Marc/Dustin: Heading Out On My Own

With our return reservation to the Inn still months away, I was thinking there has got to be some way to fill the summer besides punching the clock at the front desk of the gym.

Dustin's ambition in life is to be a phys. ed teacher. We agreed at the outset that there was not much point in me doing much to pursue that on his behalf -- sure, it might feel like a viable shortcut for his resume but it doesn't help his development. So I've been fairly idle this year. But we managed to put our heads together to try to figure out something I could do that would suit "him" without taking experience he should be having for myself.

We wound up finding a youth soccer program I could coach. There's a two-week training course, which of course I will be needing because I've never coached anything in my life, before the kids arrive. It's a weekend-and-after school thing until school lets out, and it runs until July, meaning I'll be free of commitments by the time we go back to Maine.

It's not the world's greatest career opportunity, and without the financial backing that my not-so-bottomless war chest provides, it probably wouldn't make sense to do, but it's fine.

Thing is, it's kind of a ways away -- over state lines -- meaning that to work there, I'll have to move out of the house.

And that's fine! Aside from Mary, who has assured me she will be okay, there isn't anything there for me. I'll miss hanging out with Ifena and Charly watching cheesy reality shows and procedurals, but it's best if I find a reason simply not to be there anymore.

It just feels a little weird to have been bunkered down for so long, and then to leave just as we're getting close to the end. I'm moving on Thursday, so I have a few days to get settled in before training starts.

Koti, meanwhile, has been incommunicado. Which is worrying to me, because I can never speculate where her head might be at, if she's going to do something a little out-of-pocket as the kids say. I've let her know what's up with me, signaling that it's safe for her to return to the house, which I would love because it would mean that one of us, Mary, could keep tabs on her until it's time to go back. I'm hoping that this shakes something loose in that situation.

That's all for now

-Marc/Dustin

Ainsley: Out Of Bounds

Nobody told me going on my first first date in three years would be this nerve-wracking!

OK that's a lie, everybody told me that. My friends, kind of my roommate, musicians, those reality TV ladies who've had enough of their exes' bullcrap but also haven't had enough of Netflix's bullcrap. And even kind of me, but the last time I'd just gotten over a breakup was... I don't even wanna think about it! So, it turns out it's just another one of those things you have to learn firsthand no matter how many times people try to warn you.

Tinder hasn't gotten any better since I was fresh out of college, that's for sure. But it's not like I had high expectations in the first place? I'd just like to know at what age I'll see fewer pics of guys holding up a fish than of them. I don't know. Golfing? From what I hear at work there's a point when a set of golf clubs magically zaps into a man's bedroom and he starts having opinions about who's going to win The Masters.

You know it had to be a dog pic that got me. Yeah yeah, I'm so predictable, I get it!!! But what am I supposed to do, just turn down the chance to meet an adorable Dachshund? Hey guys-- bigger isn't always better when it comes to dogs! It leans in to the whole inoffensively cute vibe the guy -- Erik -- had that let me feel comfortable enough to roll the dice. Don't want to get back into dating on a bad note, after all.

We met up outside the restaurant he picked and that's when it hit me how I hadn't really had a one-on-one conversation with a man in. Well over a year, I think? Not counting work stuff.

But dinner went really well actually, and not just the surprisingly great Korean/Mexican fusion food! I would've been happy to let him do most of the talking, just to put the pressure off since I'm still a little nervous about everything. Instead he seemed really interested in my hobbies instead of just wanting to go on all evening about the rock climbing gym he's at half the time. Not that I have a ton of interesting hobbies right now, lol. But it was a good excuse as any to bring up SugarBunny and the dog talk carried us the rest of the way through dinner.

Erik's a busy guy, and before we met up he told me about another hobby of his and invited me to come with. Contra dancing. Really?? I didn't know anything about it but I figured the average age would be like, 50 so it seemed pretty harmless and I said yes. I can handle a little dancing, right? It won't be a nightclub this time, I should be able to have fun somewhere like that.

My first impression was the crowd was actually pretty young, so I was wrong about that! Maybe I'm not as in touch as I like to think. Dinner ran kinda late so we got there with only a couple minutes left of everyone standing around and Erik giving me a rapidfire explanation of how to contradance before the music started and everyone paired up. There was some kind of emcee on stage saying random phrases that correspond to dance moves but I had no idea what any of them went, so I just kind of let Erik guide me through whatever we had to do and tried to follow along. Then before I know it everyone switched partners and I stood there staring around at the crowd of strangers before this other guy made eye contact and came up before I could say anything. He tried twirling me around but before I could even think about where to put my feet everyone switched partners again, this girl with a pixie cut looked at me, and the same thing happened again! Finally it was back to Erik, where I hoped I'd get at least a couple minutes to catch myself.

But I didn't get any better. Erik kept telling me to just relax, try not to move so stiffly, and I wasn't able to make myself do it. The others who wanted to dance with me seemed just as unimpressed. It's like, no matter what I tried, I was always out of step with everyone else. We lasted fifteen minutes before Erik took me aside and asked if I was having a good time. I think Mel would have a good time at a place like this. Sara would act all embarrassed about going somewhere this wholesome and have some choice words, but she'd find a way to have fun with it anyway. And Ainsley... Ainsley...

Okay, look. I know that I owe any of you readers who may happen to be concerned a real explanation for what's going on with me. I'm going to say it up front: I know I'm not Ainsley, I don't believe I'm Ainsley, I didn't wake up one morning so unable to cope with the reality of the Inn and my own body's uncertain status that I convinced myself I'm someone else. Regardless of what anyone else does, I'm going to Old Orchard Beach when the reservation receipt says I am.

But if everyone kept telling you there's something wrong with you, whether they know the truth or not, and you start to believe it, and you kind of always did. And there was a hole in the world, one whose shape you suddenly fit, one you become immersed in every hour of your life for months, and you can tell how badly everyone around you wishes it were never there, and what left it behind had a better life than you... Wouldn't you eventually want to fill it? Just to see what it's like? Would it really be so horrible to try more than just the minimum of what the world expects?

That's what I realized, lying in my bed late one night. I hated the idea of giving in to the shit Sara and Marvin keep throwing at me, and a lot of Ainsley's choices weren't exactly ones I'd make on my own-- but I knew what those choices are! I had a guidebook, embedded into this entire life, for what's expected of the person shaped like Ainsley Thomas.

So I followed it-- more than the amount I'd been that's just enough to keep her from losing her job or (more of) her social life. I didn't wake up the next morning thinking I'm Ainsley, but I kept telling myself I did. I went to the gym, immersed myself in her interests, made small talk, annoyed my roommate, cooed at dogs, and generally tried to act like a happier person. And, to my shock, it sort of worked? Maybe it's the forced optimism but I think people have been nicer to me since I started doing this. The air of confused concern surrounding I used to get from Ainsley's circle lessened, even if it didn't go away. And over time, I got these moments where I could just, stop thinking about it and coast off the inertia of my own Ainsley impression. Like I've previously said, the important thing is keeping myself too busy and immersed to run out of momentum.

It essentially became a game where I'd ask myself how far I could take this. That's probably how I managed to talk myself into getting on Tinder, the prospect of which would've caused the me of even two months ago to spontaneously combust. Even still, I didn't intend taking it any further than going on one date and saying whatever I needed to to end things after that. I'd assumed that a random Tinder guy would give me plenty of reasons to regardless. But no, somehow my date turned out to know how to treat a lady.

That's a lot of what I thought in the back of my mind as I ran down my standard Ainsley small-talk script at Erik, being treated that way. How big his arms are compared to mine, getting the door opened for me, they way his speech was weird combination of respectful and slightly patronizing. He kept looking at me. Obviously I've experienced all this one way or another just by existing in public but that was always in situations where I could just leave or, at worst, zone out. But there, we both signed up for it, and I, Ainsley Thomas want to be treated that way on a date, I reminded myself. It's normal. Maybe I actually did kind of like parts of it once the sense of danger wore off a bit, but it's hard to tell whether I've Pavloved myself at this point. Or it was the novelty. I don't know.

The point is, I'd mentally prepared myself for my date to be the one to ruin it, but no, I had to ruin it when I finally hit the limit of my Ainsley persona. I just can't bring myself to dance. It's more funny than sad, compared to the nightclub from the bachelorette party. Clubs like that are high-pressure environments full of stressors that would've set me on edge even if I didn't have Ainsley's relationship with her best friend on the line. But I still can't find it in me to move freely in an all-ages group dance in a brightly lit gym? Come on. It makes it feel unreachable, that sense of fluidity and gracefulness (or enthusiasm, if the first two aren't great) all the women Ainsley's age I meet seem to have. Not that I could dance as a guy either but at least then it felt like there's lower expectations. Everyone at the contra dance could tell, they looked concerned, they were right to be!

I held off Erik's requests that we could seriously just chill out by the side and talk if I wasn't having any fun for about ten more minutes of dancing before I caved. But it felt like there wasn't anything to discuss. The momentum left broken and how un-Ainsley I really am returning in full force. Soon enough I left, telling him I'd had a good time (not completely a lie) and I'd talk to him later. We haven't spoken since, and now I don't know who I'm going to be in three days, in a different sense from how I don't know who I'm going to be in three months.

Tom/Kiara: Happy Birthday

April 25 was my birthday. That is to say, it's Kiara's birthday, which means it's "mine" for the time being. I knew this, because I've spent time looking at plenty of documents as Kiara -- and I did look into when I would finally be "an adult" at 18 again -- but it wasn't as if I was eagerly awaiting the day, counting down to it on the calendar. It took me a moment to realize what was happening when Jen woke me up and told me to get ready for our day.

