Transpire Together

By Mercy Zephyr

The familiar curves of her hand slipped into mine. "Pretend you know me," she whispered...

As a child, Lynn Hall had eaten ramen in poverty in the island town of Selaruk, Alaska. Now an enterprising accountant, she had returned to help her mother one last time before she could start her dream job in Anchorage. Everything was going according to plan.. until a chance meeting with the strangely familiar man she couldn't get out of her thoughts.

Keith Kendall was back too, surrounded by secrets and dark memories. But his favorite memory—the high school sweetheart he regretted leaving behind—just walked back into his life and onto his spare couch.

...Too bad she doesn't recognize her high school girlfriend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mercy Zephyr
• Release date: Nov 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781734132007

Book preview

1: Keith

Act like you know me, she whispered intimately in my ear, as the familiar contours of her hand slipped into mine.

I turned my head, and there she was. Lynn, the woman I left behind seven years ago. My closest and most trusted companion. She stood close to me, but something was missing; I felt the appearance, but not the reality, of warmth and familiarity. I froze a moment, blinking. How could I pretend to know the woman I had been kicking myself for running away from for years?

Lynn wore business attire now, and a new hairstyle. Once, her hair had been the dark brown of her roots, not the soft blonde she presented now. For the few long moments of her approach, I hadn't recognized her.

That said, I had changed over the years, too. For one thing, I was once Lynn’s girlfriend. I had a new name, new look, and new, testosterone-enhanced voice—I doubted she could see past my beard, mustache, and deepened voice to recognize me today.

I looked into her deep brown eyes, then looked past her loosely curled blonde hair at the strange man she was clearly trying to avoid. He was big, heavy, a mountain of all the entitled childish behavior that made me wince inside when I had to admit to being a man. I could always imagine someone asking, What, like that guy? The only answer I could think would suit would be, I'm sorry.

I had imagined moments like this over the years when I was getting my life in some semblance of order, but this wasn't following the script. I wanted to grin and say, But I do know you! I could feel my throat locking up. No, that's a bad idea, it seemed to say. You can't trust her with your secret. You can't trust anyone. I tried to make the words come out, but they refused. After a moment of looking dumbfounded and confused, I squeezed out a nod and, Okay.

I knew the situation. I'd been in it myself a few times—of course, these days, I was a martial arts trained gym rat with manly muscles and not a drop of feminine attractiveness. Lynn, on the other hand, was a ninety-something pound woman who probably still had to buy her clothes out of the junior’s section. That guy could pick her up and carry her away. I smiled, raising my voice to carry to her pursuer. Hey! I haven't seen you in ages! How've you been? Come on, walk with me. You probably want some company back to your door.

Lynn smiled gratefully and we set off down the street, shoes making crunching sounds on the dirt and gravel just like old times. Thank you so much. That guy was awful.

Oh, it's nothing. I teach a martial arts class these days here over at the gym. I've seen a lot of stuff like that. Oh, my name is Keith. The censor I had built up from years of hiding clamped down on the words 'these days' and 'now' that I tried desperately to add.

She tilted her head at me. The old Kendall studio?

The same.

She nodded slowly. I knew a Kendall once. A ghost of a smile drifted across her lips before she furrowed her brow. Are you working with them? I haven't been here in a while.

Oh, they're dead. I'm their son; I inherited it from them. No mood passed my lips. All my joy at their passing had faded already.

She stopped and looked at me with a concerned, comforting look on her face. Oh, I'm so sorry.

Don't be. The response came out much more snappish and harsher than I had intended, and I pulled it back in my head before continuing, They probably never talked about me after I left. We weren't on good terms, and honestly, I'm glad they're gone. I hoped I was dropping enough hints that she would make the connection.

Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then, I know something happened with their daughter, Julia. I never found out what. I never heard anything from them about her, either.

So close. So, so close. But she hadn't quite gotten there. Now, my discarded deadname sounded unfamiliar and strange, even jarring. I frowned. This wasn't going anywhere, and she was probably digging into her misconceptions even harder now.

Worse, I wasn't sure how to answer her implied question about Julia without freezing up in irrational terror. After all, Julia and I were one and the same.

Maybe she wouldn't notice if I changed the subject. So, where did you move to? The question implied knowledge she hadn't yet said. Maybe she would notice; maybe she would ask.

University of New Orleans, MBA. I have to get into an internship soon so I can get my CPA, and then I won't have to worry about being poor.

I nodded, remembering the days of spending time with Lynn at her mothers' house, learning creative new ways to prepare ramen, beans, rice, and oatmeal, mending thrift store clothes. It made sense that she would never want to be in that situation again. I lived here before. Moved to Anchorage. I did okay. I moved back here not long ago to try to take care of the family business.

She nodded, smiling at me and smoothing her sweater as she walked. Well, that's good. She momentarily glanced down at my hands, pausing, maybe uncertain what to talk about. What were you doing out in this weather? I don't want to take you away from something important.

