Finding Tranquility Page 10

  A pang hit me. She must’ve been so lonely. All by herself in a foreign county. No family. Probably too afraid of being found out to make real friends, at least in the beginning.

  And yet, it was her own fucking fault. How could she do this to me? My best friend, my lover, the person I promised to spend the rest of my life with. Not knowing what else to do, I perched on the edge of the bed, putting my head between my knees.

  Christa rubbed my back. For a moment, I let her, but it was all too much. I couldn’t stay in this room. The walls were closing in on me. With a cry, I jumped to my feet. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  I rushed for the door. Behind me, Christa called my name, but I didn’t stop. There was too much to deal with, and I couldn’t work out how I felt while she watched me. I raced to the end of the hall, down the stairs to the ground floor, and out. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care.

  Chapter 11

  Halfway across the hotel lobby, I realized I’d just fled my own room with nowhere to go like a dumbass. Not knowing what else to do, I wandered into the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. Liquid courage. I waited for the welcome numbness of the alcohol to hit me. It didn’t come; I hadn’t felt anything since my eyes locked with Brett’s. Christa’s. Dammit. There was no need to drink away my feelings: the shock was doing an excellent job of that. I couldn’t think, could only react, try to appear normal.

  Still, the alcohol couldn’t hurt. After downing a second shot, I forced my feet to carry me back to the room. Maybe I’d get lucky, and Christa would have left.

  No such luck. When the door swung open, she sat on the bed, right where I left her.

  “You knew I’d be back?”

  “I hoped so.”

  “You know me so well,” I grumbled. “I don’t know you anymore at all.”

  “Then let’s go somewhere you can get to know me. Some place where you can walk out if you need to. I’m pretty open. And, God, Jess, it’s good to see you. I never let myself think about how much I miss you. I’m so sorry I had to leave.”

  I wanted to believe her. Brett had always been a terrible liar, or so I’d thought. Like the time he told me he hadn’t jumbled all my shoes in the closet, that a panther had broken into our house. He’d never been able to hold my gaze, though, which made it easy. Christa stared at me, meeting my eyes steadily. Had she gotten better at lying? Or did she mean the words?

  After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded. It was easier to go along with her than to argue, and my brain still wasn’t working properly. Without speaking, I grabbed my jacket off the chair it had landed on when I entered. The two of us headed silently down the hall toward the elevators. She was probably at as much of a loss for words as I was.

  When we got outside, away from the hotel, I finally found my voice. “How did this...? When? Why?” My face burned, and I couldn’t finish the sentence. “I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Christa said. “I know you must have a million questions. I had all those questions too, and more. It’s not like I woke up one day and said, ‘You know, I think I’d like to try looking like a woman.’ That’s not how it works. At least, that’s not how it was for me.”

  “How does it work?” Science. Focus on the science, don’t think about the emotions. That was something I could do. Knowledge could help me understand one day. Maybe.

  Her words came out woodenly, as if this was a speech she’d practiced or maybe recited over and over. She must be exhausted from having to explain her life choices. For a minute, I wanted to withdraw the question. But having more information would help me process, to start feeling normally.

  “It’s a long process,” she said. “For me, the decision came after decades of feeling like something was wrong, months and years of agonizing over how to make things better. Not all trans people go through that. There was a lot of soul-searching, confusion, self-loathing, and therapy for me, before and after I got to Canada. It took time to learn to accept why I felt the way I did, and then longer to decide how to make things right. Some people never start, or never complete, the physical changes, some do them in stages. Some people have the full surgery all at once.”

  It felt like she was talking about someone else, a stranger. Not like my husband saying these things to me. A horrible, dark feeling rose in my chest. Quickly, I asked another question to distract myself from the feelings.

  “What about you?”

  “For years, I felt off. My body wasn’t right. You remember how we used to pore over those biology and anatomy books in high school?” I nodded, and she continued, “You always wanted to be a doctor, so of course it made sense. But I was just fascinated with the bodies. I know you thought it was all about sex, or that I was helping you, but that wasn’t it. The female bodies were so beautiful, and my body felt wrong. I don’t know how else to say it. On the inside, I’ve always been a woman. It took a long time for me to come to terms with why I felt the way I did, and even then, I needed to gather the courage to live my truth.”

  “Is this why you never came home?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t try to hide the tears forming in my eyes. “Why you left me?”

  The sadness in her eyes made the jumble of emotions inside me whirl even more. She didn’t get to be sad about leaving me. And behind the sadness, a hint of pity made me want to smack her. She didn’t get to feel sorry for me. Not after everything she did.

  “I never planned to leave you. I didn’t want the job, didn’t want to move to Los Angeles, and the thought of getting on a plane terrified me. While I was waiting, I had a panic attack, and when the flight started boarding, I gave my boarding pass to this guy in the waiting area. Dan. He was there saying good-bye to his kids because he couldn’t afford to go with them. He got on the plane instead of me.” Her voice cracked. “I live with his death on my conscience every day.

  “I know what you think, how you must feel. But my leaving wasn’t about you.”