"Our" day? Not that I'm on bad terms with Kiara's mom, but we don't exactly spend a lot of time together. If she's at the house, I'm usually not and vice versa. Our text conversation is a never-ending stream of who is taking care of Sienna when. I'm grateful and all, I just haven't been able to foster much of a personal relationship with her.

With so much constantly going on at the house, you won't be surprised to hear that I'm not accustomed to being in the spotlight. And that's how I like it. The less people acknowledge my existence the easier it is for me. But I guess "my" birthday was going to be the one day we focused on me.

Jen treated me to a one-on-one brunch, which was a nice gesture but also an awkward one. Here we were, sitting eye-to-eye at the table for once and I have nowhere to hide. Luckily there are plenty of conversational topics -- Sienna, of course, and school.

"You thinkin' about what comes next?" she asked me over something sorta like "eggs benedict."

"Yeah," I sighed, "There's, um, a lot up in the air right now." There's obviously still an outside chance that the real Kiara, aka "Lisa Brown," will relent and come back to her own life, but the time is running out for that.

"I'd be happy to show you the business, help you pay for beauty school," she said, "But I get the feeling that's not what you want."

"No," I said sourly, "No offense, it's not for me."

"I haven't heard you paly your guitar in a while, is that dream dead?"

"I... had to face reality," I said, "Motherhood and musical aspirations don't mix."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said.

The conversation -- which continued to a manicure where I let my nails get painted with spring pastels -- couldn't help but take on a dour tone. Simply talking about life as a teen mom in a dead-end North Carolina town with no prospects didn't really fill me with excitement.

Next was shopping. It was just at a discount store, but it was Jen's idea of a nice gesture, and it was. "I don't even know your size anymore," she confessed, "So I thought it would make more sense if you just pick something out and I pay for it. Don't worry about the price. If you want it, it's yours." I was hesitant, but she was insistent and I was moved by the gesture. I picked up a decent jacket and -- don't laugh -- a miniskirt. Summer's coming, after all.

We brought home take-out for dinner and sat down as a family. The younger sibs had made me a homemade card, which was adorable and really moving. After cake, Cerie had an announcement.

She's pregnant.

As you may recall, Kiara's younger sister been dating Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, which would make our kids half-siblings (three-quarter siblings?) Jen and Kelly were actually congratulatory, albeit in a tentative, restrained way. The littles were thrilled that there would be another baby. I did a terrible job masking the fact that I was aghast.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hissed, "What is it about the way that I live that makes you want some of that? The exhaustion? The anxiety about my future? The financial burden? What about mom and grandma -- you think they have the bandwidth to take care of another kid?!"

"Kiara, hush!" Jen reprimanded me.

"Why you mad?" Cerie sneered in her Gen-Z-or-is-it-Alpha tone. "You think you're the only one who deserves attention just because you had a baby first?"

"God, that is so not what this is about..." I huffed, sounding every bit the teenager I appear to be, albeit maybe one from the 2000's, rather than today. "It's so short-sighted, especially knowing what I've been through."

"So why's it okay for you?!" Cerie shouted back, while Jen and Kelly tried to wrangle us with cries of 'Girls, please!'

"It's not okay for me, that's the point!" I was practically in tears, but more of rage than anything. "It's irresponsible! I fucking ruined my life, and you're about to do the same!" ("Language!")

"I can't believe you would say that about your own daughter! And mom too, like she ruined her life having you?!"

"No, I...!" I sputtered, "Can't you see how fucked up this is?!"

"That's enough!" Jen shrieked, "Kiara, don't speak for me, don't try to tell me what I have the 'bandwidth' for! If Cerie wants this, I will help her just like I helped you! You ingrateful little bitch!"

("Ingrateful" isn't even a word, but it's not like that was the headline at the time.)

"I don't belong here!" I screamed, which probably came out of nowhere as far as they were concerned. I stormed upstairs to where Sienna was asleep.

Soon after my arrival, she awoke and started crying, so I held her to my breast and fed her. I'm trying to wean her off that soon, but it was as much for me as anything else I guess.

After she finished, she began babbling. "Amma... amm... a... mama... mama..."

It's not the first time she's spoken, and not the first time it's come out sounding that way, but it was pretty clear and pretty repetitive. As galled as I was that people would treen a teenage girl getting pregnant as a good, exciting thing, there are definitely moments of beauty, and I always try to do right by this innocent little baby. I do love her. After all this time, how could I not?

As tears streaked down my cheeks, I gathered myself and took a video of the little girl, holding on her until she finally said it again.

I texted it to "Lisa Brown."

"Happy birthday," I wrote.

-Tom/Kiara

Arthur/Millie/Penny: Jumpy

It's been a while - almost 19 years! - since I've booked return tickets to the Inn, so I'd kind of forgotten the combination of giddiness and panic that comes with it.  I think most folks feel the same; there's this genuine relief that things are going to get back to the way they should be, and I have met a lot of folks who actually enjoy this phase of the Inn experience more than anything else.  "Okay," they seem to say, "now that this has an end date, I can stop worrying what enjoying this says about my inner self, and I don't have to worry about feeling trapped by this thing I don't like."  You would not believe how many people who've become the opposite gender really step up their sexual experimentation in those last couple months! 

The flip side, though, is that you can get extremely paranoid about anything going wrong or amiss.  This is my first time waiting to return to the Inn since I started writing fiction, so now I've trained myself to extrapolate everything down every path it could take, so there are a lot of things that could go wrong in my head, and that's on top of being a kid.  Ray and Harmon and I have tacitly agreed that unless I do something really stupid or dangerous, especially with other kids involved, they're not going to make much show of parental authority, even if it's somewhere that Ray and I would try to rein Millie in, but the rest of the world isn't in on this, and I've spent a few nights worrying about how things could get messed up if I draw someone's ire as a "misbehaving teenager".

Because that's really easy to do!  This weekend after tennis practice, for instance, "Venus" (not her real name) and I were hanging out on the Common, drinking Dunkin iced coffees with enough caffeine for full-grown men even though it was pretty chilly because we're New Englanders (well, Millie is, and I've been here long enough, right?), taking selfies and scrolling through TikTok, laughing and squealing when we hit a particularly funny one.  I was maybe acting my apparent age than usual - I had endorphins from a good practice and a lot of coffee! - but at most, we were being annoying.  Still, a cop came over and asked what we were up to, we both got a little mouthy for different reasons (I do occasionally react to stuff like I'm both an adult and totally white while Venus loves rap battles almost as much as tennis and her parents have insulted a deep distrust of authority in her), and while nothing actually happened, his hand was on his nightstick the whole time and he shooed us away from the group that I guess was giving us the stink-eye.

Which led to like a half hour of us doing increasingly mocking imitations of the puffed-up tyrant. 

After a while, we started wandering around Downtown Crossing (the new Japanese pop culture shop isn't open yet, alas), when Venus stopped outside the fancy Legal Sea Food and pointed inside.  "Is that your mom?"

I was already starting to say something about not thinking so before looking up and realizing that, yes, it was Harmon, all made up and wearing a cardigan and a camisole that showed some cleavage, talking to some man I didn't recognize.  He was about my real age and kind of good-looking, although he probably should just let his gray hairs show rather than try and cover it up.  They were laughing and looking more than chummy, so I whipped my phone out and took a photo before walking off.  Venus and I did a little more window shopping, but it wasn't a much fun anymore and started to drizzle, so we went out separate ways. 

Naturally, I was waiting for Harmon when she got home, looking as stern as I could, although I've seen this look on Millie's face as well as a bunch of students, and so I know that there's a hint of "kid upset she has to eat her vegetables" to it.  I pulled the phone out and showed her the picture.  "Who's this?"

Harmon looked and busted out laughing.  "It's the new editor, Rob Giordano!  Remember, Lucinda is starting her maternity leave, so Rob is going to be our point of contact with the publisher.  He and his son were visiting colleges this weekend, so he texted to see if we could have a quick sit-down to meet in person."

I raised my index finger to start making points.  "One, you're not supposed to do anything publisher-related without involving me; two, you're looking awful friendly for having just met!"

She rolled her eyes and pulled her (my) phone out of her purse.  "Millicent, the text came while I was at that fundraising dinner with Ray, and I had forgotten about it when we got home.  You were out the door by the time I got up, and though I planned to demur, it seemed like bad form.  As for how we looked, I suppose that I may have seemed more relaxed around someone who did not know you, but that is all there is to it - I am certainly not looking to entangle myself with your life more than I already am during the next month!"

As much as i hate being called by Millie's full name at school even more than she does, pulling that at home is just openly insulting.  Still, I knew she was looking for a reaction and hopefully didn't give him one more than clenching my jaw.  "You should still have given me a heads-uo; you're way past using 'I never got used to the way young people text' as an excuse."  Am I proud that I responded by emphasizing that he's an old man underneath his skin?  Well, maybe it's adolescent pettiness, but I'm not ashamed.  "So, what's he like?"

We talked shop for a bit, and the new guy mostly sounds like someone I'll be able to work with.  I must admit, I'm kind of worried that it will be more than an interim arrangement, because while my publisher probably won't lay Lucinda off while she's on leave, we all know how it works now, that the corporate higher-ups will see that the imprint doesn't collapse with one fewer editor, so if someone else leaves, they just won't fill the position when she returns, but might do a reorganization where everyone gets shuffled to look after a little more. 

Which would be a bummer; I've been working with Lucinda for years and we've got a good relationship that I don't think Harmon has sabotaged.  I suppose that would be the case no matter what, unless some butterfly effect thing means that her working with Harmon rather than me - say, things running long because I'm feeding him answers - changed circumstances just enough that she and her husband conceived when they otherwise wouldn't have.  Still, I would have liked to say goodbye. 

