self again, and I want to keep you in my life somehow. Man or woman, you know I'm easygoing."

I blushed a bit and kind of exhaled a laugh. "If it's just about sex, I'm sure you can find somebody to have sex with."

"It's not about sex, it's about connection," she said. "It's the thing I've been saying forever. I want us to stay connected. Maybe trying to call it a marriage was... presumptuous. Idealistic. But are you really just going to let life take you away from me without fighting?"

"I literally don't know," I sighed. "Nothing's changed about that."

She nudged her towel open.

"Then I guess we'd better make the most of our time together."

"Koti..."

"No strings attached, I promise. In less than two months, all of this goes back to its rightful owners. Let's live for today, man."

"Koti..." I said again with exasperation, "John... I know."

"Know what?"

"I know it wasn't an accident. You didn't just happen to wind up at the Inn at the same time as me."

She leveled her gaze at me. Those piercing blue eyes with a long life behind them.

"That's crazy," she said firmly, like she really thought if she sounded convincing enough I'd believe her. "I told you. We went when we went because of Mary's meeting."

"Did you think Mary and I would never, ever talk about this?" I snorted. "At a certain point, I had to come clean."

"What do you mean come clean?"

I sighed again.

"A few weeks ago, Mary and I got to talking. She knows you were bisexual. She knows you were cheating on her. She was trying to put the pieces together, but she didn't understand how it all fit and it was bothering her. You know, she was having this moment, like how did we get here? And I couldn't let her keep going without filling her in."

"Filling her in on what?"

"I told her I was Ryan. I mean, she knew I was Ryan, but she didn't know what that meant. She didn't know about the connection. I told her that you and I met, and I could tell you were lost and I thought it would help you if we went to the Inn. And that I was the reason your lives have been so chaotic for the last two years."

"You... you had no right..."

"I had every right, it was my secret to tell. She already thinks you spent that year down in Florida chasing boys, so when I told her you were actually in a Maine grade school, she laughed."

"You told her I was Cayden..."

"Yeah, John," I said. "I was sick of lying to her. She's become a good friend and I may have ruined her life. So I pointed out it was some weird coincidence that brought us back together, and she told me you practically forced her to come. That she had to cancel commitments."

"Marc... no... the text... I showed you..."

"You faked it, man. You texted yourself from her phone, a cover story about a meeting she had to go to, then deleted it from hers. So you could show me, so you could be blameless. Because you didn't do anything I didn't do. But the truth is, you didn't want to save your marriage, you wanted to end it. And my God, what a lucky stroke. I'm a guy and you're a girl and we just had to pretend to be dating. Did you rig that up too?"

"No, Marc, how would I do that? That's crazy..."

"At least admit you came on purpose," I said.

She lowered her head, then gazed up at me under her brow.

"Fine," she huffed. "I did that. I thought if I was close to you, then something would happen, and I was right. Either I could fuck you, or fuck you over, and either way I'd be happy, because I wasn't done with you. I love you, Marc, and I don't want you to be with anybody else for the rest of my life."

I exhaled a sigh of relief. It was very liberating to hear what finally felt like the truth from Koti's, or John's, lips. Things I have had vague ideas and suspicions about for months. She looked miserable to be doing it too.

I couldn't help but smile, and she asked me what was so amusing.

"When I told Mary about all this... as we pieced it together... she wasn't even mad. She practically had her life stolen from her, and the two people she trusted most keeping all this from her, and she was grinning. Because it was all out in the open now. She said 'God, John must really love you, to go to all that trouble.' She said she didn't think you would do something like that for her."

Koti joined me with suppressed laughter. "Maybe once upon a time," she sighed. "When we were young."

We laughed a little longer, before she sheepishly asked, "So... did I ruin it? Is this the end? I mean, are you and Mary going to punish me for all the ways I've fucked up?"

I kind of shrugged. "I don't know, John. I don't want to hate you and I don't want to punish you, but I don't want to reward you either. This cycle of going to the Inn and messing with each other and dragging innocent people into our drama... we've got to end it somehow. But if I leave you now, if we shake hands and walk away, it's not going to feel like it's over. 

"All I know is, we don't know how we end up until we get there. Me on my path, you on yours, and maybe they intersect."

