Lottie - A Calibeen Story

Sophie ♥ · April 3, 2018

23. It’s been so long.

Unfortunately, I didn't keep a lot of spare clothes in the bathroom. Note to self. So I took a shower; it was probably best I did so anyway. It was still strange looking at myself with red hair. Whereas I'd checked the mirror hundreds of times a day the past six months - those changes were gradual - the abrupt coloration was striking. And I thought I didn't look like me before. I covered myself in a towel, under the arms, and opened the bathroom door slowly. Cohen had probably second guessed herself already. This would all blow over. But I'd need some pajama pants to wear with my nightgown from now on.

"There're some clothes on your bed, gum-drop." I was in my bedroom when I heard the bathroom door open from down the hall. Boys in girls clothes didn't yield much on google. Either did girls with penises, funnily enough. But I'd hit on some interesting articles with enough digging and was entirely wrapped up in the topic. I decided in the meantime not to treat her any differently, not for now. The outfit on the bed was the same outfit I would've picked out for her regardless of my discovery this morning; a cute pair of capris, a grey print top with a heart on it drawn in crayon style and a white hoodie with a pink lining. Clothes from my early teens. She still needed a bra, but we'd have to go shopping for that.

Cohen was clearly very good at dressing teenagers. Maybe she practiced in her free time. The capris were a little strange to me - I'd never worn something like that before - but the t-shirt and hoodie were something I was accustomed to. Still, I looked every bit the thirteen year old I was portraying. "I need a cell phone or something." Cohen was sitting on her laptop on her bed. I wasn't sure if I should avoid or approach her, but I didn't want things to be weird. "This outfit simply isn't complete unless I'm texting." It was obviously a joke - hopefully an ice breaker.

I looked up with a smile ~ she looked eerily like me when I was younger and I found that more endearing than I could have possibly expected. "You can have my old iPhone if you like. It's only a 4, but you need a way to stay in touch anyway; especially when you go around to friends places. Go check my closet," I motioned to the mirrored doors. "It should be in its box, top shelf by the back. There's a step ladder in there." And she'd need it, too; I often did and I had a few inches on her.

It was mostly a joke, but a phone sounded… nice. The last phone I had was my Razr, and I was always jealous of my friends with smartphones. I went into Cohen's closet, which was, for all intents and purposes, it's own bedroom. It actually was the size of my room back home. It took me quite a while to find the white box on the top shelf, and after that, I had to search for the ladder to get it down. I finally managed to obtain the box, sitting down on the step stool and opening it up. It was really pretty… but it wouldn't turn on. Probably dead, so I looked for a charger.

"Everything okay in there?" I craned my neck to peer into the closet; Lottie was sitting down on the step and fumbling with the phone packaging, her fingers running over the smooth glass. "It probably ran flat. There'll be a charger in the box, gum-drop." The likelihood was that she'd already come to the same conclusion, though, and I returned my attention to the article. Lottie didn't have breasts, and she had a penis… so she was born a boy. And she was dressing and acting like a girl; she had a girl’s name. There was so much to take in, and it would've ben so much easier if she'd only talk to me about it.

This thing was a charger? It was just a cord. My old phone charger had a box on it. I took the box back out into Cohen's room, still playing with the phone in my hand. She didn't look up from her laptop and I didn't look up from my phone. I just wandered back to my room and plugged the phone into the wall, though it didn't light up or anything. Maybe it was broken… but then the screen turned on with a little lightning bolt. It was so much prettier than my old phone.

Standards of care. Procedures. Therapists. Living as a girl. I winced and shook my head, closing my laptop lip and crawling off the bed. Too much to handle right now. I decided to share a little of what I'd found with Lottie, though, and test the waters. She was on her bed, running fingers over the edges of the phone as she waited for it to turn on and she didn't look up when I stood in the doorway. "So I was reading this article from Europe this morning, while you were in the shower. These boys were mis-prescribed by their doctors and ended up being given the pill by accident. There's a big lawsuit now, because they ended up growing boobs." She looked up at me and I could see the wheels behind her eyes turning and trying to figure out why I was telling her this. "It made me think of you, I mean, are you on the pill? I was on the pill at fourteen. Not because I expected to have sex but it's better safe than sorry."

I just opened my mouth in mild astonishment. She was joking, right? "Um… no. Contrary to popular belief, there's not a whole lot of sex in prison." I understood what she was getting at; I wasn't stupid, after all. But I wasn't going to give anything away. She would second guess herself, eventually, and until then I just had to act normal. And that meant not understanding, though I did.

"Okay." I smiled and nodded toward the phone in her hand with a curious smile. "How do you like it? We got our upgrades recently but decided to leave the line connected to that one for emergencies. The number is um…" I pursed my lips in thought. "Six-oh-five, seven-three-one, two-two-nine-three. And I'll write down my cell and your Dad's as well, as well as the Sheriff's office and a few other places you should have." I turned around and wandered back to my bedroom to get a pen and paper. I wanted to help her, I did, but until she let me in and shared what was going on there was precious little I could do.

The phone was beautiful. Texting was impossible, though. Who's bright idea was it to get rid of buttons, anyway? I spent a lot of the morning in my room playing with my new phone, and whenever I had questions Cohen was more than happy to help out. And by the time Cohen had finished making lunch, I was very happy with my new toy. It even had games! "It's been so long since I've used the internet. I kind of forgot it existed." I had been Googling news articles over the past month.

"How long were you in there? The prison, I mean?" The subject of her incarceration seemed to completely lose its taboo when placed against the fact she was a boy. She talked about how long it had been and spoke of the internet with a sense of whimsy. It made me realize just how little I knew about my daughter. She said she was twenty, and she was convicted at eighteen. Did that mean she'd been in there two whole years? Had she been in a girls prison, then? Was she pretending to be a girl prior to what happened? And who was Clara?! God. So many questions.

"Almost seven months." The dynamic had shifted after the police showed up. Cohen became Emerson - the one I could talk to without any awkwardness. She'd stood by me through it all and helped me with my problems. And now that it had come to light where I had been the past half-year, I felt no need to keep those secrets from Cohen. After all, she opened her home and her heart to me. And if I really was going to stay here, she deserved to know about my time there. Emerson, on the other hand, I wasn't sure I had a relationship with anymore. He had saved me yesterday, but it didn't change anything. I guess he'd wind up being just like my first dad.

"That's a long time to be away from the world. And it happened when you were seventeen, right? So you've been caught up in the legal system for like… three years?" In time, we'd come to stop referring to Lottie by her previous age, but until I knew enough about her it was difficult. I wanted to just let her old life die behind her, but I was also conflicted with a burning curiosity. "We have to try and go down for some rest this afternoon, by the way, gum-drop. You're coming to work with me tonight."

"Yeah. Um…" I clicked my phone off and put it in the pocket of my jacket, putting my hands in my lap and looking down into them. "Everything happened at seventeen. And they waited until I was eighteen to get the trial started. The legal stuff took a long time. And I was nineteen by the time I was sentenced, but I didn't go to prison for a few months - paperwork and stuff - so I stayed in the county jail." It was still hard to talk about - we both knew that - but after I said it once, I likely would never have to say it again. I guess that was incentive enough.

"Well, that's another time, another life, another person. You're my sweet darling Charlotte Tovia-Roux now. And my precious daughter never went through any of that hardship. She'll go to school and do well, and find a nice boyfriend and then go off to college somewhere wonderful and make a life for herself. And maybe one day, she'll rescue a young runaway too." I smiled and started to clear away the table of the plates we'd used for sandwiches and started to pack the dishwasher. "Do you want to lay with me when we nap?" It was an offer out of the blue, but some of what I'd read about nervous anxious bedwetting suggested that sleeping with someone the child trusted could help.

"Yeah, alright." I'd just have to wear pants this time. I got up from the table and helped Cohen with the dishes; it was the polite thing to do. Even though this was my house now, I still felt like a guest. Doing little things like this for Cohen made me feel like I was contributing. I supposed that was the difference between a real daughter and me - a real daughter would do anything not to contribute. I wasn't really tired - actually, I wanted to play with my phone more - but Emerson would be home in a few hours and Cohen probably wanted to spend time with her husband. I, conversely, would have rather slept when he got here.

"It's a shame, you know. We've lived here for a while now and our house still looks like a magazine photo; it never really looks lived in. But once you start school, I'm going to take the morning shift instead and we'll all be on a similar schedule." I smiled at the thought of that; of being able to see Emerson more than two hours a day and being able to spend time bonding with my daughter. With her clothes and her hair, Lottie bore very little resemblance to the girl who'd arrived four days ago. She was my daughter.

"Uh huh." I finished loading the dishwasher and followed Cohen up the stairs. I wasn't sure I could nap in capris, so I excused myself to change into pajamas. I chose a matching top and bottoms Cohen had given me and tied the waistband tight. I wasn't about to make the same mistakes. I looked at myself in the mirror with a mild sigh. Did I hate myself now? Or maybe I hated myself, then. It didn't matter, though, not right now.

'Lil Wendi · April 3, 2018

Think I mentioned this before. She's already given her a bath, how could she not have noticed before? Naked in the tub, it's pretty obvious. Thanks for the prodigious output Sophie!

LilLadyLexi · April 4, 2018

SOPHIE! GOD DAMNIT, I'M JUST A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR NOW.

Okay an adorable one but still a puddle!

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

16 hours ago, 'Lil Wendi said:

Think I mentioned this before. She's already given her a bath, how could she not have noticed before? Naked in the tub, it's pretty obvious. Thanks for the prodigious output Sophie!

Cohen drew the bath, but didn't stay in the room for Lottie to undress.

"Cohen left the room, clicking the bathroom door closed behind her. I sighed and stripped out of the frilly purple nightgown and the obnoxiously similar panties."

2 hours ago, Everlyn Ashley Harding said:

SOPHIE! GOD DAMNIT, I'M JUST A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR NOW.

Okay an adorable one but still a puddle!

I am so glad you're enjoying it!! An adorable puddle indeed!

New chapters today! I'm busting through this story as fast as I can. *nods*

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

24. Naps.

By the time that Lottie had come back to my bedroom, I'd changed into a loose fitting pair of pink pajama pants adorned with dragonflies and a soft white tank top that was short enough to not quite come past my belly button. There was a lot that could be garnered from this ensemble; the first was that I was pretty slender in general - I was taller than Lottie was, but I had that same petiteness that she had in my proportions. My skin was pale, but lacking the perfection of hers; there were freckles and blemishes, little signs of my age. There was a long scar on my left shoulder that traced around down the outside and came into my armpit, and there was another section of pretty noticeable scar tissue above my left hip. "Hey, you ready? I know it's weird to sleep during the day, but it passes."

"I suppose. I don’t take many naps." Cohen dressed more like an adult. She chose very logical sleeping clothes - a tight, soft top that wouldn't get caught beneath her and comfortable pajama pants. I, however, wore the matching ensemble that was just a little bit too big for me - something that goes into looking consistent and coherent, which seemed pointless for sleep. I guess it really highlighted our differences. She climbed into her bed and, for the first time ever, I came within an arm's reach of it. It almost seemed too precious to touch - the large wooden canopy as thick as small trees and elegantly designed. What if I chipped it or something? Regardless, I climbed into what would have to be Emerson's side of the bed and looked up at the ceiling. I was wide awake.

