For Us

13. Skin in the game.

{Jon}

By the time Jon pulled up to River House for his shift, there was a photo in his phone of Kurt and Cary in the grocery store holding a massive bag of refined white sugar between their faces for the selfie. Shaking his head, Jon laughed at their huge, cheeky grins. So that happened.

He silenced his personal phone and shoved it deep in his pocket to jog up the steps into his work house. Three of the four bedrooms were the children's rooms--the fourth bedroom was the River House office where staff logged the events of the day and Jon did the schedules, budgets and emails. Shift change had technically happened fifteen minutes ago, but Angel was still there, frowning and flipping through their log book.

She pushed back from the desk with a sigh when he entered, running her slim, brown hand through her hair, faded now to the lemon-green of Mountain Dew. "Can I talk to you, boss?"

Jon closed the door, in case one of their kids wandered by on a late night bathroom break, and leaned against the desk. "What's up?"

"Jordin came out to me today."

His stomach twisted, but he only lifted his eyebrows. "In what way?"

She slouched in the chair with her ripped knees wide and her combat boots set firmly against the floor. "He's not sure. He has feelings for guys and—he thinks he might be happier as a girl. He's pretty mixed up and miserable."

Jon tightened his hands on the edge of the desk, then released them, waiting for her reaction with a neutral expression on his face.

"I haven't put it in the log book yet because—he asked me not to tell the other staff. Even though he knows that's not how it works here. He thinks he'll be in trouble and lose his bed."

"He won't," Jon said shortly. "We're here to support and empower, regardless of our organizational beliefs. Jordin can be any colour of the rainbow. That's the agreement we made with Social Services."

Angel was quiet, her dark eyes unreadable, watching him.

"Did you tell him about two-spirited people?" Jon started shuffling through papers on the desk. "I think we have something from the Gay-Straight Alliance here."

"Yeah I did," she said. "And I told him I'm bi and queer and he's gonna be okay."

He shot a look at the door, his hands coming up involuntarily like he was going to need to defend them both. He opened his fists again. "You're taking a risk telling me that," he said quietly.

"I don't think I am, boss." Her teeth flashed. "I figured you knew already. I'm not that good at hiding it."

He lowered his eyes, brushing the front of his hoodie like he had some crumbs from his solitary lunch on there. "I didn't assume. Thank you for trusting me."

"Just want you to know I have skin in the game," she said. "Do I log this? His side of the conversation? I don't want it to change the way staff treat him. But if he starts asking us to use a different pronoun—maybe everyone needs the heads up."

Jon exhaled, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. The first day back on nights was always the worst, the most disorientating. "Yes, log it." His voice sounded dry and flat. "He knows to keep you private, yes?" He gave her a sharp look.

She shrugged. "I wouldn't have told him if I was worried."

A tension headache was starting to split his skull. If he had to terminate one of his own staff for being bi and queer he wasn't sure he could go through with it.

"I'm single and not looking," she clarified. "Too much shit on my plate for a relationship, same as you."

He let it pass, flipping his hood up to cover his burning ears. He'd never figured out how to turn off his blush-reflex. "How did the conversation land with Jordin?"

"Good, I think." She was finding her place in the log book. "I think he was relieved to get some of that off his chest. This home's the most stability he's had in a couple years and that scares him. I told him we got his back."

"Yeah we do," Jon said. He tried to open his ribs to get a full breath in. "I'll reach out to the Gay-Straight Alliance. They offered to do diversity training a year ago and maybe it's time to take them up on that." It was going to be a minefield to get that approved by his boss, and probably he'd be stuck doing the training himself informally in staff meetings. Talk about drawing unwanted attention.

"That'll be really good for the team," Angel said. "Open everybody's mind a little."

"Don't count on it." Jon's expression was wry as he met her eyes. "Keep your head down around here, all right? You're doing good work with the children and I can't afford to lose you."

She gave him a little two-finger salute to her lemon-lime bangs. "You got it boss. Glad it's you in the captain's chair." She bumped his arm on her way out.

He checked her log—suitably brief—and signed off on it. It took most of the night to compose a similarly brief email request to his boss about contacting the GSA, trying to sound matter of fact and like this didn't matter to him personally one way or another—but that it did matter enough for his boss to respond quickly.

After his fifth aborted attempt at a cheerful but business-like opening sentence, Jon pulled his sweater up over his face and wrapped his arms around his head, screaming into the hot, muffled space. It felt like he held Jordin and Angel's lives in his hands and every word mattered.

The ragged edge of that scream, the volume of it filling his own ears, eased the tension in his body and he pulled his sweater straight, taking a deep steadying breath. Aligning his spine, he centred on his breathing to pray.

Jesus-Lord. It was like peeling his fists open finger by finger. Be peace for us. Be love for us. Have mercy. He felt like his scream had gone up as a prayer as well. He wrote the email, combed over it for faults, and sent it.

He was making the children's bag lunches when Jordin shuffled in for breakfast, a pair of sparkly purple clips shoved in his long dark hair and a defiant look on his face.

"Do you want me to braid your hair for you today?" Jon asked. Jordin slid him a flat look, one hand touching the clips quickly. "I can do a French braid," Jon added causally. "I used to do them for my sisters."

"A Dutch braid," Jordin said, drawing his finger down the back of his head.

"That's inverted, right? Sure I can do that. Find me a YouTube tutorial and I'll work on it while you eat your cereal."

The day staff came on while Jon was braiding Jordin's hair, a pair of purple clips held between his teeth. One woman's eyebrows shot up, but the other older woman just smiled tolerantly. Jon smiled back with his teeth gritted on the clips. He was supposed to be off in ten minutes, with a couple hours to sleep before class, but it didn't take a genius to realize he was going to have to stay and process this in person with these two staff.

On the up-side: his Dutch braid looked completely bad-ass and Jordin was grinning as he headed off to school, crowned with sparkling clips.

1206 words.

*Annnnd there's the pinch with Jon's job. How do you think is Jordin's growing awareness of his sexuality will make Jon's job more difficult? Do you think it's a good thing Jon is there for Jordin?

I mean, if Jon loses his job here maybe he has a future as a hair stylist. How do you think Kurt would feel about that? LOL*