you’re welcome to come to christmas with her. you pass well enough you can get away with it as long as you don’t talk about your past much. no, they aren’t really actually transphobic, they’d just ask you a bunch of weird shit and call your girlfriend gay, but not in the way she actually is. they’re not gonna kill you or anything. plus, maybe if they see her bring a girl home they’ll stop asking when he’s getting a girlfriend in that weirdly infantilizing tone they love to use. she wishes she could just stop going, but your job can’t support both of you and she needs the money from them
you go to christmas. you get to the house for dinner. you leave the leash and your collars and everything that defines who you two are to each other in the car. they let you in, and you’re greeted with a whirlwind of handshakes and introductions. your sweater itches. you’re wearing the most “normal girl” clothes you own. tennessee doesn’t like girls who dress how you normally dress. her family all say you look pretty all dressed up like you are. the words rot the skin from your ears even though you know they mean well
the word “boyfriend” gets thrown around way too much for either of your comforts
her uncle (Mark. Mark is Lina’s brother, Lina is your girlfriend’s mother.) asks you before dinner if you drink whiskey. you don’t. he pours you a glass because what were you supposed to say to that. it tastes like shit. he says you seem like a nice girl and he’s glad you’re setting his fag nephew straight. you’re glad your girlfriend isn’t in the room to hear that. “no, no, not in a bad way,” he clarifies, sitting so close that you can smell the booze on his breath. “i’m not homophobic or anything. he’s just kinda…” and then dramatically drops his wrist. you shrug halfheartedly
you’re here for her, but you’re also here for you. this is a game, and no one plays it as well as you. you’re perfect. you, in your tan sweater and white skirt, showing off just enough skin to be a tease but not enough to be a slut. you, with your immaculately curled hair that you had to bleach blonde to get the purple out. you, with all your piercings taken out and your nails cut short and filed into shape. you’re almost too perfect, but no one here will notice because they’re too busy eyeing your shaved legs and acting like they aren’t but-
“Reagan?” you snap to attention. right. your name is fucking Reagan here. god. it makes you want to vomit every time you hear it, but it serves its purpose. you can’t exactly tell your girlfriend’s bible-thumping family that your name is Lust. they wouldn’t take it well
you look up. “yes, Caroline?” (Mark’s daughter, which makes her your girlfriend’s cousin. she’s probably what, 5-6 years older than you?) she smiles and waves you into the kitchen, where she loads your arms with trays of food for the table. in this house, women work in the kitchen. you contort your face into something that, to her, resembles a smile, and you take the food out and put it in place
dinner is easy. you’re good with this type of person. you know exactly what to say and how to say it to make people unfold like a map, and you walk the table you’re sitting at like a pack of trained dogs from the body of this brainwashed tradwife blonde bitch that corrodes at your soul. but it’s worth it for her. your girlfriend makes eye contact with you and smiles shyly, and it’s worth it
Aunt Maddie (Mark’s wife) asks about your family. you tell some bullshit story about how your mom works in vet med and your dad is a pharmacist and they met in Boise before moving to Minneapolis. you inject a bit of stereotypical “oop north” accent into your voice to sell it. it’s fake as hell, but so’s the rest of you and they eat it up all the same. besides, you can’t tell them the real story, about how your parents kicked you out when you were 16 because they caught you injecting your hormones
your girlfriend gets called “sir” by her grandmother. no one sees the tiny movement at the corners of her mouth except you
everyone says you seem wonderful. of course you do. Reagan is an illusion crafted specifically to appeal to them. one of your girlfriend’s brothers asks if you ever plan on getting pregnant, and you stifle all the snide responses that spring to your mind about how their “brother” has never once topped, and respond with a casual “maybe” and don’t elaborate
your girlfriend’s uncle (Mark) says her hair looks “dapper”. her mouth smiles. her eyes don’t
you both play characters with this family. you’re a punk genderfucked hyena freak and your girlfriend is a dog trapped in a human body, but tonight you’re a rural blonde country girl who likes working in the kitchen and serving the men in her life and she’s a boy wearing a button-down shirt and a nice pair of pants. you take to it easier even though you’ve never played this character before. your girlfriend looks like she’s been roughly shoved into this boy-suit, and her misery oozes out all around the seams and through her eyes. you’re at least comfortable. she’s drowning in it
you’re up before the meal is over, picking up empty plates and carting them off to the kitchen. you love doing it. this is what women are meant to do - at least in this house, where the concepts of things like “feminism” lay down and die because God tells them to. Caroline shoots you a steely-eyed glare. she’s smarter than the others and just as confined as you. you’re a threat to her and you both know it. if you fuck up you’ll blow both of your covers
you open gifts. the family apologizes for not getting you anything because they didn’t know you were coming, and you smile and say it’s not really about the gifts anyway, it’s about spending time with family and you hope someday you’ll actually be a part of this one. the words taste like lemon juice and aspartame, the same as that awful sweet tea you had with dinner
your girlfriend opens a card from her parents with the words “To our Son” emblazoned on the front in bright blue. you hold her hand through it
after the gifts, you have dessert (you are expected to cut the cake, of course) and play a few games. you get too loose with your costume and win three straight hands of Texas Hold-Em before you realize everyone is staring at you to determine how you’re cheating even though no one will say anything. everyone is drunk, and the topic shifts to local news. somehow, trans people come up, and Aunt Maddie makes a snide comment about the pepper spray in her bag and how it’s mostly there for the bathroom these days. you excuse yourself to use the restroom yourself - single-occupancy, where you can’t run into Aunt Maddie - as soon as Mark gets back
you get everyone another round of drinks except you and your girlfriend. you say you don’t drink because your father had problems with it (true) and your girlfriend is trying to hold her temper so she declines one
you play another game. you win $.35 in pennies
you play another game. dominoes this time. there’s no cash on the table but you come in second
your girlfriend looks absolutely miserable. you gently pat her foot with your own under the table, and think you’re doing great, sweetie as loud as you can
Aunt Maddie stands up and bolts for the bathroom. you can’t hear her vomiting but you know she is. you tuck the ipecac syrup you swiped from the bathroom into Mark’s coat pocket as you pass by his chair with a bowl of ice cream. your girlfriend is stifling a grin - she hates Maddie and you know it, and you hope that makes up for the “perverted men in the bathroom” comment earlier
you run into Caroline and almost drop an ice cream bowl, and she calls you out for it just a bit too loudly. you know what she’s doing, and you can play her game. you frantically apologize to her. good. let her feel superior. it’ll get her to let her guard down around you
you go outside “to get some fresh air” after your “argument” with Caroline, and find Lina smoking a cigarette. she offers you a drag, and you decline, but you put on your most concerned face and tell her that Mark is really drunk and list off all the horrid, atrocious, completely fictitious things he said about his wife’s body and how he wishes she was thinner, that you overheard while you were in the bathroom
you play another game with your girlfriend’s family. you lose horribly. you’ve never been any good at card games that don’t have any risk to them - but your girlfriend wins. you, of course, don’t say that you kept throwing down bad cards to make her play better
you and your “boyfriend” excuse yourselves as Lina pulls Mark into a side room. as you pull out the driveway, you hear the shouting start. your girlfriend asks, “did you-“ and you just grin
you stop on the way home for Waffle House and ice cream. you pay for it with the $50 that you swiped from Caroline’s wallet when you bumped into her and lifted it off her, and you tell the waitress to keep the change
your girlfriend tells you she loves you. and it was all worth it
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