Chapter 55

Lucca picked the movie, a polished musical romance from a few years prior. Valerie remembered seeing trailers for it in theaters, but in the years pre-transition she had avoided that sort of picture, afraid of the potential cracks it might reveal in the carefully-constructed masculinity that kept her safe.

The story was a meet-cute between an actress and musician, but it ended with their relationship being torn apart at the seams by the vagaries of circumstance. Despite that in many ways the movie was structured as a love letter to classic cinema, there was no Hollywood ending- the main characters separated, forced apart, their relationship a sacrifice to each others’ pursuit of their separate goals.

The final scene was an impressionist reprise of the entire film, through the lens of the imagined alternative past and present where everything worked out, where their love blossomed and bloomed into a lifetime together. The final shot was of the two of them locking eyes, years later, across a crowded nightclub; of the flicker of acknowledgement and recognition; and of them each turning away to their own lives.

Valerie found herself sobbing inconsolably; the film had seemed to reach into her chest and sink hooks into all of those moments in her life she wished she could go back to and make different choices; wished she could say the right thing in a moment where she had instead made a situation worse with her fumbling.

Lucca looked uncomfortable at the unexpected and raw display of emotions. They cautiously reached a hand out to Valerie’s shoulder, an uncertainly-offered gesture of comfort. Valerie pushed herself across the couch into their arms, burying her face in their chest while she cried herself out.

After a moment of silent surprise, Lucca wrapped their arms around her and pulled her tight against them.

The TV switched to its screen saver and then turned itself off at some point, and eventually Valerie gently pushed away from Lucca, disentangling herself from their embrace.

She had felt small in their arms, and safe in a way that was wholly unexpected; doubly so given the events of only a couple days prior.

“I.. I’m sorry. That was…” she sniffled, slightly aghast at the damp patch she had left on their shirt.

“If anyone deserves a good cry, I’d say you’re first in line.”

Valerie shook her head, glancing away. Deserves, she thought, dully. That word again.

“I’m okay,” she murmured, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve.

“Tell me another one.”

“What?”

“Forget it,” Lucca replied, kindly, shaking their head. “I’m gonna crash, I want to get up early tomorrow and get some chores done before we start work.”

“Wait, um..”

Valerie trailed off, as conflicted as ever about the yearning she felt; and unsure how to ask for the closeness and physical comfort that she felt starved for.

Lucca tilted their head, raising an eyebrow and waiting quietly.

“Could I…” she started, and then panicked. “Could I get a couple more ibuprofen?”

Lucca gave her a strange look in return, like they knew the other question she had started to ask. They shrugged amicably.

“I’ll show you where I keep ’em, you can help yourself.”

Valerie followed them back to the master bathroom, carefully keeping her thoughts away from subjects that might renew the flow of tears. Her head did ache, in truth, between the wine and all the water and salt she had spilled as tears.

“Thank you,” she murmured, shaking two of the little red pills out into her palm.

She slipped them into her mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water from cupped hands. She paused in the doorway out of their bedroom, her internal conflict flashing again into open warfare, between her longing for physical comfort and a sickly fear that was never far from her heart.

“You can ask, if you want. I won’t bite.” Lucca prompted, watching her leave.

“I don’t…” she started, turning back to look at them as she spoke.

She found it difficult to get the words out, looking at them, and dropped her eyes to the bedroom’s grey carpeting. She was not drunk but any means, but she thought maybe the alcohol bolstered her courage and just slightly took the edge off of her terror.

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she murmured. “I don’t mean, like… you know.”

She paused, feeling embarrassed by the question, implied though it was. Lucca was slow in responding, and she grew certain they were just trying to find gentle words to reject her.

“Sorry, you don’t have to. Maybe just… could you hold me a little longer? On the couch?” Her voice quavered as she spoke, and she felt a fool.

“You can sleep in here,” Lucca replied, gently. “Let me find you something to wear.”

Lucca gave her a tee shirt of theirs to sleep in; old, soft, and loose-fitting on them, it was nearly big enough for Valerie to wear as a dress. She curled up next to them in their bed, little spoon to their big spoon, the side of her face resting on their bicep.