It was like laying next to a corpse when Lottie first climbed into bed and I sighed and rolled my eyes. "No, you silly girl, like this." I slipped my arm under her and pulled the girl into the proper cuddling position, the way I used to cuddle up to my other mother, with her head on my chest and the covers pulled up over her chin. In this position, I could run my fingers through her hair; which was something I proceeded to do. "Learning how to cuddle with your mom is definitely a skill you need to learn, gum-drop. We'll likely do this a lot. Especially when you have bad dreams."

She knew I was twenty, right? Hell, even a thirteen year old wouldn't do this. Or maybe they would? What did I know of being a thirteen year old girl with a healthy mother/daughter relationship? Anyway, her fingers were gentle in my hair and she really was comfortable. I still wasn't tired, but with my head on her chest, her heartbeat in my ear, the covers warming us both… well, at least I was content.

"Usually what I do when I need to nap before work is close my eyes and think about all the things I'm going to do when I wake up. I'm going to…" I closed my eyes, but my fingers continued to play through the girls hair. "…have a shower, get dressed, make something to eat and large mug of coffee. Going to drive to work, going to work, going to check on Dasher - he's a Husky we've been looking after for the last two weeks since he got attacked by a bear. He's doing well, though. Then I'll feed the kittens that Lucy had, and check on the rest of the animals. We'll have someone come in by then, and so I'll have to stop to help them…" I knew when I talked about it that my job didn't sound very fun or fulfilling, but it really was! I guess it was something that was better experienced than talked about.

"Attacked by a bear…?" Dogs got attacked by bears? I thought that was only something on TV. Then again, where I lived in Virginia, we very rarely ran into bears. "Yeah - there are bears in the woods." Bears in the woods. Well, there goes any inclination for me to run away again. And to think Cohen never bothered to mention that before. Regardless, I sighed and closed my eyes. I wasn't sure if Cohen's plan would work, but somewhere around 'fill a swimming pool with kittens', it became harder and harder to think of things to do at a vet's office.

Emerson gently woke me up when he got home with a kiss on the cheek and I smiled up at him, looking at the soundly sleeping girl beside me, then got out of bed very carefully. We made our way downstairs and I put on the coffee pot, yawning deeply while Emerson went through the letters on the dining table. "How has she been today?" I decided not to mention the issue of her gender - or my lack of knowledge thereof. Emerson had enough to work through. "She's been okay. She's very shy about her body, but that's likely because of her time in prison." "I was thinking about that, you know, while grading papers over lunch. There's every possibility that she was still abused. A girl like her in a prison up in Aberdeen." I nodded quietly, not having thought about that. Then again, with the fact she was a boy it left a lot of questions unanswered, like if she'd been in a boy’s prison or a girl’s one. "I don't talk to her too much about the prison stuff. I think if we're going to offer her a fresh start, it's best not to bring too much of that stuff up." "I agree." There was a 'but' ready to follow that, but I poured us both a mug of coffee and the 'but' seemed to go forgotten. "I think she misses you, misses the you that sat down with her and the train-set." Emerson looked down into his coffee and shrugged his shoulders, answering flatly. "She's lucky I'm letting her stay here at all. And understand I only do that because it makes you happy. Once we have our own child, she'll have to leave." "Emerson…" "No. I need you to promise me that once you're pregnant, she'll go." It was a bitter conditional, especially knowing my husband could never make me pregnant in the first place. But I nodded and took his free hand, squeezing it. "Please, please try and accept her. We're all she has." He didn't answer, but I could see he was thoughtful. "Is she going with you tonight?" "She is." I just wished he could see the beauty in Lottie's eyes, the innocence and love that I'd seen. He would, though; in time. He had to, because I was never getting pregnant.

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

25. I don’t cook.

I had my thumb in my mouth when I came down the stairs and up until I entered the kitchen. It was still bright outside - maybe late afternoon - and I started to become more aware of the clocks on the walls. I didn't need to guess the time anymore. I'd built up by biological clock since I'd been convicted, but it wasn't a necessity now. The kitchen's lights were on despite the afternoon sunlight and it took me a minute to notice Emerson. I just waved and walked away, going to sit alone in the living room. I didn't want him to be uncomfortable - this was his house too, after all. I started building the train track again, though I was starting to run out of room.

I left Cohen alone in the kitchen and followed Lottie into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and watching the girl building the track. "I was wondering if you'd like to help me with a small project tomorrow. I know you're working tonight, but perhaps I could go to the store in the morning and wake you after lunch to help me out?" The truth of the matter was that I'd spent a lot of today thinking about my relationship with our surrogate child, and especially after the conversation with Cohen I was going to try in a few small ways to make things a little less detached. The train that I'd ordered, for example. I wasn't sure if I was still going to give it to her, but the project I had in mind, a proper train-set table, complete with holes to stand up in and work with track for the basement, was the first step towards acceptance.

"Uh huh… okay." I didn't look up from the Brio set I'd put together, taking up nearly all of the free carpet in the living room. I'd have to find a new place to play with trains if this was going to become a theme, or find smaller train sets. I knew Emerson was trying to be nice, and I would be nice in return. I understood his hesitation - I didn't hold it against him. I would've been much meaner if I were in his shoes. But I'd told him my intentions, and there was little else I could do.

"Splendid. I'll get you a set of coveralls as well. Probably a child's size, I'd think." I smiled a little, hoping to elicit a response, but she remained distant and focused on the trains she was playing with. It was going to be difficult to mend bridges when neither of us was particularly into the idea, but I was the adult. It was on me.

I took a deep breath and looked down at the train set. He was trying. I guess that was more than I'd hoped for. I picked up one of the wooden trains and handed it to Emerson. It was a childish gesture - surely he would've appreciated me asking for advice on where to lay the tracks, but I liked where the tracks were and that was my favorite part. So I handed him the train instead. I wasn't sure how symbolic it would be for him, but it was my way of buying him coveralls.

I smiled, and it was an actual smile too. The steps were small and I knew that my own convictions wouldn't be let go so easily, but it was a start. I took the train and set it down on one of the tracks. "This is the Tovia-Roux." I motioned to the train in earnest, speaking the way I had to her when I'd first given her the Brio trains. "It's a rolling school that goes to outlaying towns and gives education to children who need it. Oh, and there's a veterinarian wagon in the caboose because that's important, too. A family of three take care of everything; one teaches and one's a vet and their daughter drives the train." It wasn't exactly subtle that I was used to playing with children and that my imagination was quite a bit more developed than most men my age.

I couldn't help but smile. The idea of driving a train sounded really cool, and it was because I liked the idea of doing it that I promised myself never to actually do it. It would be less fun than I imagined, I was sure. "Okay, then this one is gonna be… oh wait." I picked one of the smaller cars out of the bucket and put it on the track. "This one's dynamite. And it's moving this way." I put it on the track and pushed it slowly down the line. "See, it's gonna hit your train. What are you gonna do?" There was a junction between my car and Emerson's train, but he'd have to speed up to make it.

"Uh-oh." I pushed my train toward the junction as Lottie pushed hers toward mine; the contrast between my hand - the hand of a teacher approaching thirty, a career fraught with chalk and dusters, writing and turning pages; large and soft but showing more signs of age than it ought to - and her hand - small and petite, soft and smooth and not yet having known the stresses of work and life - was very showing of the relationship we were on the road to cultivating. "Quick, Charlotte, stoke the fires, we need more speed." My voice was a characterization of my own character aboard the train, and in response I sped up and made it off the junction just in time to avoid catastrophe.

I pushed the car faster, past where the train had turned, and it tipped off the track. I took the track it fell off of and tossed it toward the fireplace. "It blew up. They'll have to build a new one later." Good thing I built that second line, huh? I smiled to myself and picked up a train of my own. Maybe things with Emerson would be okay, in the end. He didn't seem too upset anymore, and Cohen had stopped asking about what had happened this morning. Things were looking up. Maybe I could be happy here long term.

It really was so easy to see her as a child, to see her in the same light as any of my students, but I really wasn't sure if I could see her as my child. It was a step, though. I stood up and smiled, ruffling the girl’s short hair. "I think your mom wanted to see you, you should find her." It was all I could manage to refer to Cohen as her 'mom', but I knew it meant something to the both of them. The hardest part of it all was the disconnect; the idea that I could look at this girl and not associate any of what had happened to her. Like someone else had done it. She was just so sweet, so shy and polite and neat. I couldn't even imagine her driving a car.

"Oh… alright." I stood up on my feet, fixing the hem of my pajama top. "Thanks for playing with me." I waved and walked out, careful not to step on the many tracks around my feet. It was an awful strange time to say Cohen wanted me - he could've said that right when he walked in. But maybe Emerson had reached his limit for the day. That was fine, though. It was a pretty good effort. So I went back into the kitchen to find Cohen looking through the fridge. "What's for dinner?"

"Paella, I think." Dishes like that; rices, pastas, stir-fries and the like were very common dishes owing to the fact there were always leftovers and they carried well. We made our sit-down dinner a ritual, but for me it was often my first meal and most nights I'd take some leftovers to work. I wasn't sure just how well it would work now that we were feeding another mouth, but I didn't mind one bit. "You wanna help, gum-drop?" I set some things down on the counter and opened one of my cupboards, looking for the large skillet.

"Sure. I don't know what Paella is, though." I stepped over to the counter, taking a seat on one of the bar stools and looking across the countertop at Cohen as she fished a large platform from one of the cupboards. I just sat there, my cheek on my hand. "I don’t cook very often. I mean, I've made mac and cheese. And ramen. And hot dogs." Even though my mom never cooked for us, we also rarely had much food in the house. Options were limited.

"Well, we're both pretty good in the kitchen, your father and I. A Paella is a big rice dish with a whole bunch of stuff in it." I motioned to the island counter at the ingredients that I'd fished out of the refrigerator. "You can kind of make it with anything you want, but mine has spicy chicken, Spanish sausage, onion, tomatoes, clams, shrimp, lobster and snow peas." There was a bowl on one of the counters with a powder made up of bright red flakes, duller red powder and black spots; next to it was a plate of sliced chicken strips. "You can rub the chicken, if you’d like. Wash your hands and then you pick up a piece of chicken like this, and rub the spice mix over it, then dust off any excess and put it on this plate." I went through the motions as I spoke and smiled. Paella had a lot of prep work, but it came together very quickly. I didn't know if this would entice her or bore her, but I always had the idea in my head of cooking with my daughter.

"Alright. That seems easy." I slid off the bar stool and walked around to the sink. While I washed my hands I looked over at Cohen bending down to get vegetables out of the fridge. She was still in her pajamas. We must have been a sight - two girls in their pajamas cooking a very complicated dinner. Or would we look like mother and daughter, or sisters, even? It was so hard to tell sometimes where the dynamic had rested.

