Tyler/Valerie: A honeymoon of my own

After parting ways with Josh after the wedding, I did the only thing that came to mind, the same thing I always do. I left.

He was leaving anyway for the Honeymoon, so you would think I could just hang out in the city by myself. It probably would have made the transition to single life easier, give me time to make arrangements. In fact, that was what Valerie insisted I had to do, feeding me scripts on who I needed to tell and what to say. But this was a situation where, for whatever reason, I needed to get in the driver's seat.

Maybe it's the last remnants of my male pride. Maybe a polecat doesn't change his stripes anyway.

So while Josh was bound for Hawaii I went on a trip of my own... to a place I didn't think I would actually go again.

I went back to friggin' Alabama.

I did it in the stupidest way possible, too, since I didn't give Carrie the head's up before I landed on her doorstep. I wasn't even sure if she'd recognize me. It was a cold, rainy day and all I had was the bag I had packed for Hawaii. Some good it was... reckon I probably wasn't gonna do much swimming there.

I showed up at her apartment, my hair a tangled, dripping mess, my cheeks blotted with rain and tears and smudged makeup, dragging my sad little wheelie bag behind me. I knocked on the door and it opened and for the first time ever, I was looking up at her.

She gave me a look of mixed surprise and confusion but she clicked almost immediately with what was going on, mouthing "Ty?" which I nodded to confirm. She reads the blog, so she did have a sense of my current physical appearance, so when a stranger matching that description showed up at her place randomly, well... she's the smartest Blake of the bunch, I always said.

"Sweetie!" she piped up loudly in away that alerted me she was not alone. "Come in, get dry! I can't believe you're here!" She wrapped me up in a big warm hug and it felt amazing for a moment.

A voice called from the kitchen. "Care, babe? Who's there?"

"Oh, it's just my friend--" she stumbled over the name until I whispered it. "Valerie! I haven't seen her in forever!"

Then he came out to get a look at me, and I saw him there.

Luke Anderson. Carrie's high school boyfriend, who I was not a fan of. I couldn't stop myself from immediately fixing Carrie with a bug-eyed glare of shock, and she responded with a look of mixed embarrassment and fear. I nearly blew my cover by asking what the hell he was doing here.

Luke, who has known Carrie since she was a kid, asked the reasonable question: "How do you two know each other?"

"Vacation!" I blurted out. "We met on vacation a few years ago."

He seemed satisfied, and Carrie excused us saying she had to speak with Val in the hallway.

Soon as the door was closed, I hissed, "What he hell!"

"Nope!" she stuck her finger up. "We'll get to that, but if you want something from me you just need to accept that this is happening and move on."

I closed my eyes tight, took a deep breath and held it in.

"Sorry, I'm a little frazzled and that was... shocking."

"Not as shocking as seeing you here I'll bet," she snickered.

"I just got on a plane and didn't even think... I'm so sorry. I can get a hotel."

"Uh-uh honey. I want you where I can see you."

"Carrie, I don't know what you think I'm gonna... okay, I know exactly what you think, but I've changed."

"Oh, I know you've changed," she said, eyeing me with a suggestive grin. I folded my arms under my chest as if to say, yeah, they're there and we all know it. "And Luke's changed too."

I didn't have anything to say to that, except to note, "Honey... that's a new one."

She shrugged. "It just came out... what can I say? You look like a honey now."

Before I could retort she asked if there was anything else I needed to say as Tyler, or if we could go back in the apartment. The hallway was freezing, so I told her I would explain everything in-character. If he asks any questions about backstory, leave them to me, I've gotten very skilled at that over the years.

"Now come along," she ushered me into the back room of the apartment. "There's somebody you'll want to meet." There lying in a crib was the baby she had given birth to over the summer.

"Tyler," she whispered, "Meet your nephew. Thomas."

I crooked an eyebrow. "You would name him after dad..."

"Think of it as being after Grandpa if it helps."

One of the great ironies of the screwed-up Blake family tree... My dad, Tom Blake Jr., had a similar relationship to his dad that I had to him. Grampy and I always got along well, but Carrie was too young when he died to have known him like I did.

She picked up the baby and passed him to me.

"Oh, I don't..."

"Ty, just... when are you going to be back here again?"

I took the little stinker.

"Hey buddy... I'm..." I said in a hushed voice, "I'm your uncle Ty." I got a little choked up as I said it.