  My heart broke at the words. Running out on me wasn’t about me. Abandoning me wasn’t about me. Faking his own death to get out of being married to me wasn’t about me. I just shook my head, not even knowing how to react to that. Obviously, Brett had gone through something huge, but hearing him say that the decision to walk away had nothing to do with me stabbed me in the gut. How horribly dismissive.

  “I guess I thought I meant more to you than that.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, Jess. That’s not what I meant at all. Of course, you meant something to me. You meant everything to me. I thought you deserved better. You remember how miserable I was?”

  When someone you love dies, it’s easy to push aside all the bad, to remember only the good. After years of practice, it took me a minute to recall those last few days. “I remember how freaked out you were. How you were so quiet for days before the flight, and you kept trying to think up excuses to stay home.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I also remembered the fighting, the tears, the frustration, but now wasn’t the time to mention those things.

  “Yeah. I wanted to go, for you, but in the end, I couldn’t. I wandered around, trying to figure out how to tell you what I’d done, when I saw the first plane crash on the TV. And when I realized that it was my plane that hit the second tower…I know I’ve never really believed in religion or anything, but on that day, it felt like God had finally freed me. Like He made things right by leading me to decide not to board. I guess, I had to feel like I was given a second chance, like there was some greater purpose, or the guy who took my boarding pass died for nothing.”

  “I’m very glad you didn’t die that day. What if I hadn’t made you accept an interview for a job you never wanted in a city you didn’t want to live in? Would this still have happened?”

  Christa squeezed my hand, sending a wave of warmth through me. This was so alien, yet also weirdly familiar. “Probably. I wasn’t happy with who I was. In the end, I’d have come to the same conclusions. The only difference
is if I hadn’t been on that plane, I’d have spent God knows how long hiding it, hurting you, and you’d have started to resent me.”

  “No, I…” Whatever words I might have used to finish that sentence would have been a lie, so I didn’t.

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We’d probably have moved to Los Angeles, where I’d have been miserable while you went to medical school. How did you even pay for it on your own?”

  The blood drained from my face. “I used the life insurance money. Your insurance.”

  “See? We couldn’t afford the schools you wanted. You wouldn’t have gotten the life insurance, which means you would never have been able to go.”

  “You think I care about that?” I stopped dead in the middle of the cobbled street, not caring that other tourists had to move around us. My heart pounded with fury. “You think I would’ve chosen to trade my husband, the only man I ever loved, for a medical license?”

  “Of course not, but your career is the silver lining. I never would’ve been the husband you deserved. I woke up every day hating myself. I resented you for being so good, so happy with being you; something I never thought I could be. The plane crash saved me, Jess. Before September 11, all I did was wonder how much longer I had to go through the motions, whether I’d be able to find a way out or whether I’d get so desperate I had no choice but to end my life.”

  My blood ran cold. All those years, living beside him, and I’d had no idea. He’d hinted at it once, one day when we were in high school, but not a peep since. I’d thought it was just a bad day, that he’d gotten over it. How could I have been so self-absorbed? How did I miss emotions that ran so deep?

  “That day was tragic for everyone, including me. I sat in a state of shock, just like everyone else. But then I had a revelation. All of a sudden, I didn’t have to worry about facing you, of putting you through fights and therapy. Brett Cooper was dead, and Jess Cooper was free to start her life over with a husband who appreciated her.”

  “So glad the terrorists could help you out by killing thousands of people,” I said bitterly.

  She flinched. “You know it’s not like that. It was a horrible day for everyone. But if even a tiny light can be borne out of that type of darkness, Christa is that light. And I’m proud to be Christa.

  “I can’t say I’m not glad I didn’t get on that plane. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go back and stop the attacks if I had the chance. I’m not trading my life for all the others—that was never a decision I got to make. It’s not the choice I would’ve made, if I’d known.”

  On the surface, her words didn’t make much sense, but the more I thought about it, the more I sort of got what she was trying to say. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Jess, I’m sorry for hurting you. I really am. But I’m not sorry for who I’ve become or for being happy with myself now.” Again, she met my eyes steadily. Her pupils nearly swallowed the brown. Not a hint that she was lying. Maybe I was fooling myself, but she seemed sincere.

  “Or for having better legs than me?” I grumbled.

  She smiled. “Longer legs, maybe. Never better.”

  “Still. Unfair.”

  Our walk brought us to a small poutinerie located at the base of the mountain. My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d meant to eat dinner at least an hour ago. After we ordered and sat, Christa asked if I had more questions for her.

  I glanced around. “Is this the place? Is it okay to talk here?”

  “Absolutely. It’s so crowded, no one will overhear anything.”

  “Okay.” My head was so full of questions, it was impossible to know where to start. “What is the preferred term? What do I call you?”

  “Call me Christa,” she said. “My pronouns are she and her, just like yours. Honestly, I prefer that you call me a woman, because that’s what I am. But trans woman is fine too.”

  I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Do you have a vagina?”

  Her jaw ticked, reminding me how Brett used to bite his tongue when he was angry. Shit. That was a horribly insensitive thing to say. “I mean...”