She sat there quietly for a moment, maybe contemplating what I'd said, then sheepishly pulled up the bottom of her towel, revealing her bare leg.

"Until then... there's no harm, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "You..."

We should all hate each other. I should resent John for lying. Mary should despise both of us. Yet somehow, I don't know, there's that thin line between love and hate. Somebody can't drive you this crazy without some serious feelings behind it. We're all in this weird vortex together.

Our trip to the Inn is still a few weeks away...

-Marc/Dustin

Elias/Meadow: Love is Blind

That was a show my mom and aunt really liked watching and I would sometimes catch it with them but I never understood how people could just slide into a relationship with someone without a long period of getting to know them. And now it's kind of happened to me.

There isn't really any other way to put it besides "I am in a relationship" although one that doesn't yet involve sex. Francis is always around, and I've kind of gotten used to him, and he sure treats me like I'm his girlfriend. The stressful part is actually that we work in the same place, but after a while I started taking opposite shifts from him so that we had a bit of space. That made the "relationship" easier to manage.

I don't know how the Inn magic works I think I've inherited some interesting body chemistry from Meadow, because I have good stamina, can be on my feet for a long time, and am more used to being up and active early, while Francis is a night owl who works the evening shift at the restaurant. So he understands why I rather work the day shift. I think also, leftover from that relationship, he understands that after a long day his former nurse girlfriend is not always in the mood for intimacy. I've just been stretching that as long as I can.

But I think he might be ready to start pushing harder soon because I've noticed him excusing himself to go um "take care of himself" and I feel a little guilty. I don't know what's going to happen with that.

Another interesting thing is memory. I don't know if it's me or it's Meadow's body/brain or what, but I feel like I have a really sharp memory right now. Which I guess she would need from being a nurse. So that helps me as a waitress. But even I make mistakes. One day not long after I started I got two tables mixed up during the lunch rush and the kitchen manager made some remark like "No wonder you quit being a nurse, you probably mixed up everyone's IV bags." Which stung.

So I came home that day feelin kind of defeated and crummy about being Meadow, and I found that Francis had taken the night off and ordered dinner from "my" favorite Indian food place. I've never had Indian food, but I'm up for anything. It turns out I really like it. The parts I liked the best were the dal, the chicken masala, and the paneer, which I guess is just cheese. Oh and garlic naan. We've had it every week since then.

After that, we sat around watching youtube together and I thought "this is kind of cool." Like I could get into this. So that was the first time I gave in and kissed him, which I'd been trying to work up to. It felt weird but not... bad........ I don't know how I feel about being touched more than that yet, but my mind is open I guess. It's all part of this process of trying to play Meadow's role. And me just wanting to, I don't know, live life and experience things.

Isaac/Ainsley: Karma?

Is it common for Inn people to start slacking a bit in their current body's life when they know they're about to return to the Inn? Like, the Old Orchard Beach version of senioritis? You end up in a strange body, freak out about it, come up with as many excuses as you can to avoid their commitments, eventually have no choice but to throw yourself in, you slowly and painfully adapt, and then when the light at the end of the tunnel appears you start to give yourself permission to let go a little?

Well, I've been trying to not do that. This isn't really because I feel like I owe it to Ainsley to be perfect; I think I've done an okay enough job keeping her life together under the circumstances (whatever that's worth) and her friends can handle a few no-shows if they're about to get the real her back. She's doing the same thing right now herself. No, I'm not cutting myself any slack because I've read enough of the blog's archives to know just how many opportunities there are for things to go wrong at this part of the process. I've got this basically superstitious instinct which tells me that if I act like I'm about to leave this life, I'll get hit by some kind of karmic whiplash which keeps me from returning to Isaac Strauss. And I know it doesn't work like that-- the Inn is anything but fair-- but the idea of letting myself relax just makes me feel deficient right now.

I don't even need the archives or my instincts to know that right now. The situation going on with Penny is absolutely horrible, and I considered not even posting this and holding off on any updates until after my Inn block is over. And yeah, this kind of thing has happened plenty of times in the past, but talking about the possibility of getting my own body back from a difficult-to-trust youth-seeking man with a chip on his shoulder just feels wrong.