Ah, well, it's school vacation week in Massachusetts and I'm actually not booked solid with sports, but might instead get to spend a couple evenings "helping mom" stay book signings, which folks find adorable.  I am ready to be on the other side of that again! 

- Arthur/Penny/Millie

Marc/Dustin: Internal Affairs

I guess you can say life has been on a low simmer for the last couple of months, which is why you haven't heard from me. I've been working: I picked up a job working the desk at the gym, which is great because gym membership is pretty much my main expenditure (along with rent for 2 people and the enormous grocery bill this body generates.) That's kept me busy and away from posting, and also away from moping about my life.

Koti took my declining of her proposal to be a complete rejection and breakup, which was not really what I was going for, but at least acknowledges that we had an expiry date. I would love to make peace before we leave these lives, but there's a lot of time for that. We haven't booked into the Inn until August, because of the number of people in our "chain" who want their bodies back.

After that, Koti left the house. Left town, in fact, and went back to Dakota's family. I personally thought that was absurd and immature, but I figured it was best to give her the space she needs. By now, I've earned the kind of goodwill from the house that I don't need Koti to be living here to justify my presence. It kind of came out that I was paying both of our rents and that turned sentiment... not against her per se, but certainly toward my favor.

In a possibly unintended side-effect of Koti's absence, Mary and I have been hanging out a lot. I don't know how Koti/John would feel about me and their (ex-?)wife bonding, but that's out of their control. We spend a lot of evenings together, given that when she gets off her shift, PJ is usually working. We hang out in my room or her room, always with the door open so that nobody thinks anything shady is going on. I will admit to providing the occasional back or foot rub.

Even though we've made connections with the others in the house, being the two who share a secret means that we're going to lean on each other a fair bit, because sometimes you just need to let the mask down and talk to someone who knows you're not who you look like. 

Mary, for instance, has very mixed feelings about what she describes as her "fake" relationship with PJ. "Don't get me wrong, they're a lovely person," she sighs, "And without realizing it, they've taught me so much about the world and young people today. But if I were choosing a partner for myself, it wouldn't be them. But it's what they and Cassie want, and I didn't see any reason not to. I needed something to take my mind off of what was happening between you and John."

"I understand that," I said with a sigh, feeling guilty. "I feel a bit like what Koti and I had... what John and I had... was a bit of a runaway freight train. Once the momentum started we just had to let it go until it crashed. I got so caught up in it, I worry I didn't think about your feelings..."

"John and I have felt like a lost cause for years," Mary said. "But he hates to lose, hates to give anything up. He wouldn't divorce me. He just stubbornly insisted we could make it work. He and PJ are a lot alike in their forceful nature, which is probably what turns me off about them, actually. It bothers me to think I have a type like that. Sometimes I wish it had been you and me, Marc."

"Hm?"

"I mean, fate, and the Inn, put my husband in the body of Dustin's girlfriend and you into Dustin. And that's the only reason anything sparked between you two, because you had to pretend. Suppose I had become Dakota. Would we have had the same spark? You're such a kind person."

"I'm... I'm not, really," I said modestly.

"Don't sell yourself short," Mary chuckled. "Even now I'm lying here on your bed, and you won't make a move because, well... because it's not for Dustin and Cassie to do. You won't even consider it because of who you are and who you think I am, maybe because in spite of everything you've done with my former husband, you still think of me as John's wife. You dating Koti... that was a kindness, and it had the fringe benefit of her being a cute little thing. And maybe you can forget she's a man inside, and an irascible one at that. Or maybe it doesn't matter, I don't know."

I said nothing.

"I kind of want you two to be  together, but... I also want my own Marc, you know? When he disappeared, and it was clear he wouldn't be back soon, I... I got on the apps, I'll admit. I flirted, I went out. I wanted to see what life might be like as a divorcee. But when John came back, I thought, this is safe, this is right, this is what I know... even thought it's hard to put up with at times. My whole adult life has been wrapped up in him and it was hard to let go of that."

"And now?"

"I think that, one way or the other, when we get back to ourselves... if we get back to ourselves... we'll have to talk to some lawyers. I'm done, and I need him to admit he's been done for a long time. Maybe having you will soften the blow... if he still has you."

"I... I don't know about that."

"Well, I want you to be happy," Mary said. "And I want him to be happy. And if you can be happy together, that's great. And if you would be happier without him, but he's miserable... I think I could live with that." She smirked. "This isn't anything he doesn't know, but I think he thinks I'm not serious when I say it."

I said nothing, I just stared up at the ceiling.

Then after a while, she giggled. "I don't suppose I could convince you to become a 62-year-old man? Just long enough to sign some papers."

"I think it's probably best if I go my own way after this," I said tentatively, "If I had a choice. Let you two work things out amongst yourselves."

"Smart," she nodded. "Get out of this black hole we've sucked you into."

"Cheers to that," I sighed.

"And take me with you," she added, then sat up. "PJ'll be up soon. I think they'll want a little attention."

"You shouldn't have to force yourself," I said sympathetically.

"I've done worse for worse, and less in return," she sighed, then smiled wryly. "Plus, that non-binary sucker can screw."

"Okay--!" I guffawed as she departed and left me on my own.

-Marc/Dustin

Heather/Sara: Got some explaining to do...

Watching my roommate over the last couple weeks is the most unsettling thing I've ever seen.

Is what I would say if I didn't spend the last twelve years working at a high school. I've seen some shit, okay? But it's in the top 10. Probably. Definitely 20, I'll give 'em that much.

But yeah. I don't really pay a ton of attention to the blog, but no matter what my roommate might think I like to keep an eye on it, and when I saw the post earlier I felt like I should let you guys in the loop on what I know. And also. Who else am I even supposed to talk to about it!? The real Ainsley? Hell no am I gonna be the one to have that conversation. (For her own sake, I hope she doesn't read the blog!)

The other day Isaac, late at night (for him but not for me anyway) told me he's gonna try to be Ainsley "for now" and that I should call him that and not mention Inn stuff unless I absolutely have to. Looked all teary and out of his mind. I was kinda high and didn't really process what he just said so I just went "yeah sure OK" and set him back to bed. The next day I didn't see my roommate-- okay, I gotta add, I don't even know what name or pronouns to use here, I mean I don't really get the whole thing but I try to be respectful about it but also this is a different kind of thing, get what I'm saying? Like it's not the same situation with the crap I get from parents over a teacher using the ones the kid wants them to use, or not using the ones the kid wants and-- It's different. So I'm just gonna stick with he, and Isaac (I'm not gonna put "Ainsley" in quotes everywhere that'll just get old) at least until he lets me have a real conversation about this!

But yeah, if you saw what he wrote you get the picture, he's gone the full Ainsley. Finally went and snapped, and I gotta admit part of me was just surprised that it took this long. Okay I was surprised about the shape he snapped into, if I were a betting gal I would've put it on him losing it enough to take a pill from some stranger at wherever that bar he's been disappearing to is ("The Lounge" isn't its real name, apparently, kid covers his tracks!), who happened to offer it to him at the exact wrong moment. Honestly I was looking forward to it. That kid just hates himself, it got sad to watch before we even got on the plane, he would've needed to let off some steam even if he wasn't stuck impersonating Miss Perfect here while that weirdo's dangling his own life over his head. I've never seen anyone that permanently uncomfortable.

Only now he's really impersonating Miss Perfect instead of having the fun breakdown I'd regret wishing for once I had to clean up all the vomit (wouldn't be the first roommate who pulled that on me, but at least she had to return the favor. Or maybe it was me returning the favor. Whatever, long time ago, and also I did that for three kids so a hungover roommate is a breeze!!). And it's just. Uncanny! He's got the impression most of the way there (or at least I think he does, I never met Ainsley) but you can still kind of see the Isaac in there if you know him, which only I do, so. Point is, I hate fake smiles and forced cheeriness and all that crap, and I say that as someone whose job description includes lots of it so I know what I'm talking about! Now Isaac has the combined powers of a self-loathing anxiety case and the worst PTA moms I have to politely throw out of my office, and even "in character" he went out of his way to admit he likes how much it fucks with me. I've seen those smirks. I'm not self-centered enough to think I'm the main reason he's doing all this, but I'll give him that if I were, it'd be working. Never would've bet he had it in him to act that passionately about reality TV, or that dog, or really anything besides his plants, for anywhere near that long.

It's rich that Isaac's spent the last eight months going all "wow Heather, you like Sara's life too much, you're getting addicted to being too young and too cool and having too much fun" and now he goes off and throws his personality on the altar of someone who actually has a life. But look, I used to hang out with girls like Sara. I used to be girls like Sara. And I made mistakes in my life, but I know what it's like to be someone like her-- I saw Nirvana live, ya know? I've been cool!-- and what am I supposed to do, sit around all day feeling guilty about how I got one of the better curses the Inn can throw at you? Apologizing? Panicking about every little choice? Obviously that doesn't work, Isaac knows it, and now the whiplash got him so hard it's got him trying to date men. Good luck, kid! He doesn't know how shitty men can be. He thinks he does, we all start out thinking we're so smart, but he doesn't. He's like a teenage girl. Assuming he doesn't snap out of it and/or chicken out, of course.

Welp, at least losing his mind gets him out of the house more.

Ainsley: Rebound

Hey everyone! Just wanted to give you guys a couple updates on what I've been doing to get my life back together.

I know I've been in a funk for awhile, since I got out of the denial stage about the breakup, really. I wasn't feeling like myself and it took me too long to really realize how much it was hurting me and my friends. So one day, I just decided-- I've had enough! I can choose to be different! And so I told myself, and the world, that Ainsley Thomas is BACK!!!!!