  She swallowed, and when she spoke, her voice had gone up three octaves. “Why? Do you want to see it?”

  Our eyes met, and I realized she was joking to hide her discomfort. My cheeks flamed at my faux pas. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “No, you absolutely shouldn’t. If anyone else asked, I’d walk away. But under the circumstances, I’ll let it go this once.”

  I started to apologize again, but she cut me off.

  “No, really, it’s fine.” She took a bite of her pulled pork and bacon-covered poutine and chewed it thoroughly before answering. “I started living as a woman a few months after 9/11. My friend Bo helped me get started. He did drag, and his confidence inspired me to explore myself. I had to learn not to be afraid.” She paused, blinking rapidly. I wanted to ask more, but waited patiently for her to continue.

  “After I moved to Quebec, I started seeing a psychiatrist who had worked with people with gender dysphoria. It wasn’t a specialty back then. My doctor started me on female hormones and had me live as a woman, as Christa McCall for a few years. The estrogen raised my voice a bit, but I trained to make it even higher, more feminine.”

  That was the difference I’d noticed when she first spoke, the one thing that might have made me think this was all a fluke, if Christa hadn’t recognized me. Brett’s voice had been rough. Christa’s voice was softer. I told her that.

  “I was too surprised to pretend not to recognize you. That would’ve required quick thinking. And I’ve never been able to lie to you.”

  I snorted and swept my gaze from head to toe. “Oh, really?”

  She flushed. “That’s not the same. I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know who I was, not when we were kids. Part of me can’t believe you recognized me. I’ve had a ton of work done: my brow’s been softened, my nose shaved, and I got cheek implants.”

  “I’d know you anywhere. Besides, your eyes haven’t changed at all. It’s like my soul recognized yours. We always had that special connection.” Even with her looking the way she did, sitting here with my Brett seemed so comfortable, so natural. Just another layer to add to my intense confusion.

  “Yeah, we really have.” She squeezed my hand, looking down and blinking rapidly before she continued. “Anyway, to answer your original question, I did have a couple of operations. I couldn’t go through the system, because my identifying documents said I was already a female. So, I talked to the friends who helped me get across the border. They know a lot of people, made some calls for me, and found a doctor who’d accept cash and wouldn’t ask questions. That doctor gave me breasts in 2006. I kept saving, and five years later, I had the money to complete gender reassignment.”

  “Was it weird?” My breasts were such an integral part of my identity, waking up without them seemed like as much a loss as if I woke up without a nose or my left arm.

  “No.” She smiled at me. “That’s the difference. I felt like, finally, my body was right. I’d been fixed. Waking up after the surgery felt like coming home. For the first time, I wasn’t at war with my own body.”

  “Then I’m glad you did it,” I said. “I just wish you’d been secure enough in me, in our relationship, to tell me what was going on. Maybe I could’ve helped you.”

  “Maybe, but I couldn’t worry about how other people would feel or think, or whether my actions might hurt you. Sometimes in life, a person has to put themselves first. I didn’t have a choice. I was drowning, and you couldn’t save me.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m glad to see you again. I always hated having to hide part of myself from you, and I hated not being able to tell you I was alive and well.” She took a deep breath. “And I’ll understand if you tell me to go to hell and never talk to me again.”

  My eyes met hers. Christa wasn’t the only one carrying a big secret. I could’ve nodded, walked away, checked into a different hotel, and
never spoken to her again. But that wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. I didn’t know what I thought, how I felt about any of this. Couldn’t know, until I got a lot of time to myself to process. But there was one thing I did know, and that one truth propelled my next words.

  “From the day I met you, I wanted you in my life,” I began. “I fell in love with the person that you were then. I don’t know who you are now, but I owe it to myself to find out.”

  She smiled and opened her mouth, but I raised one hand to quiet her.

  “Because,” I said, “if I walk out that door and never speak to you again, it wouldn’t be fair to our son.”

  Chapter 12

  A million emotions washed over Christa’s face. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I waited, watching her over my water glass, not sure whether to say anything else. Maybe there was a better way to tell her. Maybe there was a better way for her to tell me she’d faked her own death. Or any way, other than waiting for me to literally run into her. Too late now.

  Finally, she eked out a noise that nearly resembled a word. “Wh-ow?”

  My lips curled upward, but there was no humor in my smile. I downed the glass and folded my arms on the tabletop. “Before you left, remember I wasn’t feeling great? Lethargic, not really hungry? I wasn’t sick in the mornings, not then, but I didn’t feel right.”

  For a split second, a huge smile split her face. Then, slowly, her smile dropped. I didn’t know if she was sad to find out she had a child, sad that she missed out on almost eighteen years of his life, or worried that he wouldn’t want to meet her. Possibly all of the above.

  She’d get around to telling me how she felt eventually. But first, I had a lot to share with her. “I scheduled a doctor’s appointment after you bought your plane ticket. My period had been late before, so I wasn’t sure, but I suspected. That was actually why I had my wedding dress out to make you the square in the first place. I had christening gowns on the brain. I didn’t want to mention it until I knew for sure. But then I never got a chance to tell you.”