Baby Billy · April 4, 2018

I'm sorry I missed this the first time, I think it is very interesting . I was glad you mentioned about the bath the first night, I was going to say something because I knew Lottie has been very careful hiding the fact. :wub:

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

26. Dinner’s ready.

While Lottie got started on brushing the chicken, I started to slice the sausage into big pieces, then lit the burner under my skillet. "One day, you'll teach this recipe to your daughter, gum-drop." The smell of the warming oil began to fill the kitchen, but was quickly overwhelmed by the wonderful smells and sounds of the sizzling sausage pieces. "You have to brown the sausage first, and then you take it out so you can brown the chicken. That spice rub is paprika, oregano and pepper. It gives the chicken a really good flavor. Oh, shoot. Do you like spicy foods? I should have asked first." My Paella really wasn't too spicy, but the Spanish sausage and chicken certainly had a kick to them.

I shrugged my shoulders. After six months of eating nothing but bland microwave food, I didn't care what I ate. If it had flavor, I'd probably love it. "Maybe. If not, I'll eat it anyway." I smiled and checked the stove. 5:15. It was so surreal to have clocks again. "I won't remember this, though. So maybe you could write it down or something." Not that I ever expected to have kids, and if I did, I probably wouldn't cook for them anyway. I fended for myself well enough. But this, cooking with Cohen… I liked it a lot more than making my own meals. Maybe I would do this someday...

The sizzling pieces of sausage were slid out of the pan onto a waiting plate and I looked to Lottie to see if she'd finished rubbing the chicken strips ~ she held up the plate with a sense of pride on her face and I motioned to the skillet. "Slide all that in, it only takes a minute or two to brown, do you want to do it? You just hold the handle here and shuffle it around a bit like this to make sure it browns evenly." I showed her my exact wrist motion which was natural to me, but I probably made it look easy. "Go on, don't be afraid." All my life I'd dreamed of the simple things, of cooking with my daughter, showing her my recipes. I felt like I was in Heaven.

A lot of smoke came up from the pan when I dumped the chicken in and I looked anxiously at Cohen. She just smiled and nodded, though, and I turned back to the stove, having put my thumb in my mouth. I used the other hand to shake the handle the way Cohen did, but the pan was actually pretty heavy. The chicken continued to sizzle and I kept looking over at Cohen. I didn't want to mess up her meal…

"Good girl, just like that. Shake it around, see how the rub changes color? When it goes from red to brown on all edges it's ready." I would've chastised the girl for sucking her thumb while cooking, but I knew it was just the way she dealt with stress. The chicken continued to brown and when I said so, she picked up the pan - with both hands on the handle, something I found entirely adorable - and I helped her pour it out onto the plate. "Okay, now we add garlic, onion and parsley." The aforementioned ingredients sat on the chopping board by the cooker, and I slid them into the skillet. The smell of sautéing onion and garlic was wonderful, and I could tell from the smile on Lottie's lips - obscured by her thumb as it was - that she liked it, too. "See that bowl there of crushed tomatoes? Would you like to get that for me, gum-drop? You can pour it in now."

My thumb slipped out of my mouth whenever I needed to do something, very careful to use two hands and not mess anything up. But then after I'd finish something, like pouring the tomatoes into the skillet, I'd put it back between my lips. I wasn't anxious, per se, but I really wanted to impress Cohen. If I messed up, she might not let me help anymore. Whenever I noticed, though, I did my best to keep my thumb out of my mouth.

I continued to add ingredients, explaining as I went along. First the rice, and then water before the lid went on for a few minutes. After that, the sausage and chicken went back in, and then some saffron, clams and shrimp. "Those are my favorite bits," I smiled, biting my lip in excitement. "The clams open up halfway through cooking and take in all the amazing flavor." Seafood was never the highest quality thing out here where we were, but it was good enough for Paella. "Now we just wait for fifteen minutes or so, then add the lobster toward the end." I motioned to the dining room with a nod. "Would you like to set the table, gum-drop?"

"Yeah!" That I knew I could do! I was a little short to be comfortable getting the plates from the top shelf, but Cohen had no complaints getting them for me and putting them on the counter. I took the stack of plates with both hands and set the table for three, putting out a fork and a spoon for each of us and folding a napkin under the side of the plate. It wasn't the most elegant job, but it was all I'd learned to do. Finally, I took the salt and pepper shakers from the counter and put them in the middle of the table.

"Thank you, pretty girl. Now, get a pitcher of water from the refrigerator and some glasses from the cabinet; your dad likes to have a bottle of beer with Paella, so put one at his place setting too and then hurry back so I can show you the most important step." She was so giddy with the simple tasks, but I guess being able to fit in somewhere was a pretty big thing. She understood why I needed her, and I understand why she needed me. Emerson… I don't think Emerson got it. Not yet. But he would in time, I'd make sure of it.

I put the pitcher of water on the table, then the glasses, and then a bottle of beer. I couldn't open the top on my own, though, so I gave it to Cohen to do for me. She only smiled endearingly. It was strange - if I had asked a friend to open a bottle of beer for me back home, they'd have laughed. And even though I didn't have friends here, yet, I really loved living here.

Watching her move with genuine enthusiasm, setting the table in earnest, smiling at my praise… it was so easy to see her as a child, as my child. I hurried her over to the pan - which was almost filled to the top with rice now that it had swelled up and expanded. "We slide the lobster meat in now." She was already a step ahead of me, though, giddily picking up the plate from my prep area and sliding the meat into the Paella. "And then we turn the heat up all the way for the last five minutes. That toasts the rice on the bottom and it's called the socarrat. It's the best part and how you know you have a good Paella." The smell of toasted rice and the fusion of melding flavors was wonderful in the kitchen and I nodded to the second drawer. "There's a bamboo mat in there; can you set it down on the center of the table, and then tell your dad that dinner is ready, gum-drop?"

"Uh huh." I pulled the mat out of the drawer, unsure of what it was going to be used for, and put it in the middle of the table next to the salt and pepper. It was festive, though. Maybe it's a placemat or something, though we'd need two more. I left the kitchen, tugging on the hem of my pajamas. It was strange to still be wearing them this late into the evening. I checked the living room where I'd last left Emerson, but he wasn't there. His office was the only other real spot in the house, so I knocked before entering. Emerson was sitting at his desk doing something on the computer. "Dinner's ready."

"Thank you." There were images of scale model trains on my computer screen and I looked up at the girl standing in the doorway nervously. "I'll be there in just a moment." She turned to walk away and I piped up at the last moment. "Charlotte, just a second." She stiffened and turned around, her thumb in her mouth. "What is your favorite color?"

I stepped back into Emerson's office with a curious look on my face. I took my thumb out of my mouth before speaking. "D15FEE." He looked at me blankly. "It's a hex code. Don't take too long." Again, I turned and left the den, my thumb still in my mouth, nibbling softly. Why did he want to know my favorite color? Oh well, it didn't matter right now.

'Lil Wendi · April 4, 2018

4 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Cohen drew the bath, but didn't stay in the room for Lottie to undress.

"Cohen left the room, clicking the bathroom door closed behind her. I sighed and stripped out of the frilly purple nightgown and the obnoxiously similar panties."

I am so glad you're enjoying it!! An adorable puddle indeed!

New chapters today! I'm busting through this story as fast as I can. *nods*

Thanks for the correction Sophie, I guess I missed that little tidbit.

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

27. No one is missing me.

When Lottie returned - thumb in mouth - I was just setting the skillet down on the bamboo mat in the center of the table. It smelled amazing: the aroma of garlic and onion, the caramelized tomato and oregano and of course, the spicy chicken, sausage and various items of seafood. I slipped two large serving spoons into the bowl and assessed the job she'd done on the table. "You did a wonderful job laying out the table, gum-drop. I'm so proud of you. Is your dad coming?"

"He said so. But he's doing something on the computer." I shrugged my shoulders and took my seat. I had taken to sitting across from Emerson and next to Cohen, which probably wasn't the seating arrangement before I'd arrived since it meant the couple were diagonal each other. Still, I liked the placement. I took my thumb from my mouth and leaned up to look into the skillet. It smelled amazing…

Emerson came out a moment later and took his seat, smiling appreciatively. "This looks amazing, Cohen. Smells it, too." I looked across at Lottie and then at my husband and smiled. "Lottie helped." "Did she now? Well you both did a wonderful job." He leaned over and slid the large serving spoon in, pulling out a large heaping of paella, the toasted caramelized crust of rice on the bottom forming the top of the dish when scooped onto his plate. He set the spoon back for the next person and I smiled at Lottie. "Would you like me to serve you a plate, gum-drop?"

"Yes please." It looked very strange - a hodgepodge of miscellaneous vegetables and seafood - but it smelled good enough. I'd eaten lunch a few hours before with Cohen, but I was still pretty hungry. Still, Cohen was wiser than me and only filled half my plate. I took my spoon and dug in. And despite the insanity of what it was, it was /really/ good. I put a bit of pepper on top from the middle of the table and took another spoonful. "Thank you for dinner." I wasn't sure why I said it - maybe I still felt a little bit like a guest.

"Lottie, I love how well-mannered you are, but there's no need to thank us for dinner. You're not a guest. You live here; you're our daughter." Instead of his usual neutrality on the matter, Emerson nodded his head in agreement. He didn't say anything, but that was probably because his mouth was filled with paella. I took a forkful myself and smiled at the flavors; paella was also extraordinarily filling, which meant that even with the extra mouth to feed, the large skillet on the table would have leftovers for days: a blessing in a house where we only managed one meal together per day. "Besides, you helped cook. If anything, we should be thanking you,” Emerson said, smiling. He was clearly in a good mood; I didn't expect it to last.

I didn't even finish a half-plate of paella, which was quite small considering. I filled up very quickly and with another four or five bites on the plate I gave up. I sipped the glass of water that Cohen poured for me and leaned back in my chair. Emerson was still eating but Cohen had gotten up to clean the plates. I decided not to move, though, unsure if I even could. They really treated me well here, there was no denying that.

I continued to eat, finishing the plate I'd served myself before gently patting my lips with a napkin and taking a sip of my beer. "How are you liking it here now, Charlotte? There's probably not a lot to do for a thirteen year old girl. I heard your mother gave you a cell phone, though. That must be nice, having a little bit of freedom." I thought about mentioning the possibility that she could use it to contact her family and friends, but the idea would likely just upset her, so I decided against it.

"I like it. I mean, the food is really good. And I have the trains to play with when I'm bored." Realistically, Emerson was right: I had very little to do here. But it didn't seem to matter - one of the couple was always home and they never seemed to mind me hanging around. "There's not a lot to do with the phone. The games are cool, but it's not like I have anyone to call."

"Nobody back in Virginia would pine to hear your melodic voice?" I took another sip of my beer; so much for not mentioning it, Emerson. Still, I imagined that as a criminal, she very likely had nobody who had any interest in knowing her anymore, and contacting them would only bring attention to them. I sipped my beer and thought about the girl, how she'd aged to twenty and still looked so very immature, how she acted like a child in so many regards. Perhaps this was who she'd chosen to be after realizing her past self wasn't worth holding onto.

I shook my head and slipped my thumb in my mouth. “No one is missing me.” There were a few people I'd like to call, realistically, though I didn't know any phone numbers by heart. But they wouldn't want to talk to me, and if they did, they'd never understand. Besides, getting in touch with anyone back home could very easily put them in danger, as well as myself. I had no doubt they were tracking my Facebook page, and I knew better than to sign into it on my phone. I couldn't have any association to my old life if I wanted to stay hidden.