But Marvin kept his word. I didn't give myself the luxury of fully believing him, but he's been communicative about his trip to the Inn, and even sent me an unsolicited video of himself mid-transformation while reciting a lengthy disclaimer about he's returning my body to me and how I shouldn't waste it. There was a lot more to it, but I think we've all had enough of me transcribing that guy. He's made his point very thoroughly by now.

So, entirely justified paranoia aside, I'm all set to arrive at the Inn next week. Everything looks good with Heather's plans as well. Speaking of Heather, I actually haven't seen much of her lately. She's usually gone whenever I get back to the apartment and doesn't come back until well after I've gone to bed, if not the next afternoon. As far as I can tell from when she does talk to me, it's the same kind of youthful hedonism she's been doing this whole time, just more of it. I don't really like to pry besides the occasional snide comment, and I'm not gonna stop her. The more things change...

I get jealous of her, sometimes. I kind of hate admitting it, but it's true. But then I remind myself that I've been clubbing as Ainsley, and went to a concert, and other stuff I never would've come close to a year ago. And, well. Look at how those went! I think I'm just not capable of being that type of person, and I say that as someone with experience in semi-successfully forcing myself to be a different type of person, so I at least kind of know what I'm talking about here.

Heather and I have done one interesting thing together since the last time I posted; not long after the Marvin incident we made an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon since we were both feeling particularly bad about ourselves. It seemed like simply the thing one does if you find yourself in Arizona, despite being several hours away from Phoenix by car. Honestly, it kind of sucked? Neither of us wanted to spend Ainsley and Sara's PTO on anything not Maine-related, so we left very early Saturday morning and returned after midnight the next day. The view really is as beautiful as people say it is, but it was brutally hot the entire time and we spent most of the weekend in at least one of sleep deprivation or heat exhaustion. Neither of us felt up to doing any hiking, and between that and the horrible motel we slept at the trip felt more or less like a wash. I suppose that's the cost of doing something mostly so you can tell yourself you've done it. Of course, that's the same motivation that brought me to the Inn in the first place...

So I'm alive. Things have gone okay for me thus far after looking questionable for a while, especially when I last had anything to say. But the work isn't done. I hope it won't be much longer, and I'm not going to let myself upgrade past hope until it's no longer needed.

Caleb/Rylee: Catching up with the originals

“You’re sure you haven’t got any kind of performance experience? Didn’t even, like, go do drunk karaoke with friends?”

“Nope, nothing. Sorry.”

“Ugggggh.”

I watch as the blonde-haired woman in front of me on the Zoom call leans back and groans in frustration. The similarly looking woman next to her, wearing a UCLA sweatshirt that I doubt was comfortable in the LA summer heat, rubs her shoulder sympathetically.

“Come on Rylee, you knew whoever got your body wasn’t likely to be an actor. At least we’re lucky this young, uhm - ” 

There’s a slight pause as Clint is just as uncertain as I am about what gendered term to use for me when in private.

“ - man at least wants to try and help. From what I’ve read on the blog things could have gone a lot worse.”

“I know, dad, was just hoping maybe I got lucky and some celebrity got roped into all this Inn nonsense. I mean, it’s happened before, right?”

“Sorry to be a disappointment,” I reply.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! Dad’s right, at least I got someone right out of college, even if there are, uhm, complications.”

Her assurance I was not a disappointing replacement for her was not very convincing.

“Sure, you probably won’t get any on stage roles in the semester productions, but you should be able to keep my grades up. It’ll be totally fine, right?”

She looks between myself and Clint. It was then that Kaitlyn leans in from beside me to get her say in.

“Don’t worry Rylee, I can promise you that you and your dad’s lives are in good hands. While we maybe aren’t the first choice of replacements, we’re both well-meaning and intelligent people and I’m sure we can keep things stable enough for you two to come back to your lives intact.”

“Thanks Kaitlyn, I appreciate it,” Clint says. “I’m sorry you’re getting roped into Shannon and I’s issues, but hey, maybe you can use some of that psychology stuff to get her off my back,” he says with a weak laugh.

“I can assure I’ll try and keep things as amiable as possible for all our sakes,” Kaitlyn says flatly.