I started by getting back into my old gym routine before work. Bringing back the habit of getting up that early was an adjustment but I've learned that keeping myself too busy to really think about anything is just part of the process, lol. It's also an adjustment for SugarBunny, who I think was finally getting used to having to get up before me for his walkies, but I can tell he's really happy about not having to practice his patience like that. I've neglected him more than anyone else lately and now I'm always giving him extra belly rubs to make up for it.

Like I said, the secret is just keeping myself busy. I got my hair done without waiting for the absolute last minute, volunteered to be a presentation lead at work for the first time in months, and best of all, quit it with the excuses for skipping Brunch With The Girls every now and then. These ladies know me better than anyone and I hate that I somehow lost sight of that. Well, them and my parents. I'm working on it but I don't know if I'm ready for that one yet.

I've even been having Mel over to help me catch up on Love Island. I hate how withdrawn I got from my bestie and it's been too long, even before the whole thing with my ex, since we just kind of chilled out on a couch together with a bottle of wine like we're back at the Gamma house. And god, the look on Sara's face when I started inviting someone over without telling her beforehand? Priceless. And she knows she can't complain about it, at least Mel always goes home before midnight!!

Sara and I for sure have our differences and rough patches, but I love the girl and she's been more on my case about how I'm not doing anything fun anymore than anyone else I know. And she was right! Which is why it's so weird to catch her staring at me like something's wrong every now and then. This is what everyone wants, right? For me to get over myself? Maybe I should just be flattered to get the hint that underneath the sarcasm she really does care about me, but it's still pretty weird.

I'm still getting those weird looks from some of the other girls, too. I'm not at a hundred percent yet, I know, I forgot in front of my friends about when we all went to an Eras Tour show and I had to spend a quarter of it consoling one of them in the bathroom when she got sick-- we all have our moments, you know? And I had to see the same concerned looks I've gotten ever since the breakup, and haven't really lessened since I decided to get my act back together.

I love my friends but maybe what I need is to meet some new people, people who haven't seen me at my worst. That's why I bit the bullet and finally redownloaded Hinge even if it makes me a little nervous to get back into things. Okay, a lot nervous. I'm definitely not ready for anything serious-- how can I commit to anything when I don't know what my life will look like a few months from now? But it'll help me train some muscles I haven't used in a long time, and maybe I'll come away from it with a couple interesting stories. That doesn't make updating my bio any less nerve-wracking though! All the pics are 3 years old at least and I don't have a lot of good recent ones. It's not cheating if I use ones from before last summer, right?

We'll see if anything happens. Or maybe I'll just get run over by how awful casual dating can be now that it's been long enough that I forgot about it. But really? I'm just glad I'm doing things on my own again-- really trying to be happy and enthusiastic and affectionate and all the things about myself I'd lost in that fog! And at the end of the day, all the hours I spent in front of the mirror teaching myself how to smile again are gonna be worth it.

Toby: Dunia's Boyfriend (among other things)

So, how awful is it to look at my situation, and the world at large, and be kind of relieved that a bunch of military leave is canceled so that I probably don't have to worry about actually meeting Dunia's boyfriend Hector before we go back to the Inn?  Dunia had said I didn't have to have sex with him when he was originally scheduled to be here this week, but I'm still a guy at heart, and I'd probably find myself identifying with his frustration if he got back from defending America overseas and his girlfriend blue-balled him.  He seems like a nice guy, so I hope he's not going to wind up in real danger, but I'd rather not feel a man inside me. 

Dunia says I should try it, and she wouldn't think any less of me if I hooked up with someone at the other end of a flight just to find out what it was like.  The way she figures it, I can't cheat on Hector, since I'm a different person, even if the world would perceive Hector as being cheated on.  I asked if she's tried her equipment out, and she said just on her own.  She actually doesn't want to cheat (and I believe her, from the way her friends tease me about being kind of goody-goody) but also says it's weird at her new age:  She's actually pretty good looking for an older guy, and I gather the guy she looks like is kind of popular among the widows and divorcees, but even the hottest MILF feels too old for her.

Plus, I gather Lambert has a really bad experience the other week, enough that he's stopped flirting with pilots and says the next Alicia can start fresh, without him giving her a leg up.  Indeed, he's really been head-down for the past week or so, as opposed to bossing folks around, and I think it's just stress from the folks looking for us. 

We're apparently still an open for for the FBI, though we haven't dealt with them since that first time.  Not sure how I feel about them apparently having better things to do, to be honest.  Lambert's father has hired a detective, or a firm, to look for him (people with that sort of money apparently hire companies that have offices all around the country rather than some guy with a seedy office), and he's been poking around.  More around me than him, I guess, because I didn't think to set up a VPN to make it hard to trace when I'm being Toby online.  I only kind of vaguely knew what one was and he acted like everybody uses them all the time, and I'm like, what kind of weird porn are you and your rich friends looking at that you've got to hide it?  I've set one up on Dunia's laptop, and let my phone drain without recharging it and found a decent hiding place, but I'm still kind of wary about trying to be myself online, even in a VPN; anybody nosing around me is going to see me using that and figure I'm doing something suspicious.

Maybe I can say I'm "just" pirating movies or something.

I don't think folks are following me or anything, or at least more than normal.  Worrying about it has maybe made it a little more clear how much I am being watched, though.  There's cameras everywhere, and even when I'm just sort of browsing in a shop in an airport, while wearing my uniform, like I'm going to endanger my job by shoplifting a soda, even I could hide it anywhere in that dress.  It kind of makes me appreciate the guys who stare because they think I'm attractive a little more; it still feels sort of weird, but I feel kind of curious about something specific rather than just vaguely worried, or feeling upset that they're suspicious of me for my skin color or sex, which also makes you kind of feel bad about the initial reaction that they shouldn't because you're really a Midwestern white guy.

Just another month of this, at least.  Remind me to get together with Lambert so we can come up with an explanation for where we've been.

-Toby/Dunia

Ande: Last Movember and the Last Summer Vacation

Hey, sorry to leave you all on that big "Movember" cliffhanger there, but I just got reminded of it because Griff and his girlfriend were arguing about his facial hair the other day.  He apparently really likes not just having a beard, but playing with it; he came out of November with a bushy thing around his face, and has been trying different styles ever since.  He had a goatee for a while, then shaved it off but kept a mustache that made him look like a cop until someone at No Kings pointed out that he looked like a cop, and has lately been using wax to curl the ends like some sort of French thing.  I think it was starting to do little Instagram reels that got Lucille's goat, saying this was embarrassing for her, and that they would follow him for the rest of his life, and did he want to be responsible for that ten years down the line?

For my part, I've got to admit, I enjoyed it on a sheer "man, there is no pressure at all for dudes to worry about their appearance" level - I'd spent something like five minutes every two or three days shaving in the shower, and then checking to make sure I hadn't left one of those little lines of stubble down my cheek, and now I wasn't even doing that! (well, I did kind of even things up when the left side of my face looked a tad shaggier than the right) - but as the month went on, where I gather some people start liking what they see and feeling more manly or whatever, I just saw less of me.  Andie and I were never opposite-sex versions of each other before the Inn, at least not more than any brother and sister - that's not really a thing because genetics don't work that way - but it just sort of seemed to be covering up the elements of our face we had in common.  I was glad to be rid of it on December 1st.

That was after Thanksgiving, though, where I flew home and dutifully let Mom, Dad, and Andie tease me about it.  It was fun, and Dad had decided to grow his own beard out too, although he's not fond of how much more gray there is there than up top.  Andie and I hung out with some old friends who also had a laugh, but it was nice.

Anyway, that's a whole term ago, basically, which means now I'm planning for summer break.  The idea of heading to the Inn is kicking around my head even less than it did last year - Andie and Chipper are planning on backpacking through part of Europe, and it's not like I'd want to become anybody else.  I kind of wish I had something like that to do with Hildy, but she's secured a super-cool internship at a radio telescope in New Mexico.  She's  really excited about it, as she should be, but I don't have anything like that lined up, so I'm probably just going to be working my little retail job all summer, trying to save up for after graduation.  I'd kind of like to take a cool trip or do a cool thing, but I'm not sure how to fit it in.

I'm working on a few things to fill the time, though - you're starting to see sign-up sheets for various summer activities, Hildy and I are researching when the best time would be for me to visit and not, like, spend the week hiding inside to avoid dying of heatstroke, and apparently they're cutting the price of the commuter rail in half for the summer to make day trips easier.  I don't exactly expect to be hanging around Massachusetts much past graduation, so maybe this would be a good way to check out some stuff while I've got the chance.  It might be more fun to go with Hildy, but she's an MIT girl and (pardon the stereotype) likes looking forward more than back, so she isn't quite so big on history as me.

Anyway, it's April, so we're into the semester's homestretch, and then just one more year of school before graduation!

-Ande

Tom/Kiara: Freaky Friday

After my January summit with "Lisa Brown," I went back to my life as Kiara. I could already feel things changing. I left the door open for her to return to the life she left behind -- I really want her to -- but her attitude makes me think there's a strong chance she won't, that she's got this idea that she can make it big in that life, and there's no going back.

With that knowledge, suddenly this weird, blurry life I've been sleepwalking through started to come into focus as I was forced to confront the idea that... this may be it for me. This may be the rest of my life. This body, these clothes, this place, this child. I had to start looking at all of it as if it belonged to me, because it might.