I nodded in understanding and stood up with my beer. "I'll be in my office if you girls need me." It was difficult, it really was. One part of me saw her as a guest, another saw her as a welcome addition to the house and a small part of me, just a sliver… understood how Cohen could see her as our child. As I sat at my computer and looked at the ordering site for specific models of train - a UP-18 Locomotive in a custom paint color - I thought about how I'd feel adopting a child. Someone not of my own blood. It took a long time of thought to come to any conclusion, but I think in the end I realized I could love them just the same. Lottie was such a special case, though...

Baby Billy · April 4, 2018

Sophie I think that I might have started reading this before the problem occurred, But two thing had stopped me, one the color format is hard for me to read with the light blue and second until I read through Audrey & Stacee it made little sense to me. Now that I know the kind of prison Lottie was in and what they did to him there it makes it seem to flow better. I really don't mind your color theme it is just a little hard for me to read with my vision having a little color perception problem. I still love your work :wub:

Pudding · April 4, 2018

16 minutes ago, Baby Billy said:

Sophie I think that I might have started reading this before the problem occurred, But two thing had stopped me, one the color format is hard for me to read with the light blue and second until I read through Audrey & Stacee it made little sense to me. Now that I know the kind of prison Lottie was in and what they did to him there it makes it seem to flow better. I really don't mind your color theme it is just a little hard for me to read with my vision having a little color perception problem. I still love your work

If you use Google Chrome, there's an official extention called High Contrast that lets you toggle per-site color changes to help with stuff like that For example, in inverted mode, our posts would look like this ^^ iono if that could help you or not~

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

15 minutes ago, Baby Billy said:

I really don't mind your color theme it is just a little hard for me to read with my vision having a little color perception problem. I still love your work

Ahhhh I'm so sorry! Pudding and I used to have a system where we'd just put our names before posts, but it sort of got annoying. Then we had the color system, which was weird at first, and then we sort of fell in love with it because we can use different colors for different characters.

The blue and purple we use are actually really personal to us. Pudding and I have been using these font colors on AIM and MSN and Adium and Jabber since the day we met. Actually, mine was purple and hers was blue. Then when we finished A&S, we switched. I'm sorry my blue is hard to read but I'm not sure I can in good conscience change it.

Also, Pudding had a great idea! XD

~Sophie

Sophie ♥ · April 4, 2018

28. Where are we going?

"When do you leave for work?" I was still sitting at the table, my head on my arms, as Cohen did the dishes. She had already cleared the table without my help, and while I still thought it polite to assist her, I figured my having helped cook excused me from this part of the meal. I still had my thumb in my mouth, too, except when I needed to talk.

"We start at ten, so we'll leave at nine." I looked up at the clock as I dried my hands with a tea towel and gave a thoughtful expression. "It's almost eight now, so we should probably get ready. There's a pair of jeans in your dresser; wear those along with a long sleeved top, maybe the purple one with the bows that sit on your hips." I learned a long time ago not to have too much exposed skin when dealing with animals; though both of my large scars had occurred when fully dressed so I wasn't completely sure on the wisdom of it.

"Alright." I finally got up from the table, stretching as I did, and made my way up the stairs. My closet had been stocked with clothes from before I'd left, and though I was only gone a day, Cohen had still left all my clothes in there. I found the purple top she was talking about and changed into it, realizing exactly how flat my chest was with the long sleeves. Great. Then I slipped out of my pajama pants and into the pair of jeans that was in my dresser. They were a little loose, but I found a white belt as well and fastened it tight.

"Tomorrow we can go bra shopping, if you like. What's your size?" My voice carried into the bedroom as I fetched a towel from the linen closet, having noticed the disdain on the girl’s face as she looked down at the purple top. I guess most boys don't know their bra size, but Lottie was no ordinary boy. She carried herself like any girl I'd met would, so she clearly wasn't new to this. I wished she'd confide in me more when it came to that, because it meant I could help her out; she'd talk to me when she was ready, though.

I shrugged my shoulders. I'd never owned a bra before, though I didn't mention that to Cohen. She'd forgotten about earlier that morning and I had no intention to bring it up again. Still, a bra was something I clearly needed. Could you get one that gave you bigger boobs, because mine were unbearably small, even for a thirteen year old. "Alright, that sounds good." How many different bra sizes could there be, anyway?

"There's a few cardigans on the left in your closet; you might want to bring one. It's warm out at the moment but it gets a little chilly about four in the morning, even in the summer." I made my way back to our bedroom and slipped into the shower. Emerson seemed to be coming around, or at least trying to, and that effort meant a lot to me. I was afraid we'd fight more about the issue and that had scared me. It wasn't to say we were perfect - by all means we weren't - but we rarely fought before all this.

I grabbed a cardigan - which, before that moment, I had no idea what a cardigan was - and waited by the front door. And that's when I noticed a small dilemma. I had no shoes. Emerson's feet were clearly too big for me, so I tried on a pair of Cohen's, which, despite her height, hurt my feet a lot. Cohen joined me a few minutes later, freshly dressed with wet hair. "I don't have any shoes…"

"Mine don't fit?" The girl shook her head glumly and I frowned. Nothing around here was open this late in the evening, either, and I could tell from looking at the girls diminutive feet that Emerson's gigantic shoes wouldn't fit her. "Gosh, I don't know, gum-drop. Maybe you'll just have to stay home with Emerson tonight and we'll get you some tomorrow when we go bra-shopping…" It was something I hadn't thought too much about; I honestly thought my shoes would have been too big for her if anything.

I didn't want to stay home with Emerson. It was nothing against him - I was just really eager to get out of the house, even if it meant working. Plus, wasn't this supposed to be a punishment? But going to a professional place without shoes certainly wasn't an option… "I guess so…" I'd gotten dressed and everything. The disappointment was clearly evident on my face.

She looked so crestfallen, so let down. I didn't want to fail her, not my little girl. So I took a breath and made a decision. "Okay. Wait here, gum-drop." I got my cellphone out and wandered into the kitchen, starting to talk as soon as it answered. "Hey, Violetta? Do you think you can cover for an extra hour or two? I need to pick up my daughter from the Greyhound. Oh yeah, you know I've mentioned her; Charlotte? Yeah. Look, do you think you can hang around until eleven?" I nodded and smiled and took a deep breath of relief before slipping the cell into my pocket. There was only one place that would be open at this time of night and it was the single, solitary Walmart in South Dakota. And it was an hours drive past my work, which meant that it was about an hour and a half from here, and then we had to get back to work. But they'd have shoes. I wandered back into the foyer and smiled at my daughter. "Okay, I have an idea. We gotta go, just wear Emerson's flip-flops until we get to the car."

"These things are huge… like surfboards or something…" Trudging out into the darkness, which at nine wasn't really that dark, and out to the car with the oversized shoes was like walking in flippers. I finally made it into the passenger seat and kicked the shoes off, buckling myself in. "Where are we going?" While it didn't surprise me we were going shopping this late - I lived in the city and everything was open late - the way Cohen talked about it, there was nowhere open.

"There's a Walmart in Pierre. It's the only one in the entire state, and it's open twenty-four hours. I've only been there once because it's a ways, but we'll be able to get you some shoes there. And a bra, too; maybe a cute one with a little padding?" I didn't say it to make her self-conscious about her flat chest, but I remembered that I'd been a late bloomer and padded bras had saved my sanity for two whole years while everybody else flowered and I stayed flat as a blade of grass.

"Oh, alright." I had no idea how far Pierre was, but it sounded like it would be a very long drive. I didn't mind - since the police incident, Cohen had been very easy to talk to. I still had a lot to work on, but maybe this trip could help with that. "I'm going to call you Mom. Excessively. For like, the whole car ride. Maybe get used to it, if that's okay with you."

It was really hard not to show my heightened level of enthusiasm at the notion, but I tried my very best, managing a smile that was somewhere past joyous and toward ecstatically happy. "That sounds wonderful, gum-drop. I'd love that." I shifted my old Thunderbird into gear and reversed up, turning around on the large open drive and then taking off toward the tree-line. It would be a long drive, but me and my daughter and her new desire to call me Mom? It might well have been all the way to Chicago and I wouldn't have minded.

Baby Billy · April 4, 2018

I love it and no you do not want you to change anything :wub:

Sophie ♥ · April 9, 2018

29. That’s really nice.

"So. Mom." The word tasted so strange on my tongue. Calling Cohen Mom just seemed so wrong. But if she was going to help me change my identity and keep out of prison… well, it was a small hit to take. "How does… uh… Dad…" That one was even worse. I hadn't called anyone Dad in my entire life, and at least Cohen wanted me to call her Mom. "How does Dad work in the summer? Isn't school out, Mom?"

"He teaches at a boarding school; with people so spread out all over the state and there being not so many schools, many people send their kids to live at the school. And half the students have summer vacation, while the other half have the same amount of time off in winter. It's because of the different harvests and times that people have to spend with their kids. Some harvests are in spring and some in the fall, so it works out that way. It means your Dad works all year round." It was an overly verbose explanation, but that's just how things were out here in the farming heartlands. People needed their kids at home for the harvests. It didn't matter to us: we didn't have kids, or a harvest. Well, we did have a daughter now. That made me happy.

"That makes sense, Mom…" The overuse was obscure, but at least I felt like I was making progress. I put my head against the window and watched the road go by, the sun having gone down a while ago. Still, the sky was a light pink and the trees were green with life. The parallels were obvious; the two of us in this car, driving down this road…

"He gets paid a whole lot more than regular teachers, though, which is why I'm able to give up my night shift for a shorter and not quite as well paid day shift now that we have you. That'll take a while, though, and I probably won't do it until you're at school." And until Emerson is completely on board; I couldn't expect him to go to being the primary provider for a family until he actually wanted that family. "And what do you want to be when you grow up, gum-drop?"

"I don't know, Mom. Maybe a stripper. They make good money." Cohen looked at me with with mild disbelief and a lot of concern. I smiled cheekily and shook my head. "It's a joke, Mom." That one actually sounded legit! Maybe this wasn't so hard. "I don't know. Before, I wanted to be an architect. I love sketching buildings. But I hear those jobs aren't that fun, so I'm not sure." And my sketches weren't really that great.

"There's a lot of work for that sort of thing out this side of the country. Places like Chicago are flooded with architects, but here? You'd be lucky to find one or two in the entire state and there's a lot of expansion. Your father was going to be an architect, and then he was going to be a railway engineer. But in the end he decided to be a teacher. You know what I wanted to be when I was a little girl?" She looked at me curiously and I smiled. "I wanted to be an astronaut. Can you imagine, me? I get woozy on the stepladder in my closet." Each time she called me Mom, I smiled, and each time I could tell it was getting less forced for her, too.

"I think you could be an astronaut, Mom." I didn't know a lot on the topic - while most people went to space camp, I stayed home - our family didn't have that kind of money on a single parent salary - but I was pretty sure heights didn't have a lot to do with it. Claustrophobia seemed like a more impeding fear. "Then why did you become a vet, Mom?"

