When Vince called Jordan at 6:00 a.m. Puerto Rico time, internationally, on his cell phone, instead of emailing or waiting for him to log onto Skype, Jordan finally understood how serious his grandmother's illness had become. She had days, maybe, if she was lucky. They were surprised she'd even lasted these past few months, but she'd always been stubborn. Jordan had never realized stubbornness could apply to this kind of thing.
He was still staring at the blank screen of his cell phone thirty minutes later. He was still on his bed, in the same position he had been when he'd gotten the news.
He swallowed. He had to go see her. He didn't want this to be the last thing about her that he'd remember, but he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't go. Even though she hated him, now, he still loved her, and she'd been such an important part of his life for so long.
In his left hand was the scrap of paper with the address of the hospice scribbled on it. His phone hung loose in his right.
Almost an hour had passed and it was about 5:00 in the morning. Would Darcey be awake? Jordan sent him a quick text.
I need to talk to you. I have to see my grandma. She's dying.
Terrence would be asleep for hours, yet. Iffy wouldn't be up until 8:00, and Nate until 9:00. If Darcey didn't answer, there was nobody else.
About a half an hour later, Darcey called him.
"Hey," Jordan murmured.
"How can I help?" Darcey asked. "What can I do?"
Jordan smiled and sobbed at the same time, lurching forward and covering his mouth like he was about to vomit. "I don't know," he choked. The tightness in his throat was sharp, like barbed wire. "I don't... oh, god, Darcey, I haven't talked to her in six years. But I have to see her. If I don't at least try, I'll hate myself forever."
"Okay," Darcey said softly. "Do you want me to take you to wherever she is?" His voice was hesitant. "I assume in some kind of assisted care? Are they open on weekends?"
"You don't have to," Jordan said, because he didn't want Darcey to be uncomfortable. But his voice was small and afraid, because, yes, he did want Darcey to go with him, to be there to keep him safe.
"I don't care what they'll think of me," Darcey said. "After what they did to you? Fuck them. I'm just worried about you and how that will affect the way you're treated there."
"Then yes," Jordan said. His voice was wavery and watery. "Please."
"Okay." There was a pause and a muffled groan, then Darcey cleared his throat and said, a little clearer, "Well, I'm just waking up right now, so it'll take me a few minutes. Are there visiting hours or can you go in whenever?"
"My cousin said whenever."
"I have to see if my mom's up and ask her about the car," Darcey said. "If I can't take it, I'll have to take the bus, and it doesn't start running until seven. I'll text you and let you know once I know, okay?"
"Okay." Jordan paused to clear his throat, pressing his hand to his mouth as he tried to force himself to breathe. "I'm going to need at least an hour to get my shit together before I can leave the house, so that's okay."
"All right. I'm getting close to being able to afford a shitty beater car. Maybe in the next month or so."
"Thank you, Darcey," Jordan said, half a phrase behind in the conversation.
"Of course."
"No," he repeated, softer, but firmer. "Thank you."
Darcey paused. "You're welcome. I'll let you know when I can be over, okay? I love you."
"I love you." When the line went dead, Jordan sat still, quietly, for a few minutes, the phone still pressed against his ear as he stared, unfocused, at the wall.
He jumped when his text tone went off, and he checked his screen.
I can borrow the car but I have to have it home by 1.
Okay.
When Jordan finally placed the phone down on his bed, the soft jolt of his hand stopping against the sheets triggered something, and his eyes welled and his throat tightened and he dropped his face into his hands and cried. The walls to the apartments in this building were thin, so he tried to be quiet. Despite having lived there for so long, he didn't know any of his neighbors, but he still didn't want them to hear him fall apart.
His eyes burned, like someone had ground coarse salt into them, and his air came in short, unsteady, wheezing gasps that didn't do much but make him dizzy.
Nothing had changed, and Jordan knew that. He'd lost his grandma years ago. But even though it was unrealistic and would never happen, he'd still been hoping, somewhere, that things would change, that she'd come around even if his parents and brother wouldn't.
And now she was dying, still hating him.
She probably didn't want to see him. According to Vince, she was still saying terrible things about him and his transition. He didn't know if she knew he'd been on hormones. She definitely didn't know about the surgery. She might not even recognize him.
Even if she did, she might kick him out anyway.
But he had to at least say goodbye. Even if she hated him. Even if she cursed him out. He had to at least try.