I don't think I have a problem with being a woman. I'd rather be a man, but I'm not mad about it. If anything, I'm more mad I'm not mad. I want to see being a girl-woman-person as being torture, something to escape at all costs, not something I'm making my peace with. Not a passive fact of life. I'm quite literally in the wrong body -- not to mention the wrong age and the wrong race -- but 23 hours a day it feels normal. My body does what a woman's does, and that's different from what it used to, but it's all... fine. I don't have to be girly, womanly or ladylike -- I can throw on sweats and a soft bra and whatever and nobody is going to chastise me for not having my hair be perfect or not wearing a skirt and high heels and stockings. This isn't Mad Men. So that's an arrangement that's fine for me.

It's the age, the mommy, and the North Carolina of it all that weighs on me. Plotting my escape and wondering whether Sienna belongs with me, or if leaving her with Grandma and Mama Kelly is going to screw her up royally.

(You: 'If you're just going to leave the baby with the family members why stay as Kiara?' Me: 'Because putting a stranger in the mix still seems worse!')

Okay, I've potentially got a new life and I've got to figure out who to be. That's clearly not going to be a Japanese-American male journalist. Hell, looking at the landscape it won't likely be anything with words. How the hell are you supposed to make a life for yourself these days?

Whatever. That's long-term, Future-Tom/Kiara stuff. Today I have a bunch of homework.

Which is what brought me to a coffee shop on Friday the 13th (March version.) I was supposed to be meeting with some of my classmates to go over some readings, but for a variety of reasons they didn't show and I was left to leaf through my textbook alone.

I don't necessarily mind -- I'm a pretty solitary dude when I'm myself -- but it sucked to put some faith in people and be let down.

So there's me and my little coffee and my huge textbook, highlighting what I could, continually glancing at the door in case anyone did show up. I try to stay focussed, but I can't help people-watching. The mom who lets her twelve-year-old get a "fro-cho," the thirty-somethings on their first date, the high schoolers on their way out to a party (Thankfully, none of them acknowledge me, because I didn't know if maybe they would know Kiara.) And the guy in the corner just reading his book.

Eventually my little coffee felt a lot bigger in my bladder. Being alone in the place, I had to put all my stuff in my bag before using the restroom.

When I came out and sat back down, the reading guy had shuffled to the next table over from me.

"Homework?" he asked.

"No, actually," I said, "I'm getting ready for a date. I just like to be super-prepared."

"What is that, calculus? Are you dating Will Hunting?"

"It makes for really great conversation," I said.

I cursed myself. Was I flirting? I didn't want to be flirting. I didn't want to be flirted with. But I also kind of did. I was annoyed that this guy had insinuated himself into my night but I was also -- in a flicker of thought I've been trying to untangle ever since that night -- glad. As I've said, because of my general air of "Do Not Engage," people don't seem to see me as a female at all, which means I don't get flirted with. That means it was rare enough to be... not unwelcome.

I looked over at him. Older than Kiara, not older than Tom. Decent presentation, nothing that screams "beware of this jerk," but, I realize, I have no idea what signs those are. He just... looked like a guy.

I can't explain it. But I couldn't explain it when I hooked up with Lizzie DiFaccio at the sophomore mixer when I was 19, either. It wasn't attraction so much of lack-of-aversion. He kind of looked like a younger Glen Powell, without the weird upper lip thing going on, and a worse hairline.

He had broken the ice and I had gone alone with it. Rebuffing him would take effort I didn't feel like expending. So I ideated, how to play this situation. How I wanted to play it. For the first time in a long while I felt like I was being looked at not like a kid or a teen mom, but as a grown person.

It wasn't unappealing.

"Hey, listen," I said, "Give me an hour with this book, and then we can talk, okay?"

He smirked, and accepted my terms, pointedly putting a timer on his phone.

Once the term was up, I closed my book. "Ground rules," I said, "Don't ask me for any personal information. No last name, age, address, Instagram handle. If you're good, you'll get my phone number."

"Uh, okay," he said, confused but open.

I held up my phone and took a picture of him.

"Woah, what was that?"

"I just sent your picture to my mom. If I go missing, she'll know who to look for."

"Damn, you're not kidding around," he said, half amused. "Can I at least get a first name?"

I inhaled sharply and thought. God, why was it still so hard to do this? I almost tripped over it. "Ki-iara. Ahem. Kiara."

"Okay, Kiara," he said, "I'm Donovan." I almost snorted. That wasn't a name you hear often.

"Well, since so many things are off-limits, what can we talk about?"

"Calculus," I shrugged. "Trends in calculus."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

"Good, I like to have all the power in a conversation," I said. (Ooh, flirty Tom/Kiara is feisty. I like her.)

I asked if he was new in town because he didn't have the same accent as everyone else, and he confirmed he was from out of state but "Won't say where, because that's personal info." Touche. We talked about the book he was reading, I talked about how I spend much of my time, tactfully omitting that it's largely spent reading nursery rhymes.

We had a surprisingly good conversation, considering the guardrails I had put up. He seemed to get a kick out of it, like I was a puzzle he could figure out. I caught his eyes occasionally drifting down my baggy gray sweatshirt, which featured the logo of the local community college (I think one of Jen's exes left it at the house.) I wanted to tell him Don't worry, they're a good size, if a bit saggy, but in the name of good taste I pretended I didn't notice. 

At 9, the place was closing up.

He asked, "Do you... want to go to a bar or something?" I had left my fake ID at home -- I should know better than to leave home without it but in fairness I really did not intend to meet anyone or go anywhere besides the coffee shop.

So I said probably the stupidest thing any man-trapped-in-a-girl's-body has ever said and asked if he had anything to drink at his place.

He kind of sucked in his breath. "Well, there's a lot of people there... it's kind of a bro-y house,"

"I don't mind," I said, "You're going to let them cockblock you?" Now I was being bold, invoking the C-word. What the hell was my endgame?

"No, I..." he sighed, "I mean, I just want to warn you."

"I'll be fine," I said.

The whole drive over, I stared out the window and thought this is stupid, I'm going to get murdered or worse. I'm an idiot, what am I doing?

We get there, and well, at least it's in the nice part of town. It's a little one-floor place. He leads me in and, yep: sparsely decorated, functional furniture, messy kitchenette... and some dudes in gaming chairs who are barely fazed by our presence. I pause in case he wants to introduce me, but instead he just gestures toward the back bedroom.

By now, I'm starting to come to my senses. What am I doing here? What's my endgame, my exit strategy? 

We sit on his bed, which is in the corner of the room against the wall, because of course it is, all guys do that. He asks if I want to watch something, and at this point I'm kind of over needing a pretext, so I just say no and put my hand on his thigh.

He leans in for a kiss, and, well... it's a kiss. I'm kissing a man. I'm nervous and uncomfortable and... and thrown by how okay with it I am, especially judging by the pulsing between my legs. Shit, I think, there's no denying this. Kiara's body wants this, and I kind of just want her to take the wheel, so to speak.

So we make out for a while, and I'm kind of aware that he's got a hard-on in his jeans, and eventually he gathers the courage to wind his hand up my sweater -- pausing just long enough for me to voice any objections if I have any. I don't, and he proceeds.

And it feels good. Not necessarily the fondling itself, which was a little weird at times like "Oh, I have something to touch there, and it feels not-bad," but -- and here's where I curse Marc for putting this thought into my head with all his posts -- the connection. The being wanted, the being touched. That, I liked. His hands went other places too, and so did mine. He had an okay body for a guy.

Then he started to toy with the waistband of my pants -- which are really not what one would have worn on an intentional date -- and I just reared back. Totally instinctual, saying "Oh, time out."

"Oh, sorry," he said.

"Yeah, just... not ready for that yet," I said. Truth was, if you had asked me a half-hour earlier back at the coffee shop, I probably would have said yes, I can go all the way, but as he had predicted, the house kind of was a turn-off, although it may have just been the feeling of really physically being present that reminded me I was in deep.

"Okay, good to know where the limit is," he said gamely, then went back to kissing my neck and stroking my hair.

"Well, that's my limit," I said, "What about yours?"

"Mine?" he asked, muffled by my shoulder.

"Yeah..." I said, "I mean, I could..."

"Could what?"

I reached down for the fly of his jeans. I don't know where my head was at, except obviously all these months of Kiara hormones have been steering me toward this kind of behavior. I open his jeans and his erect cock pops out at me.

Funny looking thing from this angle. We-e-eirdly big, but maybe it's because my hand is small.

He gives me a look like, "Are you sure?" Maybe he said it out loud, I don't remember.

But yeah, I was sure. I started rubbing and touching and... putting my mouth on it. Stuff I liked girls to do when I was with them, when I was a guy. Trying to find my own limits on that... and to my surprise, I didn't have one.

I played with him, I played with myself, I had him play with me a little bit, and then he... finished.

And it was all right, a little surprising. Some of it got in my hair, which was annoying.

After that happened, I felt Tom get back into the driver's seat. I felt my face get hot with shame and confusion.

He clearly couldn't read it on me, because he asked, "So, did I rate getting your number?"

I blew out a tense exhale.

"You give me your number," I said, "And I'll figure it out."

I called a ride and went home, and have spent the days since with my finger hovering over his name in my contacts.

I don't need someone right now, but it's nice to know I could have it if I wanted it.

***

I wrote the above a few weeks back, but I didn't post it at the time because it felt distinctly TMI. It's one thing for Marc to post about his ongoing relationship with a fellow transformee he has a history with, but another for me to cross that boundary with a guy I just met.

Anyway, every day that goes by I feel that pull a little more strongly, but if there's still even half a chance I'm going back to the Inn I should probably stay on mission.

-T/K

Jordan: Better Not Regret This!