There's a very real chance that I will never, ever be a man again, just based on luck of the draw, and, well, things I will explain later. More and more, since I was Judith, I'm learning to be "okay" using female pronouns and such, and just thinking of myself in those terms, on a potentially permanent basis. But I found myself really wanting to use the phrase "Uncle Ty" one time in my life, at least, just to pretend I'm my old self in that second... even as the kid instinctually nuzzles into my breast.

A gal's heart could melt.

I held him a while, trying not to think about how he would probably never know me, let alone know who I really am, as Luke peppered me with some of the expected questions - who are you again, what brings you here, how long will you be staying... stressful stuff that was not improving my opinion of him anyway. I could tell he wasn't that into having visitors, so I backpedaled with "Oh really, I don't want to impose, I can leave anytime..." but Carrie shut us both down on that front and insisted.

I guess I should explain the backstory between me and Luke. I disliked him from the second he came sniffing around Carrie, because he was a Junior and she was a Freshman. He was a football star and had a reputation around town as a player, so my warnings to her to be careful only made her want him more. I resisted voicing my disapproval because of one simple fact: He's black, and we're not that far removed from the time when that was reason enough for a white guy to want a guy to stay away from his sister. I probably just didn't like I'm because he was cocky and popular and all the things I hated in high school. I kept my mouth shut about it long as I could, never wanted anyone to think it was a race thing, because my dad had a rep for not exactly being progressive, so anything I could do to distance myself from his views, I wanted to. (Oddly enough he did like Luke... Because he was a popular football player.) But Luke always rubbed me the wrong way right from the start and even though I tried to give him a chance, I always heard rumors that he would pick up anything in a skirt.

She was deaf to my warnings, but hey, it's not like I was Mr. Credibility in those days.

Eventually, he got caught redhanded, got her forgiveness, then fucked up again, so she broke it off, but I could tell she never really closed the door there and she even let him string her along when he was with someone else. The guy was her kryptonite and I never liked that.

It took until the next day, when Carrie and I could get away for coffee that I explained what all had happened with the wedding and everything. She was sympathetic, but wondered if it was up to me to dissolve the marriage, if maybe Valerie preferred reconciliation. I pointed out that the "marriage" wasn't legit anyway, and that even if Valerie was sympathetic or still wanted him back, for the duration of my term as her, I would behave as I saw fit. I thought a few years on the merry-go-round ought to have bought me the right to determine that.

"So you may be sabotaging her chances, if she does want him back."

"He's got a kid on the way. You of all people should understand that situation. I know you say Luke's changed..."

She bit her lip. "Luke isn't Tom's father."

"Ah," I said. "That makes sense. That kid is so pale."

"We ran into each other at the Piggly Wiggly a while back and we... reconnected."

I raised an eyebrow. "And the father, the one you said was so stable and in the picture?"

"There isn't one. Tommy's father is a donor. I just didn't want you to worry because I knew you would."

I took a moment to digest this information. "Well, at least it's nice to be able to keep imagining my little sister has never been with a man."

She snickered, "Wish I could say the same about you!"

My face turned tomato red. "Just Kitty! Josh and I never even--"

"Okay, relax!" she said through eye-watering laughter. "Geez, your voice gets high when you're embarrassed."

I could hardly speak. She added, "But it's so amazing to, like... see 'you' in there sometimes. There's no way I would imagine the woman sitting in front of me is actually Tyler's Blake, and yet you did that thing you always did when you're thinking... you roll your eyes back into your head and pucker your lips and your jaw goes all... weird. Exactly the same as you always did. It's freaky."

I stayed long enough to have Thanksgiving dinner at my oldest brother's place... I hadn't meant to but Carrie insisted. It was so strange being an outsider there. I tried to minimize my presence, but being that the family unit doesn't get many outsiders, let alone northerners (my accent has faded to where Mobilians don't immediately recognize me as local.) So I politely fielded many personal questions and tried to make small talk with their wives, and not seem too interested in the whereabouts of the person in my body. It was actually a little weird and sad "Tyler" never came up but I probably prefer it that way.

I still hadn't warmed to Luke, but he was very domestic, helping to cook and prepare more than many boyfriends would. I did see him checking out my rack, but even if that bugs me, it wasn't any worse than the way average guys look at me. Hell, even my own brothers were sneaking peaks, which is a good reason to never, ever, ever come over again.

But if that was the worst of it, it seems pretty innocent to me. I decided Luke's eye really wasn't wandering.

On my last night there, I was up late reading, and Luke came in with the baby, who had woken up. He sighed modestly, "My turn."

I nodded in appreciation. "That's gotta suck."