With their free arm, they were gently petting the short hair on the side of her head. Tears quietly streamed out of her eyes, running down her cheek and falling onto the curve of Lucca’s bicep. They both pretended not to notice.

“You’re growing your hair out?” Lucca asked, their voice soft and quiet, just a few inches from her ear.

“No… Well, I mean, I guess so? Not really on purpose.”

“Do you want a hand trimming it tomorrow? I’m no stylist but I can buzz the sides down for you.”

“That would be nice.”

She fell silent for a few moments, eyes examining the details of the rumpled sheets in front of her, and Lucca’s things scattered around the bedroom. It was nothing like the orderly neatness of Dana’s home; tidier than Lucca’s office, but still somewhere in the grey area between cozy and cluttered. It felt real. Dana’s home still, sometimes, felt like a museum, or an art gallery.

Her thoughts drifted to the movie they had watched together and to the parallels, or at least symmetries, in her own life.

“I feel trapped in my second act,” she murmured, half-asleep and her mind starting to blur the line between orderly waking thoughts and the emotional chaos of dreams.

“Hmmm?”

“I’m so tired. Living through every minute, one at a time. I almost don’t even care what it is, I just want to know how my story ends.”

“That’s life, isn’t it? One minute at a time. No trailers. No skipping ahead.”

“No rewinding.”

“No rewinding,” Lucca agreed, their voice quiet and heavy.

“I don’t know how many scenes I have left in me,” she murmured. “I don’t think I like this story very much.”

Lucca was silent. Unsure what to say, Valerie supposed.

“If I leave Dana,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “You could leave Matt. We could start over together. Just as friends, I mean.”

The words spilled out of her, a steady flow that slightly surprised even her.

“Valerie…” Lucca spoke her name as a sigh, almost dejected.

“No, no. Never mind. It’s okay. Just an idea…”

She felt small, then, in a way that had nothing to do with the size difference between the two of them. Her chest ached, a longing for something she could barely discern the shape of, much less find a name for.

“Can you promise me something, though?” she asked. “Nothing big.”

“What is it?”

“Can you look after Sammy, my cat? Samus? If I leave. Dana won’t love her the right way, and you shouldn’t be alone here.”

Lucca was quiet for so long that Valerie thought they might have fallen asleep; though their fingers still stroked the side of her head gently.

“Okay,” they replied, just when Valerie was sure their silence was tacit refusal. “I promise.”

Lucca cooked dinner for them, after work the next day; a chicken stir-fry, redolent with ginger, oyster sauce, and shaoxing wine. At Valerie’s behest, they had doubled the quantity of leafy gai lan, onion, and thin strips of carrot.

They faced each other across the kitchen island, as usual. Lucca was examining a hand-written letter, sipping from a dark brown bottle of local beer. Pretty mid, Lucca had described it, but explained they liked supporting the local business.

“This arrived today while you were working. It’s from Dana.”

They gestured to an unmarked black cardboard box, containing half a dozen pill bottles, labeled only with small printed text and none of the usual pharmacy markings.

“This letter has instructions for dosing, and tells me not to tell you what I’m giving you, but we don’t have to do it that way. In my house, you still get to consent.”

Valerie studiously chewed on her food, staring down at the plate. Lucca would let her make the decision, but Dana might interrogate her. The woman’s control, like the collar permanently encircling her neck, felt increasingly tight.

She sighed; there was only one answer, and she knew it as a foregone conclusion.

“I want to follow the instructions,” she replied softly, nudging the food around on her plate.

Her appetite had dissipated. Lucca looked disappointed, but did not offer any recrimination.

“These were for this morning, then. I’ll get you your evening meds before bed.”

They dispensed a few unidentifiable capsules, and Valerie washed them down with a swig of water.

“Did she send any message for me?” Valerie asked, softly.

From Lucca’s pained and awkward expression, she knew the answer even before they told her no.

Valerie picked a few more onions and fragments of carrot out of the remains of her dinner, and then slid the plate across to Lucca, who finished it and stashed both dishes in the dishwasher.

“I don’t know what to do, Lucca.” A flood of tears loomed behind the words, but she held them back, breathing deeply and drinking more of her water.

“I truly wish I could tell you,” they replied, grave and earnest.