It's kind of silly to wait for Dominic to be asleep before posting this, but I kind of don't want him looking over my shoulder more than usual, silly as that seems.

Tonight...  Last night?  When's it flip between feeling like today and feeling like tomorrow? So, technically last night was the wrap party for Dominic's latest movie.  It's kind of a big deal for him, not a big part and he actually fucking dies, but he's got a couple good fight scenes and maybe more dialogue than a few of his parts put together, and it seems like it will get people to consider him for bigger things.  A lot of people initially joked about me being his date to a wrap party because my job is just starting, because there are a bunch of wires to digitally remove and half a car chase to render.  But, it turned out there was a point to it! 

Just as the evening was starting to get to the point where people start to leave, Dominic stood up, started talking about how everybody on the set had been really kind to a guy like him still finding his feet, raising his glass before mentioning me, and how I not only made extra sure that he looked good in post, but opened my apartment to him when he was injured, even though I clearly liked my space, looking out for him and encouraging him all through rehab.  It felt good, but I figured everybody already knew all that shit, and was quite taken aback when he said he never wanted to go without that again, got down on one knee, and pulled out a ring, asking if I'd marry him.

I don't want to repeat too much of what Krystle has said about how absolutely surreal this feels, but it took me a second to respond.  It's not just the tiny kernel deep inside me that thinks that I'm a straight man and another one asking this of me is just gross, it's...  Look, I was not always a great guy.  Annette and Krystle will sugar coat it with things that are technically true but not nearly as positively-motivated as they make it sound, but even after being with Dominic for a couple years, I tend to think people hang around for access to the great tits I inherited and because I encourage getting manhandled a bit, though I stop short of liking it rough.  The idea that a potential movie star wants to tie himself to someone who is Jordan Chang inside is insane.

So I said yes, obviously.  Everybody cheered, he put a ring on my finger, and we kissed like there was nobody else around.  Then they told him to to take me home and...  Well, Cantonese can be a really filthy language.

We were on the sidewalk with me getting my phone out to call a rideshare so we could go home and do that thing, when I realized we were unusually alone for this city, and on neutral ground, so to speak ("our" apartment is still kind of "my" apartment, after all).  I took a deep breath, said there were things about me that I could only have him believe now, starting with how I wasn't the original Lee Yuan-Wei.  Then we got into Jordan Chang, and the Inn, Ravi, Annette, Benny, and finally Missy Lee.  He laughed, of course, and I said he didn't have to believe me, but I was going to call the Changs in New York before Wang Chen-Ai in London, and wasn't it weird that she couldn't speak Cantonese or that I was so close to these New Yorkers even though I went to college in Boston?  The timelines didn't add up for me to be Max's ex-girlfriend, even though that's the explanation we usually used to explain how I knew my family.  Me being born a Chinese-American guy explains a lot about me, doesn't it? 

"So, you're really a man?"  He had that look somewhere between disbelief and queasiness.

"No, I was a man.  Now I'm a woman, and have been for years."  I shrugged as questions appeared on his face.  "I know, that's not how it usually works, most trans folks talk about always knowing who they really are and doing what they can to align their body with it.  Trust me, I've read everything about the biological basis of gender identity and sexual orientation that someone who got a B-minus in high school Bio can understand, and there just hasn't been a lot of research on people who have their bodies changed by a cursed inn!"

I probably sounded too flippant to be serious, or maybe he just figured this sounded like the sort of weird fantasy I'd be into.  "So I'm marrying a cursed American man."  He sounded more like he was playing along than absorbing something shocking. 

"Well, that just kind of how people refer to it; I personally don't believe in magic and curses and shit like that."

"Then how...?"

I shrugged.  "Dunno.  I used to be big into simulation theory, figuring that the computer program for which we're all NPCs had some sort of exploit or bug that redirected the pointers to the data for our physicality, but that's kind of just describing how magic works in the simulation.  These days I kind of figure there's some sort of machine under the Inn that releases a bunch of nanobots meant to alter time travelers or aliens so they could fit in among the locals, but if I read a book like that, I'd say it was full of holes.  It just kind of doesn't matter.  What's important is that I like who I am and don't want to hide any of it from you."

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and he didn't pull away or seem noticeably less into it than usual.  We'd both had enough to drink that he didn't second-guess himself when I stripped down to my undies and led him to the bedroom.  Maybe he finds this kind of exciting and flattering, knowing that he's so desirable that he figured I must be overriding my instincts to fuck him like this; I gather a lot of straight partners sort of use that as justification once they know the truth.  I wore him the fuck out, though, which made it easier to call Mom & Dad and "Doris" (the English name that the current Chen-Ai decided on) and not have them ask him to get on the phone and talk about who I "really" am enough to give him doubts. 

And then I came in here to write this.  There's a whole bunch of other people to call - Annette, Krystle, Kareena, Romain and René - but I kind of had to get this out, maybe exorcise my worries that he'll have second thoughts after he sleeps on it, or he'll try and poke holes in the story (I do sort of have a lot of lore for someone who lives pretty simply these days).  Heck, maybe I'll think I'm nuts once I've sobered up.  But for now, I'm pretty excited! 

-Jordo

Isaac/Ainsley: Get a life!

As if two wasn't enough. One and a half? I'm not gonna go even lower and say one and a quarter, my self-esteem isn't that bad. I don't think I'm fully living Ainsley's life either but that number's gone up over time. Wouldn't call that part a one, though. Maybe I've got more than two if you count my increasingly tenuous claim on whatever that maniac is getting up to in Charlottesville.

I've been going to a bar, lately. I realize what that sounds like after what I just said but I swear, it's not like that. I have to drive there and back anyway.

I felt like I had to get out somewhere, anywhere, just to prove to myself I'm capable of doing something of my own initiative. I wanted to pick somewhere Ainsley likely hadn't been before, and the kind of place Isaac wouldn't go to either (he's not drinking age yet). Also didn't want to run into Heather there, even though I ended up going with a spot she'd probably like.

It's called The Lounge. It's forty or fifty minutes away from the apartment, which, while annoying, serves the dual purpose of assuring me that nobody connected to any version of Ainsley or Sara will show up and guilt-tripping me into actually going inside. "You drove that long and you really think you're allowed to bail now? Come on." The place is more of a music venue with a bar attached, which is one reason I've never gone on a Friday or Saturday night, but the artists on weeknights are small-time enough that the back of the bar doesn't get too crowded those days.

It's also a convenient distraction, even though whether I actually like the band any given night is a crapshoot. The music gives me something to think about other than the situation I've put myself in to avoid thinking about things: being a woman alone at a bar. I don't think the combination of Ainsley's preppier looks and my general vibe are in line with what the vaguely punk-y regulars here are looking for, and I dress pretty conservatively when I go here. But, not doing anything besides sipping on my one see-I'm-not-a-freeloader cocktail and checking my phone makes me come across as easy pickings, I suppose. Nothing actually bad has come close to happening, it's just that whenever some guy grabs the seat next to mine I'm almost intrigued and even weirdly flattered, and then within two seconds I immediately regret not instantly telling him off. Even the ones who aren't weird about it. Being in these conversations is just too stressful, and things pretty quickly get awkward enough that either they leave or I do.

What I wasn't expecting was how often women approach me to ask if I'm doing okay. It happens whether I'm in the middle of being picked up or not; a couple times a woman came up to me as I was staring at the drink selection and told me I could meet her in the bathroom if there was anything I needed to talk about. Are my vibes that fucked!? Twice, some guy was trying to talk to me and then a woman walked up and started acting as if she knew me, which obviously makes me freak out even more since I have to figure out if this is some friend of Ainsley's I've never met before, and then she just thinks I'm too oblivious to get what I'm trying to do, and it's... It's a mess to get out of. Twice! These were completely different women! I've only been going here for a few weeks!

Going to The Lounge isn't all like that, of course. I usually don't regret going. The bartenders make small talk with me, and in that profession you have to get good enough to have an at least okay conversation with pretty much anyone. Sometimes I'll get roped into conversation by a livelier group that happens to be sitting nearby that night, or I'll overhear a topic I actually know how to talk about. Last time I went a group of girls Ainsley's age came up and asked for my thoughts, as an impartial observer, on a dispute over pet care duties one of them had with her roommate. Conversations like that are easy mode compared to keeping up with Ainsley's friends, but I left the bar that evening feeling like those girls didn't like my answer anyway.

I find myself asking "What would Ainsley do?" a lot when I'm here. But that shouldn't be relevant, right? I'm somewhere she's never been, she wouldn't even want to go to, and at which she has no relationships or reputation to worry about. The whole point of going here is to escape Ainsley, to do something on my own terms, to live life for now while I don't know which body I'll have in several months. But Ainsley is the obvious point of comparison for everything I do, as I'm reminded every time I look down at myself or catch a glimpse of my reflection. And I can't escape the thought that even in a totally new situation for her she'd just be better at this. If she ever went to bars by herself (which I doubt), she wouldn't draw concern and pity in every direction from total strangers, I bet. It's one thing to get those reactions from the people who know Ainsley best, but to see it from random observers just sets me off.in a way I don't know how to describe.

I think she'd be happier than me. I wish I knew why.

Rusty/Monica: Was the Inn our last family vacation?

It probably would have been anyway, considering the way that a couple kids not much younger than I really am were staring at their phones and rolling their eyes when their parents were trying to point things out while I was waiting for Katey on Tuesday, their southern accents making them as tourists.  I don't think Katey/Kutter and I were like that much, but maybe Dad sees it differently. 