"Thanks, gum-drop." I smiled at the show of confidence and then continued on to her question. "When I was twelve, our dog got hit by a car. He was okay. I mean, his leg was broken, but he was pretty well off for what happened. My Dad had to take him to the vet and I went along, and when we got there he said it would cost $8,100 to set his leg because it was a compound fracture and all that stuff. And I was in so many states of sadness because we couldn't afford that, so he had to be put to sleep. I decided that week that I'd become a vet, and I'd never ever turn away a little girl’s dog." She looked at me with wide eyes and I smiled. "And I never have, either, even when the family has no money at all."

"That's really nice, Mom…" That was the first time I ever felt proud of Cohen. I actually felt like I could talk to someone at school, and when my mom came to pick me up or something, I'd be able to point and say "that's my mom" with all the pride in the world. I bet she would've loved to hear that train of thought, but I was too embarrassed to let it past my thumb, which just a second before, found it's way into my mouth.

She sucked her thumb thoughtfully with a little smile on her face and I shrugged. "I just like to think if I'm a good person, good stuff will happen to me, too. My husband is infertile and then you come along, out of nowhere, an angel dropped into my lap and my perfect daughter. It's karma, I think. Balance and all that." I knew she didn't see herself as perfect, though, I knew her past made her anxious and worried and I could see it whenever we talked about it. But in time she'd understand that she was perfect to me.

Sophie ♥ · April 9, 2018

30. I hope he likes me.

There wasn't a lot of conversation until we broke the tree line and entered a town. We didn't turn into any side streets, though, and it wasn't long after that we left the town behind. I checked the clock in the car: 9:25. We still had a ways to go, from the sound of it. I didn't take my thumb out of my mouth, biting softly with my back teeth. I looked different to a child sucking their thumb, but not by much.

"This is the town where I work, in fact…" I motioned to a building as we drove past. "That's work right there." She watched where I pointed and then went back to looking ahead, her thumb still in her mouth. "Is it something you've always done, gum-drop? The thumb-sucking?" She quickly pulled her thumb from her lips, her cheeks burning up evidently even in the dim light of the car. "I don't see it as an issue, but the other kids might tease you at school. I'm a little worried about that, and with the stuff you get on your hands at work? You won't wanna be doing it there."

"Oh… yeah. That makes sense." I'd forgotten to say 'Mom' - it had slipped my mind in the long silence - but Cohen was right. If a girl in my middle school or high school sucked her thumb in class, I couldn't imagine the torture she'd go through. And I didn't want to be doing it after I pet the animals, but it wasn't like it was easy to stop. "No, uh… it started in prison. Not sure why. It's just the only thing that can help me relax, and I'm usually so bad at relaxing on my own."

"Well, maybe we should find you a new way to relax? You know what I do? I sing. And I sing so badly. But I turn up the music really loud and I sing and all my stress just melts away. You wanna try it?" She shook her head sheepishly and I smiled, shrugging. "If you change your mind, I have a killer 80's rock mix-tape in the cassette deck." It was a few more moments before I asked. "What was it like? Prison, I mean? I can't imagine someone as soft and sweet and innocent as you being in a place like that. And I can't imagine sucking your thumb there went down well, either…"

"Um… it was… different." This was where the line of my lies started to blur. I didn't want to lie to Cohen, but I didn't want to go into an explanation either. Especially because I had no escape from this car, no walking into the bathroom, no leaving the room. I was stuck here. "It wasn't the kind of prison you think of. It was… a little more like a mental hospital, just… not a mental hospital." It was really difficult to explain the place I was in, and even more so without giving away too much information.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. Was it just girls, or were there boys there, too?" It was a roundabout way of asking if they'd treated her as male or female; something that could help give me some more clues towards what was going on. "I didn't know they had a psychiatric care facility in Aberdeen - we have the medical facility registry journal at work. I bet it's way outdated though, just the way things are out here."

"Well, no. It was definitely a prison. Like, I wasn't ruled insane or anything. No one else there was, either. It was just a normal prison. Things were just different. You could never go outside. Each room had furniture and different clothes to wear. There were doctors and orderlies instead of guards. You get the picture." It was probably the most long winded I'd ever been with Cohen, and I spoke slow, careful to keep each fact true and vague.

"That sounds so strange. I've never heard of anything like that. Did you have any friends there?" It was stupid to ask; I'd made myself acutely aware not to mention the name Clara again after last time and I realized as soon as I'd asked that what I said was probably just as bad. Still, it didn't seem like any prison I'd ever heard of; especially not one for people tried as adults and convicted as guilty.

I put my thumb back into my mouth and chewed lightly on the nail. I didn't like thinking about Clara. She was the only one there that made my life bearable and now I had no idea where she was. I wasn't even certain she was alive anymore. I'd never know, either. There was no way to get in touch with her. "It was all girls." It was an obvious change of topic, but I had wanted to answer Cohen's previous question anyway.

All girls, and they still let a boy masquerading as a girl be there? They had to know, right? "Well, Charlotte Tovia-Roux, I hope you find your new home a little more pleasant than that frightful place." What had we been talking about before this? Oh. Right. "So the thumb-sucking? It just started when you were there?" There was a thin line between curious and judgmental and I made certain to keep my tone much more on the side of the former.

"Yeah, about a week in." I wasn't sure if it was something they cultivated in me or if I'd taken to it myself, but the anxiety-quelling act had come on pretty abruptly. Even with Clara by my side, the first week was stressful. "It doesn't really have to be my thumb - I just need something to chew. I'd used a lot of different things." Including Clara’s thumb.

"Maybe at school you could chew like… pen lids or something? Something discrete so the other kids don't make fun of you? I mean, it's probably not great for your teeth, but your father's dental plan is pretty incredible anyway so who cares, right?" I grinned as the idea of my adorable daughter with pretty braces flashed through my head. Gosh. She was so juvenile it was hard to see her as anything else.

"Yeah, maybe…" I played with my fingers in my hands the same way I did the first day in this car. Avoiding sucking my thumb was something I'd tried again and again in the forest and could never really manage it. I never wanted Cohen to see me do it, and here we were, talking about how it came to be. Strange, the way things change. I looked out the window at the trees going by; it was so dark out now that the sun had completely set. There weren't any street lights down this road and we only had the light from Cohen's car and the stars to guide us.

"Then again, maybe you'll stop being so anxious when you get properly settled in here, when you see that you're home and safe and nobody can hurt you." She nodded softly and I smiled. "Your dad's taken to calling you Charlotte. I think that's a really good sign that he's accepting you." And it was hard for him. I knew it was hard for him, and I think that Lottie knew it as well. He was trying, and I figure that once he'd come to accept her, she'd properly feel at home.

I didn't quite see it that way, but maybe Cohen was right. Usually the pet names were the ones of endearment, like Lottie would be for me. But since Charlotte was a name given to me exclusively by Cohen, it was the name she had chosen for her daughter. I would have offered to change my name, but it was hard enough to endure the first time. "I hope he likes me. I mean, I know what I did was bad… and I understand if he never forgives me. But… I don't know. I just always wished I had a dad growing up."

"Were you not close with your dad before?" It was a topic I'd planned to avoid, that of her previous family. I didn't know if she was avoiding them for fear they'd get in trouble, or because they didn't want to see her after what had happened, or whatever. But she'd raised the topic and I felt it prudent to ask a question or two because of it. The irony was that Emerson had always talked about how he didn't want to be one of those 'proxy Dads' and how he wanted to be a huge part of our child’s life.

"I never met him. I have a sister that's two years older than me, and she doesn't remember him at all. When my mom was pregnant with me, he split." I shrugged my shoulders and put my thumb back in my mouth. I never even knew his name. I never saw a picture of him, either; apparently my Mom got rid of all those things when I was still young. So I never knew my father, and maybe that was okay. Then again, maybe if I was raised better… no, it wasn't anyone's fault but my own that what happened happened.

"Do you mind if I tell your dad that? It might help him to adjust, knowing just how much his little girl needs a dad, that you never had a proper male role model." Which could really explain why she'd chosen to become a girl. "What about your mom? Wanna tell me about her?" I admit it was mostly out of insecurity of being compared and not measuring up; I'd never been a mom after all, and all I had to go on were my ideals and dreams about the kind of mother I wanted to be.

"She didn't pay a lot of attention to me." I shrugged my shoulders and bit my thumb between sentences. "She was… my mom. And I loved her. But after my dad left she just… stopped caring, maybe. My sister took care of me until I was eleven, but with the stress of high school approaching she didn't have a lot of time for me either. My mom drank. My sister ignored it. And I ignored it, too, for a while." And then I didn't. And then I hit a kid…

"Caring is never something you're going to feel a shortage of in our household, gum-drop. I love you and care for you immensely, I feel this empathy and devotion that only a mother could feel. And I know that your father feels the same way; he's just going to take some time to get his head around the concept of adoption." Which is how I was looking at this. Adoption. We'd adopted ourselves a little girl and she was our child now. And when we fudged the paperwork, she'd be ours legally from birth, too. It was risky and stupid, I knew, but it was for a good cause.

"I know, Mom…" I smiled over at Cohen who smiled back. She didn't have to convince me that she wanted me there; I knew she did. I knew better than I knew my own mom wanted me there. Maybe that's how the world should work - every time you have a baby you have to give it up for adoption. And the parents who work the hardest and want that kid the most get it, not the ones who have better things to do, like drink alcohol like Mountain Dew.

Sophie ♥ · April 9, 2018

31. I’m not sure.

"You saved me, Lottie, from one of the worst situations I've ever been in. Knowing your father was infertile… having to look into his eyes and see that disappoint every time my period came, seeing how determined he was to make it work. I never wanted to tell him, never wanted to break his heart. And it weighed on me so much just to know…" She sucked her thumb and looked up at me from across the car, and I rubbed one of my eyes with the heel of my hand, brushing away an errant tear. "Then you came. Our perfect little girl."

Perfect was clearly referential. I was far from. "I'm glad you think so." It wasn't that I had low self esteem, but I knew my own faults. My bedwetting, for instance, and the fact that I couldn't stop sucking my thumb. The penis was probably another thing, though she seemed to have let that topic slide. I still wasn't sure where we stood on that, but our conversation seemed to flow well enough despite this morning.

"How many other twenty year old girls would have let me change their age and let me adopt them as my daughter?" I smiled at her as we drove through another town; the clock read ten which meant we were still about a half hour away from Pierre. "Lots of people protested the Walmart opening, you know? I loved it when I came here last time, though. I guess it reminds me of back home in Chicago."

"Yeah, there was a Walmart in Virginia, too, not far from my house." Was that too specific? I wasn't sure how many Walmarts there were in Virginia. "I liked it there. I mean, it was nice to just be able to go to one store and get all the groceries we needed and still be able to check out toys or something. I guess that stuff really only appeals to twelve year old's grocery shopping, though." I meant it as a joke, but Cohen seemed less impressed.

"Oh you poor sweet girl. Grocery shopping at twelve? A twelve year old’s place is at home in the living room with a huge box of Legos and her two best friends; not out doing grocery shopping. That's grown-up stuff." I smiled and watched as she mulled over whether or not to argue that she was twenty; I could tell the picture I painted was at the very least an appealing one. Still, hearing about her story, her life? It made my maternal empathy burn stronger and brighter and made me just want to do the best possible job by her.

I shrugged my shoulders and kept biting my thumb - it was starting to hurt, though. I didn't like thinking back on my old life; it never turned out well. "It does sound… better, at home playing with trains. Though I had a pretty good grocery shopping system. I had to make like sixty bucks last the week, so I had this list…" Cohen just shook her head and I frowned. "What?"