He shrugged. "It's worth it. Look at this kid!"

"Yeah, he's cute. You're pretty happy, huh?"

"More than I've ever been," he said warmly. "I never even thought I wanted this. I was a bit of a player back in the day and I thought I always would be, but when I met this little guy it hit me... I needed that. I needed to grow up."

I smiled.

"Look at him," Luke beamed, "He's gonna be a stud. Quarterback material."

"You never know," I shrugged, "Maybe he'll be artistic. Quiet. Shy
 Maybe he'll prefer boys to girls. Maybe hell be a girl."

Luke looked up at me with this frozen, hundred-yard stare for a second and I saw the wheels turning.

"Whatever makes him happy. Long as I get to be part of it."

Hm.

I still have my doubts but... well, Carrie's a grown-up. She can handle her own. I should focus on myself...

More as soon as I can get around to telling it!
-Ty/Val

Tyler/Alan: It's a long story.

Here and Now...

It's rainy out this morning, but I a stray bolt of sunshine breaks through the window and hits me in the eye. I roll over and take a look at the clock - 7:05 AM. I didn't get to sleep until probably 2 last night. Groggy and disoriented, I roll over and look at her, murmuring "Meg..." as I do so. She doesn't budge. If I drape my arm around her, she might wake up and be ticked at me that roused her. For half a moment I try to roll over and fall back asleep, but then I realize this is pointless. My stomach is grumbling. So I do what any self-respecting boyfriend does in this situation, I get up and make some breakfast - cooking here is pretty pleasurable since I've spent the last few weeks setting the kitchen up to my liking, and it's no longer what I do for a living. I crack the eggs and make what I consider to be a perfect over-easy, while the bacon sizzles in a separate skillet. She's not really an early riser, but I'm hoping the scent of breakfast will inspire her to get up.

She told me that before me, she really only liked eggs in an omelette with a ton of fresh ingredients. I feel like I've shown her that there's good food you can make on a budget.

I've got the meal prepared and set on a tray to bring to her bedside, when she appears in the doorway. "Mmm, is that for me?" she moans hungrily, stretching her arms over her head so that her shrunken gray tee-shirt rides up her abdomen, exposing her underwear and middrift. This is definitely on purpose for my benefit.

"I thought breakfast in bed would be nice," I smile, offering her the tray.

"Uh huh," she says, taking a piece of bacon. "I hope you're ready to vacuum the crumbs off the sheets, then."

I sigh, "Table it is, then."

The kitchen table has a nice view of the Milwaukee skyline and Lake Michigan behind it, the sun kinda-sorta rising behind rainclouds. With every bite she compliments my cooking, when really it's just the basic skillset from working at one diner after another for a decade. I'm not exactly Top Chef. But I can do eggs.

As she finishes her (probably over-acted for my benefit) foodgasm, she looks over to me and notes, "Did I dream it, or did you call me Meg this morning?"

I'm a little embarrassed but I have nothing to feel guilty about. "I must've been half-asleep, sorry," I say.

"Well, you're with me now," she says, walking over to my side of the table to plant a kiss on my lips.

"I know, Kitty." I say, mustering up as much affection as I can feel in this moment. She knows she's a rebound, and I am for her too, but neither of us care. We're making the best of a pretty rotten situation.

Alabama

Things have changed a lot since the last time I posted here. That was earlier this year, when I was living in Vermont and deeply in love with Meghan. I was happy. She was happy, I'm pretty sure. We seemed to have a future ahead of us, even if it was a bit murky. But you never know how shaky these things are until they really get put to the test.

We were a good pair. We fought now and again - I'm not a perfect person or a saint. I could get drunk and rant about how much I disliked living with her roommate, Gene. I could quit my job on a whim, which was always disappointing to her because she preferred stability and continuity (I never went without one for long, I promise.) I could be a slob or break plans on short notice. I was chaos and she was order. I could even complain a bit about how uptight she could be about our living situation, but all in all I tried to be appreciative and respectful and courteous and work as hard as I ever have at anything to make that relationship work. We understood each other in the way that only people who have been through something as crazy as what we have, and she seemed to have a lot of patience for me, all things considered. More than I deserved.

I wanted it to work because I waited a year for it, suffered through the humiliations of being a teenage girl and watching her with both Wade and Mikal from a distance, knowing that just the possibility that she might return my feelings would make the whole ordeal worth it. She never promised anything, but when we made our return to the Inn, the stars kind of aligned for us. If we had rigged it, we couldn't have gotten a better hand. Someone up there loved me...