We were shopping because Katey and Omar are heading to Cabo San Lucas for a week and Katey wanted a few sexier swimsuits and outfits.  She's been upgrading her wardrobe ever since her promotion, but a lot of it has been stuff for work or more casual, and she said she wants to look like a sexy woman instead of a sexy girl.  It felt kind of funny to be shopping for that after work, in our blouses, pencil skirts, and heels, but I get it; I kind of feel like I'm cosplaying a real estate agent sometimes, and a lot of her co-workers aren't quite so worried about the impression they give, because we kind of overshoot the mark. 

For a while, she didn't really seem to know exactly what she was looking for, which was why it was kind of funny to see her come out of a changing room in a red dress, grinning.  "I like this one!  It makes me look like I have tits!"

"What are you talking about?  You've got really nice, perky breasts!"

"C'mon, Rusty, you know 'perky' means 'small'!"  She took a look at her profile in the mirror.  "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being able to go without a bra some days, but it seems like all of Omar's buddies have girlfriends with bodies like Emilia's, and you know everyone's going to be flashing cleavage all the time in Cabo!"  She gathered her hair up in her hand, trying to see how the dress would look with it up without actually making a bun.  "You don't get it, you can just be the fun and naive girl when hanging out with friends, but every time I go quiet because I just don't have college or some other experience to talk about, it makes me look, I don't know, insubstantial.  I know the way I dress doesn't change anything, but at least I don't double down on it."

"I suppose, although, don't you feel a bit weird going off to another country with someone?"

She shrugged.  "Not really.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I love you girls, but it feels really nice to be Omar's girlfriend first and foremost sometimes, you know?  Just having someone accept you at face value and love you for it."  She pulled me into the changing room, where she unceremoniously dropped the dress and started putting on a swimsuit.  "You know what's weird?  Emilia and Jonah.  Like, they'll be out on a date with us and I know they're having a good time, because Em really can't fake anything after a couple drinks, but then by the time we're on the subway their demeanor totally changes, and then we get home and Emilia's popping a Bud Light and falling asleep on the couch watching some basketball game.  Jonah's like that too, he's actually got a locked cabinet with romance novels, and, I mean, maybe I spend a lot of time with writers and editors, but the symbolism is kind of on the nose, right?"

"Hey, it works for them, right?"

She shrugged, and started trying on another swimsuit.  "Does it?  I mean, I kind of figure that you've got to figure out who you are now and commit to it.  Be the chick who likes sports, or the guy who reads Nora Roberts, or whatever.  Like, would they even be together under normal circumstances?"

After that, we were checking out and going to another store, so the subject kind of got dropped.  She's been posting a lot of beach pics since Thursday, though, and really seems to be having a great time with just herself and Omar.  Dad's making a good show of being cool with it, and she and Jonah are talking about maybe doing something like that once the academic year is over, although I can't tell whether they really want me along as a third wheel or not, even though they say so.  And if they do, does that mean that maybe Katey has a point about them not really being into each other as opposed to being the best people they can fake it with, or maybe even the best people they can convince themselves that they're faking it with? 

It might not matter; I'm not exactly established enough at the office to take two vacations this summer, and Monica's parents are talking about something in Europe in late June.  I gather it's something the whole extended family does every summer, even when Monica was in college, with me begging off last summer because things were kind of tight understandable but unusual. 

It's kind of tempting - I actually really like hanging out with Monica's cousins at holidays, and her family is actually really cool.  I like going back and forth with them on social media, and they've actually been a supportive of all the crazy ways I've upended this life and come out as ace and stuff over the past couple years.  It might actually be kind of fun to take a big vacation with them every year!  It's just the idea of doing it with them instead of Dad and Katey that's kind of weird. 

Well, not something I really have to worry about today, I guess.  

-Rusty Monica

Toby: Dunia Looks Fishy (I Guess)

Hey, does anyone know a lawyer with experience handling Inn-related situations (Marc)?  The guy that Dunia's father called seems capable enough and has me out of jail, but there are obviously some things we can't discuss with him.  He'd probably have a fit knowing that I'm posting on a public blog, but I don't really know what else to do, and I've got to guess we're not the first people to deal with this. 

It figures that this would happen a soon as we're kind of getting used to living our lives as Dunia and Alicia, though.  We just started working the Miami-DC route at the start of March, which looked like it would be pretty nice - it's the longest one we've had yet, so there aren't quite so many flights needed for a 40-hour week, and even though the schedule often sticks us with a two or three-hour layover, the other attendant's have pointed out that the airport is on a regular Metro line rather than so far away from the city center that you're fighting traffic on a bus (it'll be hilarious if I go back to South Dakota as someone who hates to drive, considering everything) and the food is supposedly fantastic, and all the museums at the Smithsonian are free, so you can kill time there pretty well.  I've gotten pretty used to the job and all the girl stuff, and my Spanish has gotten to the point of almost being understandable (it was actually one of my best classes in high school, but when you consider that I learned it from textbooks that assumed you'd be going to Spain, and practiced with the mostly-Mexican migrants who worked on farms, Dunia's Cuban-American family sounds almost completely different!) although kind of quietly, while Lambert has started flirting with the pilots now that he's mostly over his fear of flying, saying that Alicia is on the wrong side of 30 and he's trying to give the next Alicia a head start. 

Anyway, we were just getting off a pretty late flight when we were met at the gate by a couple guys in suits and sunglasses, who flashed badges to identify themselves as the FBI, saying they had a few questions. 

We actually didn't think it was Inn-related at first.  Part of the training materials was actually about working with the Feds, especially air marshals, and how to spot potential hijackers or possible human traffickers, and another part said to immediately call a union lawyer in a situation like this.  I guess flight attendants get talked into helping smugglers a lot, because we can get past security with just a quick baggage check, and the salary is low enough for it to be tempting.  But by the same token, cops often see young people who can be intimidated into saying we did something we didn't or held long enough to miss out next flight and disrupt a travel for a while bunch of people. 

And on top of that, while I admit that Ma raised me to cooperate with police whenever asked, Dunia and her fellow dark-skinned Latina friends disagree. 

So I clammed up until the union lawyer showed up, but he was only there long enough to tell me that since this wasn't work-related, he couldn't represent me, and advised me to find someone else.  They let me call Dunia's father, who I figured must have a lawyer to handle the business aspects of his garage, and an hour later he showed up, and that's when they finally asked me if I knew Toby Watson and Lambert Allen.

We kind of had a plan for this - back in September, I texted Ma about this exciting opportunity to join the crew of this research boat in the South Seas, where phone and internet service would be kind of spotty.  Since then, we've been following their progress on social media and occasionally reposting images with our own captions to keep the illusion up, answering our email, that sort of thing.  It was kind of thin, but we kind of figured our parents wouldn't look too closely, because Lambert occasionally does things like this on a whim and Ma talks about me getting out of our dying hometown, and this looked pretty good to her.

Apparently, we weren't tracking it too closely, because there was some sort of emergency a few days ago where the ship had to get towed to port, and when my mother got an alert about it, she immediately contacted them to find out if I was okay, only they'd never heard of me.  She got in touch with Lambert's dad, who was connected enough to get the FBI involved, and I guess my phone's GPS readings said it was near the Cortes house, and they had pictures from traffic cams showing "Alicia & Dunia" in Lambert's car, driving from Maine to Florida.  Once they discovered we had stayed in the Inn, and so had Alicia and Dunia, they smelled a rat.

My instinct was to try and come up with an explanation on the spot, which I guess would have been pretty dumb, as I figured Lambert must be in the same situation and there was no way our explanations would match, but the lawyer pointed out that if there was anything there, they would have come to the house with a search warrant, and asked how I should know where Alicia got the car.  Basically, he gave me every instruction he could to shut up, and I did, even as the agents said that they actually liked Alicia more for this, and if I would just tell them what she'd been up to, that would let them find Toby and Lambert faster and give everybody closure, and they'd remember who tried to help.

I guess that sort of stunned me into silence - does everybody, including Ma, think I'm dead?  I wanted to protest, say I wasn't, but I knew I couldn't explain how I knew that and being so sure would just look suspicious.  Of course, I must have looked suspicious anyway, because lying to the FBI and the lawyer Dunia's father sent down is not easy and I must have had every tell possible, but I guess that I was lucky that I froze in a "say nothing" way, instead of accidentally revealing too much.

They eventually let us go, and I kind of started getting paranoid about whether Lambert had clammed up the same way or if maybe he'd tried to throw suspicion away from himself/Alicia and onto me/Dunia.  Dunia's father was really scared when I got home, but also hopping mad that when some gringos went missing in Maine, they immediately looked for the nearest brown folks to blame.  I didn't mention the phone.  I should probably find a way to get rid of it, I guess, but now I'm kind of worried that if I step out the door with it, somebody will grab me to prove I have it.

So there it is:  I'm apparently a suspect in my own disappearance.  It feels like this must happen every winter, but I've got no idea what to do.  Anyone else been in this situation?

-Toby/Dunia

Isaac/Ainsley: While It Lasts

Why does everyone keep telling me I'm supposed to hate the way I'm living my own life?

That's the big question these days-- or the most abstracted, slightly less terrifying version of the real question; "will Marvin give me my life back"? It'd be bad enough if it was just him playing whatever sick game he's got in mind (for what it's worth, he did at least follow through on securing an Inn reservation), but I've been hearing it from all around me. Heather. The way Ainsley's circle clearly doesn't know what to do with me. Even before the Inn, from my parents. Not explicitly, but the way they always come across as underwhelmed when they ask how I've been doing since I moved out.