He managed to get himself back under control and clean himself up to be mostly presentable by the time Darcey arrived. He knocked, even as he let himself in, to announce his presence. Jordan was still barefoot and shirtless and he stood as the door closed, meeting Darcey halfway across the room. He pulled Jordan into a tight hug and only whispered, "I'm sorry, Jordan."
There were no 'it's okay's or 'we'll figure it out's because both of them knew that none of it was true. But Darcey was there, and it eased the pain, even if only a little.
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked. "Do you even want to?"
"Not really," Jordan murmured. He rubbed the back of his arm across his face and sniffled one more time, then added, "I could really use a cup of tea, though. Do you want some?"
"I'm okay," Darcey said. "Want me to join you in the kitchen?"
Jordan nodded. Darcey followed.
They were quiet as Jordan filled and put on the kettle, leaning back on opposite counters, feet out and almost close enough to touch. Jordan reached for his gunpowder green, part of a welcome back gift basket from some of his coworkers. It was loose leaf, so he grabbed a spice bag to measure it into, too. He turned his back on Darcey to watch the kettle, even though he'd be able to hear it across the apartment, and he tapped the top of the tin, hollow and metallic in the quiet kitchen. After a few minutes of quiet punctured only by the tap, tap, tapping, Darcey stepped up behind him, placing his hand on Jordan's hip and pulling him a little closer. But he still gave Jordan his space and Jordan was so grateful for that, because even though he wanted Darcey to wrap him up in his arms and never let go, it would be too much right now, and he would break down again.
"Things were going so well," he finally whispered, almost a whimper, a whine of protest. "With my promotion and the surgery and everything going so well in my new position. With you finding a job you can really thrive in and finding Puff. Your insurance and everything being reinstated." He paused and took in a shaky breath. "What happened?"
Darcey didn't answer and Jordan wasn't expecting him to. Life had happened. His family had happened.
"How are things going with the school search?" Jordan asked abruptly.
"I –" Darcey stopped as sharply as Jordan had started, and his hand fell away from Jordan's hip. Jordan looked over his shoulder. Darcey was leaning against the counter, shoulders hunched in and hands stuffed in his pockets. "I haven't been looking," he said, and it wasn't a lie, he promised himself, because he hadn't been. He hadn't looked into anything since he applied at the CIA, which he still hadn't told anyone outside of his parents about. He wasn't going to go, anyway, even if he was accepted, so why worry everyone? Right?
"Okay," Jordan said. "I was just wondering." Darcey always got withdrawn and quiet like this whenever Jordan brought it up, and it didn't make sense, because culinary school had been so important to him when they first met. Now that the government was giving him a free ride there was no reason to put off applying to the few culinary schools around the state, but the discharge situation as a whole had been messy and painful for him. Maybe he still needed more time to process everything.
Things had been a little weird while Jordan worked on navigating his new job and Darcey learned to navigate Jordan's new body, but then, transition phases always were, but they were still good, they were still happy, but now... now Jordan didn't know. He was confused and hurt and scared like a small child who'd fallen and hit his head in an unfamiliar area and couldn't find anyone to help.
He ran his hand through his hair, fist curling in tight at the nape of his neck. He took a slow, unsteady breath, tightened it a little more. Supposedly, snapping a rubber band against the wrist would help in situations like these, but it never had. This did. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was enough to bring him out of his head so he could try to look at things a little less emotionally.
Jordan dropped his hand back to the counter. Darcey was quiet, watching him. Finally, he spoke.
"Just let me know whenever you're ready to go, okay?" he said. His voice was quiet, soft. "Like I said, my mom needs the car back at 1:00. So I'd need to leave here around 12:40. But it's only, what –" He paused and glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Barely 6:00 a.m., so we have plenty of time. And if you need me to, I can always take the bus back again, or you can come home with me. My sisters will be there, but we can always take a walk if you need some time alone."
Jordan shook his head. "You don't have to come all the way back just so –"
"I know," Darcey said. "But I can if things get bad and you need me to. I know you can call Terrence or Iffy, too, if you want. But I'm here, okay?"
Jordan smiled weakly and nodded.
"And my mom doesn't work," he said. "She just volunteers a few times a week. So she's around, and if you feel comfortable talking to her, she's a pretty good listener."
"Thank you," Jordan murmured.
Darcey took his hand. The teakettle started to whistle, but he left it for the moment.
Then Darcey's hand was on the back of Jordan's neck and Jordan's nose was buried in Darcey's chest and he was crying, heavy sobs that racked him to the bone.