"That's grown up stuff." I smiled and she pouted a little. Her Mom was a write off; as far as I was concerned, she didn't deserve a daughter as wonderful as Lottie. But her sister, who'd picked up the slack? She made me conflicted. She might want to actually know where her baby sister was. Then again, that might risk Lottie leaving, and she was my daughter now. "So, we're going to do your paperwork this week. By this time next week, you'll legally be Charlotte Tovia-Roux. Born August 18th, 1998. I know it's probably not you're old birthday, but if we're going to conceal you for life, we should have the date changed."

"Oh. Yeah… that's a good point." I hadn't considered that, but realistically, we should sever all ties from my old life. And that included my birthday, which, realistically, was only a month before anyway. The dumbing me down by seven years thing was going to be much more complicated. Conversation was pretty light until we arrived at Walmart, which, for all intents and purposes, was pretty small in comparison. Still, I followed Cohen into the store wearing Emerson's surfboard shoes and steered right toward the shoe department. "Can't wait to get out of these…"

"What's your shoe size?" We wandered over to the girls shoes and I smiled and looked at Lottie; her delicate skin and sparkling blue eyes almost luminescent in the white lights of the Walmart. She really was gorgeous.

"I’m not sure." It only struck me after the fact that it was probably a little strange I didn't even know my own shoe size. But what was I supposed to say? Girl's shoe sizes were a bit of a mystery to me, and I wasn't even sure what their numbers went up to.

"Okay, here." I sat Lottie down on one of the little benches and picked four pairs of shoes off the rack in ascending sizes. "Try these ones on first. It doesn't matter if you don't like them, it's just checking your size." She looked at me anxiously and I urged her to try on the shoes. We were a little bit in a hurry due to work, but I also didn't want to make her feel pressured. We'd find out her size - which was an odd thing now, come to think of it. What girl doesn't know her own shoe size, especially one that had to buy all her own things since she was twelve?

Sophie ♥ · April 9, 2018

32. It’s strange.

"These ones." Nines, I think, which made a bit of sense since Cohen's were eights. She smiled and put each pairs of shoes back in the boxes and back on the shelves. Then, together, we went over to the Nines section and she asked me to pick out something I liked. But I had no idea. I imagined picking out clothes would be as much a mystery to me - when we used the Amazon gift card, Cohen had done most of the shopping herself. "I don't know… those ones, maybe?" Pink was girly, right?

"…really?" I bit my lip and looked down at her. She looked at me and pouted, crossing her arms. "I'm sorry. They're just… tragic. Here…" I picked out a pair of cute sneakers for every day wear - white with rainbow colored stars adorning like polkadots - and then picked out a pair of black flats, and finally a pair of dressier buckle shoes. "Try all those on please, gum-drop. You'll end up with more, this is just to get you started."

I shrugged and sat down on the bench, slipping each of my bare feet into the sneakers first. They really were cute, and fit like a glove. I took a few steps in them before nodding my head. I repeated the same process with the other pairs and had no complaints, though the black dressy ones looked strange on my feet. Cohen picked up all the boxes for me and started toward the checkout. All three boxes… "Wait, why am I getting three pairs of shoes?"

"Because you need different shoes for different outfits and situations. We also need to get you socks, tights and a bra." I motioned to the wall of socks and picked up a package with four different pairs: three in rainbow colors and one in white. Next was a package of white tights, and finally a pair of black. "Come on, let's get you a bra. Something cute, with a little bit of help for you." I smiled and she followed along behind me, trying to find the words to protest but not quite managing.

"I… I don't need…" I shook my head, hurrying just to keep up. Either I walked very slow or Cohen was in a hurry. "Three pairs of shoes is going to last me until I'm like… well, my age!" She didn't slow down, though, until we were in the lingerie section, which I abruptly stopped at and stayed in the aisle, my cheeks taking on a little color. Under no circumstance had I ever went into the women's lingerie area before - it felt like such a taboo. "I… um… gonna go look at snacks…"

I sighed and took her hand in mine, rolling my eyes and smiling. If I ever had any doubt that she was a boy, it was washed away in that moment. No girl was ever hesitant about going into the women's underwear section of a store. "First, you'll have probably twenty pairs of shoes by the end of the year. I have over a hundred. Different shoes for different outfits, and you can never have too many." She didn't know her bra size; I knew she didn't, so I dragged her over to the teenage sizes, pursing my lips and feeling the padding in some of the different cups. "These will give you good support, because they have an underwire, and they're also pretty padded which is going to give you more definition." She was red and uncomfortable and awkward, but she'd have to get used to this.

A hundred shoes?! What a waste of money. I could make the three pairs she was buying me today last until I moved out. I was very careful with my shoes - I knew how expensive they were and when it came down to food or shoes, food always came first. Still, that was another topic for another day. Right now, my mind was focused on something far more unappealing. "I… I don't know… whatever you think is best…" I inched my way back out of the aisles, pretending to be looking at the different styles and colors and tags of the clothes on the racks. It was late on a Friday night - Walmart was almost barren. But still, I couldn't shake the discomfort.

"Get. Back. Here. Gum-drop." She froze and sheepishly returned to where I was standing. "We're going to see how these fit." I held up four bras, all in white, all padded. I had a pretty good idea of her size based on the clothes she wore, and it wasn't like her cup-size was relevant. "Changing room is over this way." I was never the stern type, but on this topic - buying what was possibly the first bra she'd ever owned - I had to keep things under control. Keep them calm.

I felt like I would be sick - the warmth of my cheek was starting to burn my forehead and my stomach was turning. Regardless, Cohen led me through the department to the changing rooms, which were unpleasantly placed in the center of the underwear section. By the time we arrived at the mirrored rooms and she turned back to me, I was sucking hard on my left thumb, doing my best not to look up from my feet. This was so surreal…

I opened the door to the changing room and wandered in, motioning for Lottie to follow me. She did, too, and only started to panic when I closed the door and she realized that I was going to be in here with her. "I'm not going to make you take off your pants, gum-drop. But I'm going to have you take off your top so I can put your bra on and adjust it and make sure it fits right. Okay?" She still looked frantic though, and I took her thumb from her mouth, not without a fight; she actually struggled up until the point my own thumb slipped into her mouth by accident and she started sucking subconsciously. "Shh, shh shh shh. Come on gum-drop, it's only a bra."

I could not have been in a more awkward situation: standing in the middle of a women's underwear section in the the changing room sucking my new-Mom's thumb while she planned to undress me and put me in a bra. You just can't make this stuff up. It took a very long while, longer than I cared to admit, for me to let her thumb out of my mouth, and even still, I fiddled with my hands anxiously. "This is weird, Cohen…" It had been the first time I used her name since the police incident and I immediately regretted it. "Maybe… maybe I could do it? And let you in when I'm done…?"

"Gum-drop, every mother dreams of the day they get to help their daughter try on their first bra. Please?" I smiled warmly and she looked at me with a conflicted expression. The fact I'd called her on this being her first bra seemed to go over her head, and she stood there pensively, awkwardly, trying to make up her mind. "Please now? It won't take long. And I'm your Mom, remember?" The sucking on my thumb had been interesting, but it was like she’d said: it was sucking itself that helped.

"Yeah… okay… sure…" I wasn't comfortable with this, but I felt bad for calling Cohen by her name. We were making such progress in the car and I felt like I'd backpedalled. Maybe this would help. So I let her take the cardigan off my arms and lift the purple top over my head. She had never seen my boobs before and I often did my best not to look at them in the mirror. They were small, but they existed, more like a slightly pudgy girl but without the stomach. They had very little shape to them, but at least they were there. Still, I wasn't sure it was enough for a bra…

It surprised me to see the presence of any sort of breasts at all, but they were there and that only made me more curious. Still, right now wasn't the time for curiosity. I took the first of the bras and pulled it into place, clasping the back and then adjusting the straps. I turned her around and reached my hand into each cup in turn, adjusting each of her petite breasts to best fill the diminutive cups. One final turn and I pointed her to the mirror so she could see for herself. "What do you think?"

"It's fine…" But I didn't look in the mirror; I looked at my feet. Not even my feet in the mirror because that might be too strange. My thumb had found it's place in my mouth again after Cohen had started adjusting the front of the bra. This was the most uncomfortable I'd ever been in my entire life, and that included my time in prison. At least there nothing was particularly awkward - everyone had to endure the same stuff. "Can we go now...?"

"Charlotte Tovia-Roux. This is something you'll be wearing every day. It's an intrinsic part of your life now. So stop being bashful and look in the mirror and tell me what you think. This is something every teenage girl goes through and it's a part of growing up." She still didn't look up, though, and I turned her around and knelt down in front of her, looking up into her eyes. "Gum-drop. What's the matter? What's making this so difficult for you? Share with me."

I spoke around my thumb. It was something I very rarely did, and only in the most uncomfortable of times. "I dunno…" I couldn't make eye contact with Cohen, either. I shook my head a little so my hair covered part of my face - it was a fact I hadn't noticed before but it was very well appreciated. I'd have to write my bangs a thank you card. "It's strange… I don't know. I can't figure it out. It's just weird…"

"I want you to look at me, gum-drop, please?" She looked up a little, made eye contact for a moment and then looked back down. "Come on sweetie, look at me please?" Lottie managed to look up at me again and I smiled encouragingly, nodding my head in appreciation as I took her hands in each of mine. "You trust me, don't you gum-drop? I think I've earned your trust, haven't I? I'm your Momma after all. And I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger or make you upset or do anything to hurt you. I wouldn't make you do this if I didn't know for sure that you'd love yourself just a little more for it. Now please… look in the mirror?"

I didn't want to, but prolonging this endeavor would only make it worse. So I turned around and looked at myself in the mirror. The bra was strangely… erotic. It was plain and white, but I'd seen a lot of girls naked and I never really saw myself as one of them. But with a bra on, it was unmistakable. Still, I didn't understand the use for bras or what made them important, so based purely on aesthetics, I turned to Cohen and nodded my head. "It looks fine."

I forwent the other three options, deciding that the fact it was a good fit and fairly cute was all that mattered right now. I smiled proudly and wrapped my arms around her. "I am so proud of you. My little girl is growing up!" I beamed and picked up the purple top, slipping it on over her body and adjusting it around her new bra. She looked so much more a thirteen year old girl now; all the pieces fit into place and I realized that I was going to help her with her dreams just as much as she was going to help me with mine.

"I can't wear this out!" I hissed at Cohen as she left the changing room, but she only held up the tag from the bra currently on my body and I felt myself blush. What a strange, messed up evening. I very quickly followed Cohen out of the underwear section, beating her to the aisle - it was such a relief to be out of there. I walked behind her, after that, in silence through the check out and to the car. I couldn't think of anything to say…

LilLadyLexi · April 10, 2018

Moreeeeeeeeee

Sophie ♥ · April 10, 2018

33. I was a boy once.

It wasn't until we got in the car and closed the door that I finally pepped up the resolve to speak my mind. "Now, gum-drop, seeings as I'm not a complete idiot… would you like to tell me how a girl gets to twenty without knowing her shoe size, and without ever having worn a bra?" She opened her mouth quickly to respond and I shook my head. "Think very carefully, sweetie. Think about who you're talking to and how much you can trust me, and then answer."