Often I feel like whatever's going on with me, I've only worsened Ainsley's life with it, in her absence. But this life makes me spend a lot more time talking to people than I have since I was a kid. First her coworkers, then I stopped turning down her friends (as often), and as separate as I feel from all of these people it's ultimately more satisfying to talk with them rather than be talked at, now that I've picked up enough to be able to do that occasionally. And sometimes, the conversation will turn to something completely mundane, and I can chime in, or make a joke, and for a couple minutes I'm able to forget myself and feel like I'm not an interloper, like I'm normal.

And isn't that just what it is? Completely normal? I can't think of anything more normal than getting lunch with your coworkers or chatting with (the people who think they're) your friends. Back home, I'm always by myself whenever I'm at the dining hall-- how often you think Ainsley ever got lunch by herself in college? Once or twice a month, tops? There's only a couple people I ever really talk to, and with all the free time I get from not having a life I just... tend to my plants. God, I miss my plants. That was something in my life that made sense, dammit. But now I'm more social than I've ever been, off of a completely different person's inertia, and when I'm not freaking the hell out or waiting to be alone again it can actually be kind of nice! Sometimes. And that terrifies me, because if something that basic feels that abnormal to me, then it only raises the voice in the back of my head telling me that my tormentors are right. That Isaac Strauss couldn't live his own life.

I was considering all this as I arrived back at the apartment from the latest installment of "Brunch With The Girls" at around 2 PM, just in time to see a still-groggy Heather fumble around the kitchen for some cereal. My plan was to head to my room and exchange the floral sundress (damn this city, making stuff like that the uniform for Ainsley's group in mid-February) for something warmer, since we keep the A/C inadvisably high in here. But when I saw her I just couldn't help myself and ask her if my own life is really that depressing.

"Oh my god." She looked like she was about to slam her face in her cereal. I've seen her do it before. "Okay, look. Do you actually think asking me this shit for the twentieth time's gonna make the Marvin, thing, suck any less? I'm gonna try asking you something-- What would you do if we stayed?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying. Suppose we stayed. What kind of Ainsley would you want to be? How much of her would you keep, if you had the choice?"

"I'm very concerned by the we in that hypothetical."

"Look, I'm just--" Heather caught herself, apparently thoughtful enough to at least appear guilty. "Okay. Forget about me. Forget about Marvin, or the real Ainsley, or the mom she's subbing for, or some other body you might end up in, or anything. This is about you, doing what you want. What would you do?"

I thought about it for a little while. It's a tough question, even harder than resisting the temptation to dispute the question's premise.

"I... I don't know. It's not like I've had much of a reason to think about it. You know, actually? I'd get some plants. Some nice vines. That's the first thing I'd do. Besides that, I don't know, and I try not to imagine it."

"So why haven't you done that already? Too busy knitting?"

"It's not that, it's, well..." I couldn't bring myself to look anywhere above the floor. "It'd feel like I'm cheating on the ones in my dorm-- Hey!" I heard a loud snort and some barely restrained giggling. "It's not that funny!"

"Sure." Heather let out that wide smile she always gets whenever she thinks she's gotten the upper hand in a conversation. "But what I'm saying is, I think you should try doing something on your terms. Not Ainsley's. Not Marvin's. Yours. Take initiative or control of anything, for once, God."

"And then what? Am I supposed to convince Marvin I deserve my own life? Play along with that, that rat? I don't think he's earned the good faith of the assumption he hasn't already decided what he's going to do with my body, one way or the other! I don't know what's going to happen, and it feels like even the act of going along with him would be handing him a victory."

"That's what I'm saying, dumbass! You don't know what's going to happen, and that's exactly why you should do it! Not for him! For you! Because you don't know how your life's gonna turn out, or your next life. What if you get stuck as an old man who can barely walk, or a mother of, I dunno, eight, or some empty-nester at a high school's front office counting down the number of entitled parents she has to yell at before retirement!? Just. Do anything that's not Ainsley's leftovers, while you still know what your body's gonna look like when you wake up in the morning. You don't need the Inn to get thrown from one life to another before you know it. Trust me."

I couldn't bring myself to listen to any more of this. "You know what? I am sick and tired of every conversation I ever have turning into a, some kind of guilt-tripping morality play! I don't know if all you people are right about my life, but I can tell everyone thinks they know how to live it better than me." I then took the initiative and control to turn my back on Heather and head off to my bedroom, like I should've done to begin with.

Then I spent a couple hours coming up with reasons she's wrong.

Arthur/Penny/Millie: I Need Another Vacation

Even with all the snow, I'm not going to get it any more than I got to enjoy this last week, which was packed because Millie is good at sports, and when kids are good at sports they wind up expected to fill their school vacations with tournaments and events, even when you'd think these girls would really rather be home watching the Olympics and getting inspired!

I wouldn't mind so much if it was just tennis. I like that a lot, although I'm probably hurting Millie's chances of being noticed by the scouts looking for the next girl who could be a teenage champion, which seemed a whole lot cuter and more exciting when you're just watching the Williams sisters crush seasoned vets on TV and marveling at kids being prodigies than when you're simultaneously that kid having practice eat your weekends and her mother worried about if this is hurting her in school or making her miss out on being a child.  Oh, and that a bunch of adults are looking at a kid and seeing her as just one of of many their hedging their bets on, abandoning the ones they can't exploit.  Millie and the other girls mostly seem to enjoy the attention and the praise from knowledgeable adults, but I obviously can't get into that mindset.  Maybe it will be a good thing if my being just pretty good means she doesn't get recruited into a big program, but i can obviously never, ever say this to her after we get back to normal.  All apologies! 

But that's tennis.  Millie's winter sport is cross-country skiing, and I think I hate it.  Aside from it being constant endurance and knowing how to pace and push your body, it requires a lot more talent in terms of reading the trail than I've developed.  One thing I've learned as Penny, and which the original has learned in his second life as well, it's that there are physical activities where it's fun to go all out and others where it's better just doing enough to burn some calories, and cross-country skiing isn't even that. 

(Oddly, I kind of enjoy using the Nordic machines at the gym - it's like a good run except your breasts don't bounce as much - but once you're out in the snow, it just kind of sucks!)

But I think I could endure that if it was just not looking the activity, because as both Millie's mom and an Inn person not wanting to leave someone in the lurch, I want to return her life to her just as she left it.  But, God, why are boys like this? 

I haven't talked a lot about having to dress like a girl Millie's age, because I really haven't figured out how not to sound like a creep or uptight mom or hypocrite.  There's lots of wearing leggings like they're pants and midriff-baring tops in warmer weather (or when you know you're not going to be outside), and I absolutely have become the sort of woman who thinks that sort of thing is okay to wear when working out but not when hanging out, even if you're doing both in the same city park.  Girls this age are also starting to experiment with cosmetics, and not only am I not ready as a mom, but I'm actually kind of too good at it:  I had to study hard and really drill myself to make it second nature, and it kind of takes the other 13-year-old girls by surprise when the tomboy whose dad especially doesn't want her putting anything on her face blends her makeup like she's been doing it longer than they've been alive.  Harmon giggled when I told her that I'd said my mother taught me because anything worth doing is worth doing well, and living up to that layer is going to be annoying. 

But I digress.  What I'm trying to get at is that, while tennis is just skirts that aren't that far off from regular clothes, skiing is spandex that shows that my chest and bottom have filled in a bit over the past few months.  I'm still more tall and rangy than curvy, but now a whole bunch of middle school boys who didn't realize Millie had breasts or a butt are taking notice and finding reasons to "accidentally" brush up against them, and, god, it's so uncomfortable, because I'm not sure what to think.  I know that, despite having a whole lot more life experience, I am a nearly-14-year-old girl on a certain level, with a whole bunch of hormones, and while some of these boys are leering like creeps (and let us not get into their dads!), some are just having their attention caught and are probably perfectly nice, and the sort of boys Millie would like.  Hell, I kind of like them, and I can't deny that I sometimes feel like I've acclimated to this age more than I'd like, when I feel patronized or come up against something in school that I didn't encounter in my previous lives or pick up some pop culture thing that Ray and Harmon don't know.  But, yes, hormones are flowing, I'm feeling very frustrated by the fact that I haven't had that sort of intimacy as part of my life for six months, and I sometimes think that maybe I should get myself a little boyfriend, just so that Millie doesn't look weird skipping another dance or have rumors swirl around her that she has to deal with when she gets back.  I won't, but "tween" does come from between.

And then, of course, there's the racism.  Yes, there have been a lot of Asian and Asian-American folks doing very well at the Olympics over the past couple of weeks, but there are still a lot of folks out there (mostly parents) who think winter sports are just for northern-European people like they don't have snow anywhere else in the world and have depressingly little filter about Millie participating in them.  Official school sports is pretty good about not putting up with that nonsense, but you still here it before people get escorted away, and during vacation-week invitationals, there's usually less enforcement.  This isn't my first go-round as an Asian-American, so it's not out of left field, but I must admit, I kind of figured Elizabeth might have been someone who brought out the worst in people and they reached for the worst possible thing - I'm not proud of ever having had the mindset of a white guy who thinks there must be some sort of explanation for vile racist shit - but that's definitely not the case with Millie.  That some of it came from a 15-year-old boy that looked like might become something and that Millie might like, well, that was the icing on the top of a terrible dessert.

So that kind of sucked, and being stuck in the apartment alone with Ray and Harmon today has been a pain.  The city's big enough that we can all kind of go our separate ways when things get uncomfortable, but Harmon decided to be flirty today.  I guess she teases Ray a lot when I'm not around, and he always says it's really inappropriate, but he got mad today, and Harmon giggled when he went in the restroom to relieve some tension, then outside to shovel.

Needless to say, I'm very ready to get back to being myself again.  I've had another card from Millie that sounds like she's feeling the same way, at least, but it can't come soon enough.

-Arthur/Penny/Millie