But since there were no promises and no guarantees I wanted to show I was worth taking a chance. I wanted to become better and show her I was worthy of her love. And for a while I was. But thinking now, I suspect there's things about me that were always going to sabotage the relationship. In another life, maybe it would have been perfect.

What's this got to do with Alabama? Well. That's her fault. I didn't want to go. I made it my life's mission to never step foot in the state of Alabama again. In fact I was done with pretty much the whole South if I could help it. It was nothing but trouble for me my whole life.

Except that one time last year when I did go back to Alabama, and met the man who stole my face.

I remember, sitting there, across the table from him and feeling so helpless, so small. I was in Lauren's little body, so he dwarfed me. He wore this shit-eating grin, trying to cut a deal with me for more money than I could have scared up babysitting and mowing the lawn. It felt perverse and demoralizing, and - as I alluded earlier, humiliating. It was one of a few times during that year that I cried - outright bawled  - at my situation, and pitied myself. But what could I do? There were forces at play here much bigger than me. As my dad would say, sometimes you just suck the shit.

So why did I go back? Because I was guilted into it. Because my sister Carrie spent a year living as Meghan, and did such a nice job that they became long-distance BFF's, so when Carrie asked her to ask me to come visit home, because our father was on his deathbed, I had basically no choice in the matter.

My relationship with my father is... complicated. Or I should say it was complicated, because he's not my father anymore, both because as far as the world is concerned Tyler Blake is someone else, and because he's gone now.

But since I still carry some baggage from it, I guess it always will be complicated. He was a tough, drunk, Vietnam Vet who was not real easy to live with even at the best of times. The user-friendly version is that I was never who he wanted me to be - I had two older, more athletic, traditionally "Good Ole Boy" brothers. The three of them were Duck Dynasty without the beards and money. I was the smart-ass youngest son. We all caused trouble at various times - staying out late, drinking, vandalizing, screwing around with girls in the gas station bathroom and such - but they had the good fortune of doing those things while also playing football and hunting. I hated all of that, their whole lifestyle, their attitude. I wanted out from an early age. And I also had the bad luck to have my mother die of cancer when I was a toddler. I was just too big a problem for him to handle on his own. He hit the bottle, went on disability and lost what little we had.

By the time my dad re-married and Carrie was born, I was well on my way to being the black sheep. I was a lot closer in age to Carrie than I was to my older brothers, so I bonded with her... but I guess the difference was that my dad got his new lease on life when he met Carrie's mom (who is a very nice woman, but has since divorced him) so she got a "good dad." He still treated me like a whipping boy, but I never resented her for being Daddy's little girl. One of life's little shit-sucking moments. I knew it wasn't her fault, and she was a good sister to me.

So with Pa on death's door, Carrie was having an emotional meltdown - she had just gotten back from a year in the North, so she was realizing she had basically lost her last precious moments with him. This was it. And no matter what my feelings were for that man, or my home region, or anything, I would be a terrible brother to let that get in the way of consoling my sister.

Meg and I sat in the back of the funeral. My brothers and their families were up front, They gave cursory attention to Carrie but had their own broods to worry about. I didn't talk to any of them - we get along decently now but it's not like I can go catch up with them. But whenever someone did ask who I was and why I was at this funeral, I claimed to be the son of some long-forgotten acquaintance from one of our many moves around the county, paying my respects.

My Skeletons

The event that led to my breakup with Meg happened after the funeral. Once everything had cleared, we met up for drinks with Carrie and started seriously catching up and talking about old times, telling anecdotes, trying to remember the positive memories I had of my father, etc etc.

Then the subject turned to... him. You know, Fake-Tyler. And the air got sucked right out of the room.

"What if he had shown up?" Meghan asked. None of us thought it was likely, and as far as I knew the man who had occupied my body the last time I saw it had moved on later in the summer - supposedly he was paid to do so.

"I would'a made him regret it," I said. Whether or not I can back that up, beanpole that Alan Schmidt is, I'm glad I don't have to. Meg looked mortified that I would even consider it.

"Truth is, I don't even know where he went," Carrie sighed, "After the hospital, I mean."

That brought the conversation the an abrupt halt. Meg's eyebrow raised: "The hospital? What hospital?"

"You didn't tell her about it?" my sister asked.

"Tell me what?"

"No, I... didn't really see the point."

I won't attempt to transcribe the exact conversation, because I would hate to misrepresent Meghan (or myself) so here's the summary.