It was a very awkward silence. She wouldn't understand. It would be another thing that could send me away, or another thing Emerson could use as an excuse not to like me. So I did what anyone would do; I lied. "We weren't given shoes in the prison." That part was actually true! "And I wasn't really sure what size I'd wear now. I mean, I hadn't grown in a while, but I usually wore eights. But yours were eights and I didn't fit." That part wasn't. "And I never wore bras. I didn't really think I needed to, given… you know." At least I worded that one without lying. And I hoped she'd buy it, too, because we had a long car ride ahead of us.

"Gum-drop. You can go with that if that's the answer you want to give me, and I'll believe it. But if you're scared of telling me something, scared about how I'll react, scared that it'll ruin things… none of that is anything you have to fear. I'm your mother, and a mother's love is unconditional. And I know you might not get it, get how I can give you such a promise after knowing you for only a week. But gum-drop… I look at you and I see my own blood. You can tell me anything, and it stays between the two of us. I promise." She probably wouldn't; I expected she wouldn't. But I had to offer.

The car ride back was terrible. After Cohen's speech, neither of us said a word. I replayed it again and again in my head, and as sincere as she sounded, I just didn't believe it would help. But I had no one. I didn't even have Clara. And even with Cohen and Emerson, I still felt very alone. What had happened to me was… terrible. And holding it in, as much as I thought it would help, never seemed to. But what could I do? I liked it here. I didn't want to mess things up. And I had no intention of telling her, but when we pulled into her work, I'd started to cry. My thumb stayed between my lips the whole ride home, but the tears were new. I didn't sob, I didn't blubber, I just cried.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned across the front bench seat of the car, sliding up next to her and pulling her head to my chest as my fingers ran through her hair. She was so tortured, in so much pain, and all I wanted to do was hold her. And that's exactly what I did. I unbuckled her seatbelt and I held her against my chest, saying nothing and cooing softly. I wished she'd tell me, I wished I could help her share the load of her burden. That was my job, my one single job as a mom. And that's when I spoke. "Please let me be your mom, Lottie."

I sat up in my seat, nervously picking at my fingers, looking down at them and trembling. I wasn't going to do this. Was I? No… "We… um… you're gonna be late… and…" I felt sick to my stomach. Clara. Where were you, now? Why couldn't you have come with me…? I was nearly sure I'd throw up and I just couldn't stop pulling and scratching my fingers - it was all I could do to keep from putting my thumb in my mouth.

My hands gently settled down on each of Lottie's and I held them just far enough away that they couldn't pick at one another. "I want to tell you something I've never told anybody else." It wasn't something I thought would help, but I wanted to expect an offer of trust so she could see that we could talk to one another about the more difficult things in our lives. And this must have been difficult for her; she had to know that I knew and even so, she hid the truth.

I looked at Cohen with very sad eyes, tears still staining my cheeks. I couldn't wipe them away with Cohen's hands in mine, but I appreciated her attempt at keeping me from picking all my skin off. I knew she was only telling me so I'd tell her my secrets - I wasn't oblivious - but I was curious nonetheless. Something she had never told anyone… including Emerson?

I took a deep breath and thought about what I was doing, why I was doing it… was it worth upsetting everything I'd built to establish with my life and my world and my husband? But I also wanted her to know it, not so she could blackmail me, but so I could lead the way in trust. Another deep breath. Eyes closed. Breathe out. "I cheated on Emerson a week after we got married." And in that one sentence I made myself seem like about the most awful person in the world. "We were in Chicago at the time and we'd decided not to have a proper honeymoon because we wanted to save the money for our deposit. So we were staying in a hotel downtown, and I was downstairs at the bar on the third day of our stay and I ran into Alex Prowley… he was my school sweetheart. I was a little drunk, a lot infatuated, in that phase of my thoughts where I was terrified of the fact I'd just gotten married. So while Emerson was playing poker, I went up to Alex's suite and we had sex."

"I killed a boy…" I wasn't using my worst moment to trump hers, but I would have loved if someone would come to the car window right now and say something to make me feel like my killing Jaime wasn't as bad as I thought. But that didn't happen. But I could be Cohen's stranger at the window. "You made a mistake… at least yours didn't change your life. Change who you were…" I winced and looked down at my hands. "I know this might come as a big shock… but I was a boy once…" The humor was entirely lost in my tone.

Baby Billy · April 10, 2018

So glad you are back :wub:

Sophie ♥ · April 10, 2018

34. She never said goodbye.

My arms cuddled the girl closer to my chest for a few more moments before I spoke. "You said it changed who you were… what happened to you... but I don't understand that. I figured you were a boy, and I did a lot of reading and research about it, but I couldn't make heads or tails of things and how they apply to you. But it doesn't change anything, unless you want it to." I'd been thinking about that, too - been thinking about her being a girl and why she was and if she ever would want to be a boy again how I'd deal with it - and I decided that I'd love her either way.

I shook my head and looked down at my hands, tears dripping from my cheeks onto my wrists. It was getting late. She was going to be late for work, and I wasn't sure if this talk was worth her getting in trouble. But she seemed far less concerned about that. "I… don't know how to explain it. I don't know… it's… complicated." There was so much to tell her, but I wasn't even sure she'd believe me. It didn't seem real…

"Explain it to me like I'm a five year old." I smiled. It was a statement that Emerson was particularly fond of, one that helped people stop over-thinking their explanations and work on expressing them succinctly and simply. And in the very least it seemed to cause Lottie to stop trembling for a moment to think it through. I was faintly aware of the clock reading 11:17. We still had a little bit of time before my hard deadline and I just wanted to give Lottie the chance to explain things.

"I… um… was a boy." A five year old would understand that, right? Still, I kept my eyes on my hands. "I… killed… Jaime. And they sentenced me to… life in prison, or a rehabilitation facility who had reforms in under a year. So I took the last one." The memory was so foggy. It seemed like I'd go to a drug rehab place, maybe to help with my drinking, though by that point I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in two years, even cleaning up after my mother. But that wasn't what they meant…

"A rehabilitation facility?" They'd offered Lottie the chance at rehabilitation, and she'd been a boy before that point. And now she was a girl… and then it clicked. Well, the concept did. "They changed who you are at that place? Changed you from a boy to a girl?" I didn't get it, didn't get how they do that, or why. It seemed perverse and bizarre. It made sense in terms of violent crime, I figured: girls were not as prone to violence as boys, it was true. More passive, more well thought out. But how did they do that?

"Yeah, pretty much…" I wiped the tears from my cheeks and tried to smile, but it fell flat as paper. I fidgeted with my hands again and continued the story. "I didn't know what would happen until I got there. And… and it was just… horrible. They changed everyone. Everyone there was a boy at one point, and then… I don't know. But they weren't looking to turn us into girls, they were… trying to break us. Once we were broken we could be rehabilitated. Being a girl was just… part of that. A big part… a bigger part than you'd know…"

"And that's where you met Clara?" She nodded softly, pain in her eyes and her body slumping in on itself in pained recollection. The notion seemed even more perverse and broken the more she explained of it; how was our justice system a proponent of this? If Emerson knew this he'd never ever insist she went back. He'd offer her safe harbor until the day she died and beyond, keeping her secrets forever. I wouldn't tell him, though; I'd promised I wouldn't.

"She was my Second… that's how it worked. Firsts and Seconds were paired, and when you became a Second, you got your own First." I fiddled with my fingers, looking over at the clock. Cohen was late for work, now… "I was with Clara for two months. And then she went away. And I don't know where. She never said goodbye. She was just… gone. And I was so lonely… she was my only friend, there."

"Do you think there's any chance we could find her? Do you know her last name? You said it was a rehabilitation facility, right? For one year? That means that eventually they let her out." Firsts and Seconds didn't make much sense to me, but the fact that there was a girl out there who could make my darling girl smile gave me reason enough to want to know more.

I shook my head and played with my fingers. "There were no last names. Even first names were given to us by our Seconds. Clara came up with Lottie, so I'm glad you're letting me keep it…" There was something cathartic about talking to Cohen. I knew she didn't understand, but she listened, and I guess, for now, that was enough. "And I can't try to find her. If they ever find me… the facility… I'll go back. Probably start again. And I can't do that. I can't be a First again…"

"If they ever try to take you, I'll show them the birth certificate that says you're my daughter. Emerson and I will sign declarations that you're our daughter and they're mistaking you for someone else." If they wanted, they could do DNA testing I supposed, but I just wanted to reassure the girl. All she had to go on was a name. "I could go there, you know. Say I was a friend of Clara's before she went there and see if I can find out where she's living now?" Another awkward idea, one that probably wouldn't pan out. But I wanted to show her just how much I was trying. "So…they turn you into a girl, give you a new name, and then what? And how did you escape?"

"Mom…" I tapped the clock on the dash. 11:35. She sighed reluctantly and climbed out of the car and I followed suit. I knew she had plenty more questions, but we had a lot of time still. I actually intended to answer a lot of them today and even more on the car ride home. But she didn't freak out. Her daughter was a boy for all intents and purposes and she was fine with it. I guess I couldn't have asked for much more.

Sophie ♥ · April 10, 2018

35. I’ll do my best.

We walked into the veterinarian building and a small Korean girl smiled at me, and then looked at Lottie with an even bigger beaming expression. "And you must be Charlotte. Your Mom has told me so much about you!" She held out her hand. "I'm Violetta. It's nice to meet you, sweetie." She turn turned to me and let out an exhausted breath. "I am so glad you're here, Cohen; I'm falling asleep on my feet. I'm gonna get my stuff and scoot out of here." I smiled and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you for staying back, Vi; it meant a lot to the both of us."

I shook Violetta's hand and watched as the girl left through a door by the counter. I looked back at Cohen a little apprehensively and followed her through a different door. "So you run this place all by yourself all night…? That seems like a lot of work…" It seemed the tide of questioning had turned. Cohen took out what had to have been a lab coat and pulled it over her arms. I didn't have one, obviously. It made me a little jealous.

"Well, we don't get much going on at night; mostly injured animals from accidents on the roads, sometimes a sick animal. I do house-calls sometimes too, if there's a pet giving birth and there are complications. Plus there's all the animals out back; the strays and the adoptees and the recovering ones. We also look after pets while people go on vacation, which is admittedly not too often around here." I adjusted my coat and pulled my auburn curls up into a simple and sensitive ponytail before slipping on a pair of glasses. It was night and day, like when a superhero goes into their mild-mannered alter-ego mode. "First thing I'm going to have you do is to feed the visitors." Once we were at work, the dynamic changed a bit; I was still her Mom, but I was also her supervisor and I expected her to follow my instructions as such. "Put on one of the rubber aprons to protect your clothes; each cage gets two cups of kibble and half a can of wet. You open the food slot, pull out the tray and fill it, then slot it back in. Water is automatic."

"Okay." That was easy enough, right? But Cohen left me to it on my own, having her own chores to attend to. I pulled the rubber apron on and tied it in the back, then went through the door Cohen had described. There were only about twenty cages collectively, which wasn't too difficult, but I became very unhappy with bending down over and over by the fifth one. I wished they had rolling chairs, but alas. When I'd finally finished nearly an hour had passed and I wandered back into the lobby to find Cohen.