“Best I can ask for under the circumstances. Anyway, we got to head out. Rylee and I got work to get to.”

Clint was not exactly enthused about this, the two of them having picked up waitress jobs till the semester started and they could get something on campus. I was sympathetic to his discomfort in having to “flaunt” what the Inn gave him to get more tips just to scrape by in LA.

 We’ll keep in touch, and if you got any questions just email us.”

I close the laptop and sigh.

After the chaos of these first few days as Rylee and Clint, and getting some of our own affairs in order, the two of us had thought it a good idea to try and get in touch with them, give them some peace of mind about who was now living their lives. In the process, we also got the rundown on what had happened to the two of them.

Rylee had become Hailey Holder while Clint had become her sister Natalie. The two of them had been college students at UCLA who had went to Maine to escape the summer heat of southern California for a little while. Rylee had gotten lucky, with Hailey being a junior and therefore close in age to the real her. Her only real complaint was that Hailey was a business major, though at least there were courses about the entertainment business she determined could be helpful for her own future career. It was clear that Clint was still adapting to being a hot young co-ed, though, if the baggy clothes and constant squirming and uncertainty about where to place his arms so as to not push up his breasts were any signs.

Not that I can exactly blame him, though, as about the only reason I wasn’t doing the same is that Rylee had packed for summer beach weather. Tank-tops, shorts, and sundresses were pretty much my only options, and figuring out how to wear them without the bra straps showing was a battle I had yet to win. The one bright spot for him at least is that a materials engineer major is a smidge closer to his previous work as a carpenter than being a theater major is to mine as a data analyst. Just needs to be a careful talking about how much of an expert in “wood” he is around guys…

“So, now that that’s over with, why don’t we get out of the room for a bit?” Kaitlyn says as she stands up. “Shannon’s going to want some pictures of us enjoying our vacation, so I figured we could get lunch, hangout on the beach, go see that show ‘Rylee’ just had to see so badly.”

“I’m not sure I’m up for the beach. Only swimsuits she brought were bikinis,” I say, glancing warily over at that lavender colored suitcase. Considering my usual outfit consisted of khakis and polo shirts, even the tank-top and shorts I was currently wearing were showing more skin than I ever had before.

“You do know girls can go down to the beach in normal clothes, right?”

“Fair enough,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get this father-daughter date over with."

- Caleb/Rylee

Kaitlyn/Clint: In my 20s, divorced with a kid…

“Alright Shannon, I’m glad we were able to work things out. I’ll let you know the moment we hit the road.”

I hang up Clint’s – well, I guess my – phone and let out a groan, rubbing a calloused hand through the buzz cut that was my hair now.

“Were you able to work things out with ‘mom’?” Caleb says from his – I’m holding off on using “her” till he says it’s fine – spot over on the bed.

In his tank-top and thigh cut shorts, he looked just like any other teenage girl, especially with his face stuck in his phone.

“Yeah, she seemed to buy the story our phones got left at some restaurant in town and we didn’t get them back till now. Thank god Clint had used the ‘Inn’s complimentary computer’ to e-mail about how there was that community theater play that you just had to see. Bought us a some time to get adjusted."

When I decided to get into psychology with the intent to help people, I figured that would probably involve some couple’s therapy. What I didn’t expect was that my first couple was going to be myself separating from my wife with a kid involved.

Before we dig into that, however, let me back up a bit.

My name is Kaitlyn Woods, and as you likely read from Caleb's posts I'm a recent psychology graduate. I figured that enjoying some sunshine on the beach in a sleepy little town would be a good way to get some rest and relaxation before heading off to graduate school to get my masters. After all, being in a calm and collected mind is an important part of starting a new adventure, and now I’m just repeating that to myself as I handle the flurry of post-curse life management. No offense to the real Clint Thomson, of course, but he did not exactly leave the easiest of situations, and I think he’s rather lucky that someone with at least a little bit of training in handling contentious interpersonal relations got his body.