He didn't know how much time passed after that. At one point, Darcey turned off the stove, and Jordan's tea leaves still sat dry in his mug, untouched.
The hospice was about forty-five minutes away, out in the neighborhood where Jordan had grown up, past the community center and past his old house. The first thirty were silent, no speaking, no music, just Jordan's breathing and Darcey tapping on the steering wheel.
They were passing the park where Jordan's family used to go for his brother's birthday parties every spring when Jordan blurted, "I really thought my grandma would be the one I could trust."
Darcey glanced over, then back at the road. He was silent, waiting for Jordan to continue, but he didn't. "Yeah?" he finally urged, gently.
"She never said anything about my clothes or my hair or the stuff I liked," Jordan said. "When my parents wouldn't step in to help with the bullying at school, she did. I really thought she was the one I'd be safe with."
His eyes were dry this time as he stared blankly out the windshield. His voice was soft. Resigned.
"But I wasn't," he whispered. "My parents were assholes, but at least they still talked to me. She wouldn't even give me that."
Silence, again, for a few minutes. Darcey gave Jordan time to continue, but he didn't.
"I'm sorry," Darcey finally said.
"I have no idea what I'm about to walk into," Jordan said. "Just so you know. I'm not expecting anything good."
"Do you want me to stay in the car?"
Jordan shook his head. "No," he said, and it was strained, afraid. "Just... just outside the room? My grandma's not homophobic. She didn't care when she thought I was a girl and brought home girlfriends. It was the trans thing she wouldn't accept. But... it's not that. I just..." He huffed softly, frustrated, and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I just... I don't want you getting dragged into my family bullshit. I don't..." I don't want you to see how I let them treat me. But he couldn't finish it out loud because even that was so shameful.
"Okay," Darcey said. "I'll stay in the waiting room, then?"
Jordan nodded.
Darcey put his hand on Jordan's knee. The rest of the ride was silent.
The hospice smelled like hand sanitizer and bleach. It was too white, too sterile, like an operating room. People were supposed to live out the ends of their lives here. Jordan couldn't imagine having to stay in a place like this for more than a few hours.
The air conditioner was on much too high for such a cool day. It was early, so nobody else was there and Jordan could walk directly up to the receptionist.
"I –" he started, but he stumbled and cleared his throat. "Which room is Diana Delgado in?"
"How are you related?" she asked, disaffected. She didn't look up, focused on the cell phone she had hidden beneath the desk.
"I'm her grandson?" he said, and he hated the lilt that turned his statement into a question. "Jordan Delgado."
Finally, she glanced up at him. "ID please?"
Jordan swallowed and slid his wallet out of his pocket and his driver's license out of its storage slot. He barely kept his hands from shaking. Maybe she wouldn't notice.
He handed it over.
Her eyes darted over it. Her brow furrowed and she looked up at him, back down at the card. Jordan stood tall even though he wanted to flinch back, because he wasn't going to let anyone have that kind of power over him again. Her mouth set in a straight line and she handed it back, and said, very firmly, "Room twelve, ma'am."
"Thank you." He managed to keep his voice mostly steady. He didn't miss her sneer and the roll of her eyes as he turned away.
Darcey just caught the tail end of the conversation as he approached. He dropped his voice, but it was still the angriest Jordan had ever heard it when he growled, "What the fuck was that about?"
"I can't have the gender marker on my ID changed until I've had all three of the major surgeries," Jordan said. At least when his voice shook, it wasn't in fear or unsurety. He was furious. "So I fucking out myself every time I show ID."
"Do you want me to say something?"
"Like what?" Jordan snapped. "Nobody gives a shit, Darcey. Not here. Maybe if we lived in a state where I was recognized as a person, it would do some good. But not here. Nobody gives a shit about people like me. Not on an institutional level."
He paused, holding out his hands, as if trying to catch his balance. Breathe. "I'm sorry, Darcey," he whispered. "I know you're just trying to help."
His face was so pained, like he thought it was somehow his fault. Jordan wrapped his hand around the back of Darcey's neck and rested his head against the taller man's shoulder, then gave him a quick kiss. He knew the room number now. What could they do? Darcey rested one hand on Jordan's hip and ran the other one through his hair. "I'll be right here, okay?"
"Thank you," Jordan whispered.
"I love you," he said firmly.
Jordan nodded and only choked a little when he said, "I love you. I won't be long."
"Take all the time you need."
He squeezed Jordan's hip. Jordan turned away and walked down the narrow hall.