"Hey, the kids give you any trouble?" She shook her head, but still looked remarkably unhappy despite that. "I've gotta go check on a a great dane who's recovering from surgery. Want to give me a hand?" The job would be a handful, there's no doubt about it; 'Alfred' was almost the size of a horse and I was faced with sliding 12 inches of cold mercury thermometer up his backside.

I nodded my head and followed Cohen through another set of doors. This place was a lot bigger than you'd expect a vet's office to be. "Just hold him there." I put my hands along the dog's thighs, which, judging by his exhaustion, he didn't care much anyway. I couldn't imagine getting surgery. Then again, it probably would've happened if I'd stayed at the facility. "What happened to him?"

"Alfred here got shot, actually. Someone broke into the Clarksons’ house and he disabled the man and protected the family. Big guy's a hero, really. The burglar shot him; the bullet went in here." I showed a line of fresh stitching on one side of the dogs chest, and then motioned to a much larger one on the opposite side, the fur shaved away and the skin angry and red and purple. "And came out here. Alfred didn't let it slow him down, though." I slid the thermometer into the dogs behind and ran my finger along his large spine, speaking softly. "Shh, it's okay big guy. It won't take long." I directed my voice back at my daughter. "He was in surgery for six hours because the bullet hit his spine and ricocheted before coming out the other side, leaving dozens of little fragments. He's lucky he can still walk."

"Wow…" And I thought my life was bad. I stayed quiet the rest of the time we cared for Alfred. Cohen examined him for things I could only imagine and I continued to hold his thighs in case Alfred had the sudden urge to leap off the table. He didn't, though, and that was a big relief - I wasn't sure I would've been much help if he'd decided to fight me. Cohen finally finished her exam, took off her gloves, and motioned me out the door. My fingers were shaking. "I could never be a vet. Too scary…"

"I don't think it's scary. These guys are so gentle and lovely. They can tell I love them and so they tend to behave. Mostly." I smiled knowingly and we wandered back to my office, my hand motioning for Lottie to sit down while I started to go through some paperwork. Tonight would probably be a slow night. It felt like a slow night, anyway.

I sat across from Cohen's desk, the name plate on the front reading Dr. Cohen Tovia-Roux. There was a picture of her and Emerson on her desk, though neither of them had the mild worry lines around the eyes that they had now. And there was a wedding picture on a cupboard to the left of the desk, but I couldn't see it very well from where I was sitting.

"You can look at anything you like." I noticed her eyes scanning the room and I smiled, slipping off my white coat and hanging it up before sitting down. "If I had my way, I'd just take care of the animals and have someone else do all this bureaucratic nonsense. I hate paperwork immeasurably." I pulled aside Alfred's file and began to take down notes from his examination tonight; his temperature, temperament and the rate of healing of his incisions. "I can do microsurgery near an animal’s spine for an entire day and get it perfect, but I always manage to mess up my paperwork. Ugh."

"Well, I'm good with numbers, if…" It wasn't an exciting career concept, but I was grounded for the next week. That meant I had to spend my time here anyway. And while I liked animals enough, the bigger ones tended to scare me. It was an unfortunate side effect of being no taller than Alfred. "I could help out. I mean, my writing is a little shotty. But I'll do my best.”

It was probably wildly unprofessional to allow my thirteen year old to assist with my paperwork, but she was a pretty gifted child. "These papers here are the logs of medications administered today, and each has an ID# for the staff member and an ID# for the animal. You need to find each of the animal’s files by ID# and list the medications administered today, the time, and the staff ID number. It's a paper trail for liability and stuff." I watched to see how she reacted to her assignment and whether she understood what I needed done.

"Alright. Easy enough." And copying data from one page to another probably wouldn't conflict with my writing abilities, or lack thereof. I just had to mimic, and that I could do. Probably. So Cohen pushed the files across the table to me and I picked a pen up off her desk, starting to sift through the paperwork. Pick up log file - find animal ID - pick up animal list - find ID - pick up animal folder - write ID from log file - copy information - repeat.

Sophie ♥ · April 10, 2018

36. Exactly the same.

"Do you think you might want to go back to being a boy, gum-drop?" I didn't look up as I asked the question, my pen scratching across the paper before me. "I'm just wondering, given the choice, what you'd rather be. And if it's a girl there's some stuff I want to talk to you about." Now that I'd done all the research I had, and the pieces were finally put into place, I could actually start to offer some advice and assistance.

I blinked curiously, lowering the paper from my face. "I don't understand…" I had a choice? I mean, before the facility, I was a boy. At the facility, I was a girl. And now that I left, I thought retaining what the facility had done was a requirement. It wasn't required by anyone specifically, but required by the universe. I was a girl now. Maybe I didn't have all the right parts for it, but no matter how I cut my hair or what clothes I wore, I was indescribably a girl.

"Well, you were a boy before. You could be a boy again if you like. I'll love you as my son just as much as I love you as my daughter. I want you to give it some thought, who you are and who you wanna be." Admittedly, I knew it would be very hard to see Lottie as a boy with her porcelain skin and pretty blue eyes, but with the right hair-cut, a proper outfit? She could pass as a boy again, albeit it a very diminutive one, but a boy nonetheless. "I don't want to influence your choice, gum-drop. Both are good choices. It's up to you. Just because they did this to you doesn't mean it's too late to go back to who you were, if that's your choice."

I shrugged my shoulders and wrote down another ID number. "I don't know. I mean… it's weird. When I was in the facility all I could think about was that I was a boy and I never wanted that to change. And maybe they changed that or maybe I changed on my own, but… this isn't so bad. I mean, it's not better. It's kind of exactly the same." Granted, I had no experience being a girl publicly, and I imagined I'd change my mind once I started school. But right now, being a boy didn't seem any different to being a girl. You could have flipped a coin and I wouldn't have even bothered looking. "Maybe I'll be a girl, though. It's easier with the way I look. High school was difficult enough with just my height; I couldn't imagine doing it with my body now."

"That's a good point." I looked up with a smile and decided to offer her a little bit more. "There are pills you can take. They change your hormone levels to a girl and will help you grow in the chest." Admittedly, she already had what were very obviously a girl’s breasts, however small, so I wondered if they'd had her on such medicine in the prison anyway. "I mean, that's your choice. You'll fit in with the girls right now, but if you want to blossom with the rest of them it could be good for your self confidence." With her bra on, though, her chest was actually visible and evident and that was definitely an improvement.

"Yeah. Maybe. I guess I'll start school and make sure this is what I want, then we can look into that stuff." Realistically, I didn't need to go to school. I already knew all that stuff anyway. But I supposed it was important to keep up appearances if we wanted to pass me off as Cohen and Emerson's kid. I picked up the ID list again, squinting to read the numbers.

I smiled in agreement and we continued to do our paperwork, the conversation taking a much more casual standpoint after that. Movies. Music. Books. Simple stuff. It turned out that Lottie loved to read and that made me very proud ~ Emerson and I both spent a lot of time reading, after all. We did the routine chores throughout the evening and it wasn't until about three in the morning that something out of the ordinary happened: a man came in the door with a limp form wrapped in a blanket and a sense of desperation in his voice. "Cohen!" He shouted loud enough for us both to hear and I quickly made my way to the foyer. "Cohen. It's Rich. He got out this morning and was asleep behind the car wheel and I didn't notice him and he didn't mean and-" The man was hysterical and I quickly took the bundle of blanket from him, the small dog inside trembling and breathing raggedly - it didn't look good. "Okay, okay, Jonathan. I need you to calm down; I'm going to look at Rich now." I looked over my shoulder at Lottie. "Gum-drop, get a coffee for Jonathan and then meet me in the operating room."

The operating… "O-okay…" I hurried behind the counter to the break room and put a fresh pot of coffee on. When I came back into the foyer Jonathan was sitting with his head in his lap and Cohen was gone. "It'll… just be a minute… the pot was cold… and… um…" I didn't say anything else, though, and a minute later went back to pour the coffee. I handed Jonathan the mug and put my arm around him. I had to help Cohen out, though, so I left him and went into the operating room, careful to stay by the door and not risk contamination. That was a thing, right? "I'm here…"

"Wash your hands, put on a pair of gloves and a mask before coming in; everything's just there by the door." The little white dog was laid out on the steel table, the bright lights from above illuminating just how bad it was. His hair was matted in red blood and a good portion of his ribs were caved in, causing his breathing to be shallow and ragged. I took a needle and pressed it into the foil cap of a bottle, drawing out a clear liquid before sliding it just behind one of the dogs legs. He wasn't a big dog, so I had to be conservative with the anesthesia dose; but he calmed down after a moment and laid still, breathing shallow. It wasn't good.

I was trembling as I washed my hands, which I did six times because I kept inadvertently slipping my thumb in my mouth. I couldn't stop it. I finally put the mask on first, washed my hands, and then the gloves, but by the time I made it to Cohen's side I was visibly shaking head to toe. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't suck my thumb. I couldn't do anything. And I couldn't stop shaking.

I was used to doing this on my own but the extra pair of hands couldn't hurt. I reached under the table and handed the girl a stethoscope. "Put this on, and then hold it here." I motioned exactly where on the dog’s chest. "Count out loud with each beat of his heart, like one-two-three-four-five and over and over, and tell me if it starts to get slower or faster, okay?" I turned to a large metal cabinet - the sterilizer - and retrieved a tray of shining steel objects. I was going to have to do surgery: at least one of his ribs had pierced a lung.

Counting was impossible. I had the stethoscope in my ears, but my hands were shaking so badly on the little dog's body that I couldn't count the heartbeats. I even closed my eyes, but the sounds of the metalware were too much. I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn't sure I could do this… but it was my job for today. I had to stay strong. I had to help Cohen.

"Count out loud, gum-drop. Close your eyes and count." I spoke to her in firm, even words as I took the scalpel and made my first incision. The little animal trembled and I knew his heart rate would race, and then peter back out; I expected it to happen. Lottie was trembling, but I could see her lips mutter almost silently as she attempted to count as she'd been instructed.

"F…fast…er… um… um…" My head was spinning. The shaking was getting worse. I just wanted my thumb in my mouth, and I found myself playing with the mouthpiece with my rubber thumb. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! I kept my eyes closed tight, doing my best to follow instructions, but the world started to fade from my senses. I couldn't hear a heartbeat and I couldn't hear metal tools and I wasn't sure I was still standing. And above all, I felt the horrible sickness in my stomach.

"Stay with me, gum-drop." I could see her wavering as I looked up, though my hands knew exactly what they were doing, gently working with the animal’s flesh like an artist with a paint brush would work across the canvas. "Open your eyes, look at me. Just at me, gum-drop, don't look down. Look at me. Trust me. And count out that heartbeat. You can do it, pretty girl, I believe in you."

I managed to open my eyes, my vision flickering back and forth like we were in a dimly lit room. And I kept my eyes on Cohen's for a while, but like anyone you ever say 'don't look down' to, I looked down. And the sight of the mangled little puppy, which at that point I was certain was dead, though I later learned he wasn't, with the metal prongs inside him and blood all over the table. And the next thing I knew, I'd hit the floor.

Lottie - A Calibeen Story

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