To sum it up, Clint and his wife Shannon are currently separated with a very high likelihood of divorce. Their daughter Rylee – now currently “played” by Caleb, to use her love of theater as a metaphor – lives with Shannon, but the two had agreed to let Clint take on vacation for some father-daughter time before the big move to college. They were, of course, supposed to come back by now, but, well, the Inn had different plans. It was a stroke of luck their transformation into the Holder sisters had 1) left them as adults and 2) happened with enough time to come up with a story about missing phones and a community theater production of She Kills Monsters that Rylee just had to see. Having to do all that over email really strained Shannon’s patience, but it worked to buy us the rest of our two week stay. Hopefully that will give us enough time to get accommodated to our new bodies and get a crash course in being the Thomsons.

That's probably easier said than done, though.

Cliff’s job as the owner of a woodworking shop is not one where my education quite transfers over. Clint he assured me that no one would think it too unusual if he "stepped back" from the floor to focus more on management, but it’s still going to be rough to fake any technical expertise. My experience with woodworking stops and ends with popsicle art projects in middle school (which, to be fair, I did get As on).

Related, I had the rather disappointing task of getting in contact with my graduate program to request a one year’s deferment due to “health complications”. Even if we wouldn’t be doing clinicals until the second year, any courses missed would impact my ability to treat any future patients, so I couldn't in good conscience let someone else do the work for me. In my letter I suggested to whoever becomes me that the safest alternative for now would be to move back home and get a job working as an administrative assistant for my mother's practice. It would be a little embarrassing, but better than taking out student loans for coursework you wouldn't be qualified to complete.

“How’s your letter writing going, by the way?” I ask Caleb

“It’s on my list of things to do. First I’m working on transferring over some of my social media,” he says without even looking up from his phone. Clearly he’s already mastered the first skill of a teenage girl.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just make a clean break?”

“I kept an anonymous and public facing version of just about everything. Whoever becomes me is free to use my public Facebook and stuff, but lot of my other accounts are just sparse enough on personal details I can keep them up without any real change."

“Alright, if you think that’s the best way to handle things,” I say, not unsympathetic to the desire of wanting to holding onto things. I mean, I moved a few things myself, but we are ultimately going to have to live as these people, not ourselves. Trying to cling too hard to our lives just feels like it’d be too much of a source of anxiety and resentment.

“Just don’t forget to get that letter written. I know it probably feels scary to have to hand your life over to someone else, but just, you know, think about this as getting some valuable experience in being in someone else’s shoes, literally,” I say, admittedly just as much to for myself as for Caleb.

“Alright, dad,” he says, finally looking up from his phone to give me an annoyed glance.

“Sorry, just, you know, trying to help. If you’re wanting to talk about it…”

“I’ll be fine. I mean, I’m basically just redoing freshman year. Different major, different parts, but at the end of the day school is school. Keep up grades, stay out of trouble, and it’ll all work out. And if I want to hang on to a Discord account or two what does it matter?"

Recognizing I probably overstepped, I back off.

Even in only knowing him a few days, I couldn’t help but notice Caleb tends to redirect his attention to some kind of “task” to avoid working through his anxieties. During our little 4^th of July date, for example, any time I got physically closer he’d immediately steer towards some kind of shop or offering me a drink or snack (which in retrospect makes a lot more sense knowing that he’s asexual).  It’s a coping strategy that does have me a little worried about what’s going to happen once all this initial rush of letter writing and figuring plans is over and we’re left with nothing else to do but to just…exist as these people.

- Kaitlyn/Clint

Caleb/Rylee: Guess I'm going back to school...

You know what the funniest thing was? The first thing that tipped me off that something was wrong wasn’t the long, brunette colored hair splayed across the bed or the shifting, jiggling weight that was on my chest, but it was the fact that my CPAP machine wasn’t fitting properly. Sleep apnea has been a long-time enemy of mine, the source of many sleepless nights, so of course that meant having a tube strapped to my face and a machine pumping air into my nose. When I was woken up by air blowing into my eyes, I figured the mask clips had just snagged on something and went to adjust it. Eyes dried out and closed, I fiddled around, only to find that everything was intact, yet somehow it was as if my head had just shrank.

That was the point where the hair and breasts caught my attention. After all, it was kind of hard to ignore the unusual amounts of squishing on my chest and the tickling feeling on my neck as I turned over to grab my glasses off the nightstand.