Room twelve wasn't far. The door was cracked, the hallway so silent he could hear the beeping of the monitors on the other side. Jordan knocked softly, twice. No answer. Twice more, louder. Nothing. She was asleep.
Maybe that would make it easier.
He cracked the door, and suddenly he was six years old again when he whispered, "Grandma?"
She didn't respond. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, slowly, shallowly. Jordan pushed the door open and quietly stepped in.
She was so thin. The shape of her bones burned through her arms from beneath her skin, once the same deep brown as Jordan's but now pale and ashen. Her hair was thinned out and grey, her face sunken. Jordan's hand curled over his mouth and he took a quick, jerking breath to steady himself. When he spoke, his voice was shaky and his eyes were wet, but at least he wasn't crying.
"I don't know if you can hear me while you're sleeping," he started. "You probably don't recognize my voice. It's me, Jordan. Remember? I..." His shoulders heaved and he had to pause to catch his breath. "I'm sorry I waited so long to try to make things right with you again. I'm sorry I waited until it was too late to try to see you. I love you so much, Grandma, and –" This time he sobbed, heavily. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to focus on breathing. "I wish things hadn't happened the way they did," he whispered. He opened his eyes. She was still asleep. "I wish... I wish we had been able to fix it somehow. But I had to do this. I had to transition for myself. I wasn't going to give that up for anyone. Not even you, even though I always loved you so much. I don't know if you ever knew, but you were my best friend when I was younger, and –" He sobbed again, again, and he was crying when he finished. "And even though things went bad at the end, I'll never forget everything you did for me. And I still love you. Okay? I love you."
Her fingers stirred and her breathing changed as she started to wake. Jordan didn't wait. He bolted like a skittish cat in a thunderstorm.
If she saw him leaving, she didn't call him back. He didn't stop, nearly jogging back out to the waiting room, one hand tight in his hair as he tried to force himself to breathe and keep the remaining tears in until he was safe in the closed car with Darcey. His eyes were closed, but he could still sense the change in the light, the brightness of the waiting room, and he started to say, "We have to go. I'm sorry I dragged you all the –"
And he opened his eyes and all the blood drained from his body, straight out of his feet and to the floor.
Darcey was talking to someone, quietly, and Jordan could only see his back, but he knew him. The thin arms, the terrible slouch in his shoulders, the curly, close-cropped hair.
"Jose?" Jordan's voice cracked like hot glass under cold water. Darcey quieted and turned back to him, brows furrowed, but when he saw Jordan's face, he made the connection. His head whirled back to Jose, back to Jordan again, and he stood, taking a quick, stumbling step back as Jose stood and turned around. He opened his mouth, then froze. Jose's eyes darted over him, his arms, his chest, his face, and Jordan could almost see his brother's brain flickering out for a moment before he recognized him.
"Maris –"
"Jordan," he barked. He didn't let anyone call him by that name anymore.
"What..." Jose trailed off and they stared at each other: Jose, shocked; Jordan, afraid.
Then Darcey was one step behind Jordan, his hand on his hip, protective.
"What happened to you?" Jose finally choked. His nose wrinkled in disgust, his lip pulled up in a sneer.
It stabbed straight through Jordan's chest like he was twelve again.
"Life happened." He growled so Jose couldn't hear his voice shaking. "I always told you I was going to start hormones and get surgery. If you didn't believe me, that's your issue, not mine." Darcey put his other hand on Jordan's shoulder, reminding him where he was. He was in public, he was an adult now, and he needed to keep himself together. His fist clenched, reminding him to breathe.
Jose's eyes darted over to Darcey and he said, "So, your friend you brought here –"
"He's my boyfriend," Darcey said firmly. Almost challenging.
"But... you seemed so normal," Jose said. Jordan snorted angrily. If his brother were close enough for it to impact, he'd punch him right now. Darcey's hand twitched, but he stayed silent. Jordan started to speak, but Jose kept going. "If you were going to date guys anyway, why didn't you just stay a girl and be normal?"
Jordan shook Darcey's hands off and stepped closer, dropping his voice, a low, dangerous growl he'd never heard come from his own mouth before. "Fuck you. Firstly, there's nothing not normal about being pansexual or transgender, and secondly, it's none of your fucking business. You lost the right to have an opinion a long time ago."
"Jordan," Darcey's voice was low, soothing, his hand loosely curled around Jordan's upper arm. Keep it together, Jordan reminded himself. The receptionist already hated him. If he got the cops called on him, he'd be fucked. He had to get out of here because he knew if he kept going he was going to do something he regretted.