What Carrie was talking about is that, at some point last summer, the man in my old body was attacked outside a bar and beaten within inches of his life. What little information we had at the time wound its way from the person in Carrie's body, to Carrie, to me, and I was still so shaken up from my meeting with him that I kept it to myself. He was beaten so badly that he spent a month or more convalescing and rehabilitating, and then disappeared. Maybe he made his trip to the Inn, maybe he didn't.

But I could see the thought process behind Meg's eyes as she analyzed the information and posed a simple question: "But... why?" It couldn't just be a coincidence, a random act of violence. Maybe it had something to do with the Inn, with these people who paid him to run off with my body? "Who would do that?"

"Some old friends of yours, I assume," Carrie said flatly.

I bristled, angry that she would bring it up in front of Meghan, knowing full well how hard I tried to put that part of my life behind me. Meghan knew I wasn't exactly a saint, but I never really wanted her to find out exactly how many skeletons I had in my closet.

Through gritted teeth, I admitted, "It's possible I owe a lot of money... or Tyler Blake does... to some people who... break legs. Among other things."

I couldn't look Meghan in the eye at that point, but I could see from the edge of my vision that she was hurt, shocked, aghast at my revelation of just how deep my shadows ran. I continued, hoping not to dig myself deeper, "There's a part of my life that... it was a long time ago, and I've moved past it, but... some people have long memories." That, more than my own negative associations or baggage, is why I never wanted to go back to the South in general, and Mobile in particular.

My guess is that Fake Tyler had no idea, or else he would have stayed clear of Mobile. I have no idea if that's something the people who paid him - The "Agency," I assume - would have known about that. It's not like there's a Local Gang Newsletter they can subscribe to. But apparently they have enough resources to have this international extortion network, so who knows what they know.

Meghan fell silent and we called it a night shortly after that. When we got to the hotel, there was still an awkward silence, and whenever Meghan would look at me there was this confused searching look in her eyes, like she didn't know who I was anymore... or like she was just finding out.

She told me she didn't understand why I didn't tell her about this: about my activities (most of which took place more than 5 years ago) or that I knew that had happened to the Fake Tyler. I told her I didn't think it mattered, and she asserted that it did - that if I was in danger, then so was she.

"But I'm not in danger - Tyler Blake is."

"What if these people come looking for you, the Agency?"

"Why would they?"

She sighed heavily. "Tyler, be honest with me. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"With what?"

"With the attack. Did you... I don't know... tell some people where they could find him? Because you were angry you weren't getting your body back?"

"Meghan, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"I don't know. That's not an answer."

"No, of course not. That was just a hazard of being Tyler Blake that he was unprepared for."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you should."

"I don't know what you're capable of!" she said tearfully. "I don't know you!"

"You know me, Meghan."

"Why did you get so lucky, Ty? You ended up in this handsome young man's body, and... what are the odds? Did you make this happen?"

"Meghan..."

"Are you even going to give Alan his body back?"

"Meghan, don't talk like that." I was insulted.

Tears were streaming down her face. She seemed exasperated. I was angry at her for the accusations - they seemed to be coming out of nowhere, even if months later I can admit I don't exactly look good in this scenario. I felt attacked.

But I still loved her. I still wanted to comfort and reassure her. I sat next to her on the bed.

"Of course I'm giving Alan his body back. No matter what. I'm not... I would never take from someone like that."

She sniffled. "And then what? Just hope you get a lucky draw again? Or you become a married man, or a woman, or a child... the possibilities are endless, and that's assuming nobody is out to get you.. It was so easy last time to wait, to not let myself get attached to the idea of being with you because I had no idea how it would all turn out. I feel like an idiot for being with you. For believing this could turn out well. This was fucking doomed."

"Don't say that," I growled, "Every second of it was worth it... worth the risk, the stress, the heartache. And if you love me, you'll see it through to the end with me."

She was quiet a long time, thinking, until she finally said, "I don't think I can. Not now, not knowing what I know about you now. Thinking you're this sort of person."

"I'm telling you, it's not the way you think it is."

"I wish I could believe that."

It sounded like her mind was all made up in the subject, so I started to gather my things.

She said, "You don't have to go right now."

Yeah, I did.

"Do you want to come back to Vermont and get your things?"

I didn't need them.

I went to a car rental place and just started driving. In the morning there were numerous text messages I didn't feel like answering. By then I had reached Memphis. I stayed there for a week or so to get my bearings before I made the decision to make my way almost as far north as north goes... Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Hometown of Alan Schmidt.