Ripping off the mask, I shifted around, again feeling the disorientating new sensations on my chest and head as I went to stand up. I had to quickly catch myself from slipping when my pajama pants fell down and fabric pooled up around the bottom of my feet. It was only them catching on the wider width of my hips and no longer flat as a board butt that kept myself from becoming completely pantless.

“What the…what the hell!?”

I can’t say I ever had a particularly deep voice, to the point that sometimes I would be misgendered on the phone if the connection was a little messy, but it was still masculine. What was coming out of my throat now, though, was distinctly the voice of a woman.

As I worked to adjust my pants, pulling up and tightening them up at the waist in such a way that was unfortunately flattering to the figure I now possessed, I could hear the beginnings of a similar ruckus coming from Kaitlyn’s side of our conjoined bathroom. By the time I was confident I could move without tripping on my pant's legs there was knocking coming from the bathroom door.

“Caleb, are you up?! It’s Kaitlyn!”

If it wasn’t for my own experiences, I would have rather doubted that was the case, the panicked voice coming from behind the door being deeper and masculine.

“Uh, yeah, I’m up.”

Now, for anyone who had been curious about Kaitlyn and I after our little fireworks date, things had been a bit on the awkward side between us. Cordial, of course, as one must be when there was always a risk of embarrassing escapades in a shared bathroom, but awkward. We’d chat a little at breakfast or when passing each other around the Inn, but otherwise the last few days had been one of various solo adventures around town or at the beach.

So, you can imagine the…interesting experience it was to have our next major interaction starting with an older, slightly paunchy man with graying buzzed hair coming into my room dressed in an ill-fitting woman’s t-shirt and a towel tied around the waist. There was a dramatic pause as we both looked each other over, clearly assessing the situation and trying to figure out something to say.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some clothing I could borrow, would you?” Kaitlyn said.

“There might be something in my suitcase," I replied.

Considering her more precarious state of attire, I made the walk over to my suitcase set at the foot of the bed. I was busy trying to ignore how much tighter my pants felt on my behind as I squatted down to open it when I noticed the corner of a lavender-colored suitcase peeking out from underneath the bed. In retrospect I suspect it had been the “curse” keeping me from noticing it before, but in the moment, it was simply yet another confusing addition to a frazzled morning.

“Did someone leave their luggage in here?” I said as I pulled it out and set it on the bed.

Opening it up, on top of pile the clothing that reminded me of the kind of stuff the co-eds on campus would be wearing in the summer, was a notebook with a single piece of paper taped on it. After relaying the basics of it to her, she headed off to her own room, shouting out that there was in fact a set of luggage and a similar note for her. Once we had both taken a moment to change into something better fitting we reconvened to swap information.

Long story short, Kaitlyn and I have become Clint and Rylee Thomson, respectively. They had come to the Inn for some father-daughter bonding time before Rylee headed off to college as a theater arts major. The rest of the notebook was her journal, which she wrote in every day as just one part of a rather extensive daily exercise routine that was detailed in the latest pages of the journal. Said schedule was followed by her practically pleading whoever became her would keep it up (alongside really, really hoping that they “at least had, like, taken an improv class or two, maybe, please?”).

And just…look, I don’t have anything against theater majors. I mean, someone has to act in all the shows and movies we all watch, right? But outside of the obligatory elementary school plays, I’ve never performed in anything. I could feel the social anxiety flaring up just thinking about having to put on any kind of performance for a grade, and god forbid if I have to try any kind of singing and dancing. A professor I had once said he was amazed at how people of my generation could just “feel the music” and let loose, and I guess that meant I must have had a boomer’s soul because the closest I could ever get to any form of dancing was the Cha-Cha slide and an other song that gave clear instructions on what to do.

The only saving grace here was that at least she wasn’t set to attend, like Julliard or something. Being at a normal four-year liberal arts school meant there was a chance I could avoid screwing up things for her by squeaking by in the major intro courses and filling out the rest of a schedule with gen-ed requirements. No one was really going to fault someone for stumbling a bit as a freshman, right? She’d totally be able to catch back up as a sophomore.

There was, however, a more immediate problem to worry about.

Clint and his wife were apparently having marital problems and were currently separated, and this “extended vacation” was on the verge of violating his custody agreement for the summer.

- Caleb/Rylee