"Marisa –"
Jordan!"
"Whatever," Jose said. "You're my sister." He started to walk around the chairs in Jordan's direction and Jordan slowly backed toward the door. "Why can't you just accept that and come back? Just... just stop, just stop this and apologize to everyone and it'll be okay again and –"
"Stop emailing me," Jordan snapped. He took another step back and locked eyes with his younger brother, pointing at his face to drive the seriousness of his statement home. "Stop trying to contact me. Stop asking Vince about me. You didn't want anything to do with me until Grandma got sick and I know it's going to be the same the second she dies. Once you decide to respect me and my life and start referring to me properly, we can talk. But as long as you keep calling me your sister, I don't want anything to do with you. I'm a man, Jose. Not a woman. A trans man. And that is never going to change, whether you like it or not."
"Why do you always have to be so selfish?" The last word was a shout and Jose closed the distance between them and then his hand was tight on Jordan's shoulder and Jordan's was cocked back in a fist, ready to punch if he had to, but then Jose slammed into the wall beside him with a loud crash and the receptionist was screaming for security. Jordan turned to his left. Darcey had Jose pinned to the wall, one arm bent tight into the small of his back and the other hand on the back of his head.
"If you touch him again, I will rip your fucking arms off," he growled.
No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen. Darcey wasn't supposed to get involved in his family problems, no, Jordan had wanted to keep him safe from this.
"Darcey, stop, please," Jordan said. His voice was so small because he'd never seen Darcey like this before, he'd never wanted to, but when Darcey looked over at him and his eyes softened as he stepped back, warily, Jordan knew it would never be directed at him. Jose pulled away, his eyes darting between the two other men, and he growled, "You're fucking insane." It could have been directed at either of them or both, Jordan didn't know. Jose darted away from them and down the hall, back toward their grandma's room.
"Let's go," Jordan said, a little too sharp. "Before security kicks us out."
He pushed out the front door, walking fast, and didn't stop until he reached the car where Darcey gently rested his hand on the small of his back and whispered, "I'm sorry, Jordan, I... I was... I was just trying –"
Jordan turned around and gently put his hand over Darcey's mouth, not to silence him, just to get him to pause. "I'm not mad at you," he said softly, firmly. Their eyes locked. Darcey's were ashamed, almost afraid. "I'm not. I promise. I... I'm really glad you intervened, actually, because I was about to punch him right in his snide fucking face."
Jordan dropped his hand to let Darcey continue. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I thought he was going to try to hurt you."
Jordan snorted and shook his head. "I did too, honestly."
Darcey gently rested his hand on Jordan's shoulder and nudged their foreheads together.
"Let's get in the car," he murmured. Jordan nodded.
Once they were safe inside, Jordan whispered, "Why did this have to happen? Things were fine. Things were awesome."
Darcey's hands were loose on the keys, car still turned off. "And they still will be." He moved his hand to Jordan's knee and they turned toward each other. "I know nothing can fix what's happening with your grandma. But... your brother... he's an asshole. I could see that in the five minutes we spent with him. Being related to someone doesn't give you an obligation to keep them in your life."
Jordan nodded and leaned back against the window, running his hand through his hair. He gripped tight at the back of his neck. He'd been doing this a lot recently. He needed to find a better coping mechanism, because this was going to start giving him headaches.
They were both quiet a few minutes. Darcey's eyes darted over Jordan's face, over his head and out the window, back to him again. Finally, he said, a little hesitantly, "Do you want me to stay with you for a few days? I know this can't be easy. I... if you don't want me to, that's okay. But I..." he paused to clear the nerves from his throat. "But I know it can be really hard to be alone when you have a lot of shit going on."
Jordan glanced up, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Really?" he asked softly. Darcey was offering to open up his personal space? Not permanently, but still. "That would be okay?"
Darcey smiled back. "I wouldn't have offered if it weren't," he replied. Jordan smiled, and then his eyes were a little wet, not in sadness, but not in happiness either. He was so overwhelmed, and Darcey's offer tipped him over. But he didn't cry.
"Thank you," Jordan whispered. "I'd like that."
"All right," Darcey said. "Let's go back to my place so I can get some clothes and stuff. It's still early, but I want to get it done before my mom needs the car back so we don't have to deal with the bus."
"Thank you," Jordan whispered again, because even though he usually had his life in order, there were days he felt like it would fall apart if he didn't have Darcey in it.