I was out for a jog. The ice on the road melted enough and it's above freezing today; I'd rather get out of the studio. I look at my treadmills all day, I don't want to use them if I don't have to. I felt my lips curling into a slight frown. The treadmills and other equipment used to belong to my mother and my…the man who fathered me. Now they're gone, and the treadmills are mine.

I never asked for them. I honestly didn't expect to get them. When the notice arrived, it being addressed to my deadname and filled with every feminine form of address imaginable was no surprise. Sometimes, I feel as though they did it as one final, sick joke to torment me with from beyond the grave. It seemed like an opportunity when I was in need, but now I was barely scraping by, alone in a house full of horrible memories and secrets. I'm barely breaking even so far. Hopefully, I can figure out how to run the place better. I had a nagging, vague unease about the business. I felt as though someone in town just didn't like me. I hoped I could figure out who and why so I could fix things. If I even wanted to stay.

Lynn nodded. Maybe sometime I can try to help with that. I'm packing up my mom's stuff to get it out of the way of our tenants. She left a lot behind when she moved out.

I'm surprised you aren't in a sleeping bag in the basement. Like the last time she helped on a long task.

I asked, but the owner is strict on that. I guess they're in their rights to be, but it slows things down. The basement opens into the same room they sleep in, and they don't want me walking in on them. Oh, here's where I'm staying. She stopped and smiled at me, blushing a bit and biting her lip as we considered the tiny shack. Her shoe scraped against the gravel as she scuffed her foot against it. Uhm...

I wished I could have taken a longer route with her, anything to talk to her more. Okay…well, um...you know where I work. If you ever need anything or someplace to stay or anything, just go ahead and knock, okay? I didn't want her to go, but I couldn't see any way to avoid it.

She smoothed her hair briefly. Thanks. I'll, uh…I’ll do that. She raised her hand by her cheek, waved shyly, then slipped through the door.

2: Lynn

Izzy's voice from right beside me made me jump. Hey, Lynn! I brought you some lunch. Assumed you’d be hungry. A paper plate with sliced turkey, macaroni salad, and a pickle slid onto the counter next to me, distracting me from the box of dusty old VHS tapes.

My eyes immediately tracked from the plate to the grey metal bracelet on the wrist of the enby offering it to me. They had a pink wristband and a dark blue one in their pocket for when they drifted into femme or hard masculine modes. Izzy's pronouns didn't change—I knew to always use they—but their uncontrollably mercurial gender had subtle effects I knew to watch for after years of friendship.

Thanks, I said, looking longingly back at my work for a moment. Reluctantly, I set it aside and grabbed a plastic fork. I lost track of time. Yesterday was crazy.

Izzy tilted their head in faint concern as my eyes finally came up to meet theirs. They had Alutiiq Native features, clear golden-brown skin, and a soft face framed by black hair as short as the one person in town with inklings of haircutting skills would cut it, on account of thinking of them as a girl. They wore a loose grey button up shirt and shapeless black pants which—along with two sports bras—helped to obliterate their feminine curves from view without raising questions from their mother. Wait, what variety of crazy are we talking about here? Ha-ha weird crazy? Had to talk to Officer Faamate crazy? What?

Their voice was a bit deep after hours of practicing alongside me to bring the pitch of their voice down when we were younger. We'd all traded tips, me and Izzy and Julia. My voice was unpleasantly squeaky if I didn't keep a handle on it. I didn't know at the time why Izzy was interested, and Julia was just being a good girlfriend.

Well, I didn't have to call Officer…what was his name?

Faamate. He's this big Samoan dude. Really sweet, lives by himself. He's always kind of tired these days, ever since he arrested the other peace officer who was working here. It was a preeminently blatant scandal. I would have emailed you about it, but it was such big news I presumed you had heard.

Once, having had the misfortune to need to read it for class, I had emailed Izzy a paper by the old school postmodernist Bourdieu; all slithery run-on sesquipedalian sentences winding their way down the page like some inhuman demonic serpent come to invade a children's educational show and transform the puppets into loathsome, mind-warping beasts from beyond the veil. It was positively saturated with grandiose, ultraviolet verbiage, none of which could possibly fit in a tiny Alaskan village like Selaruk. Since then, Izzy had been carving a swath through the dictionary, using all sorts of grandiloquent new words. It had taken them weeks to read through it, and now, they were hooked on the thesaurus's promise of bigger and greater things. Now, I had to study just to keep up.

I must have missed it while I had my nose in books about tax law and international accounting procedures. What happened? I lightly speared a piece of turkey and put it in my mouth. No need to waste time and let it get colder than it already was.

Izzy opened their eyes wide. "You remember Officer Wilson, right? Faamate was hired on when Jackie Bell retired. And we all knew that was happening; he was old. Anyways, Faamate caught Wilson…ah, you know, taking advantage of the prestige of his position with a high schooler. Dropped everything, hauled him off in handcuffs all the way back to Whittier, and took time off to testify against him. It was the preponderant topic of every conversation for a month!"

I popped more food in my mouth. "Wow, that's…wow. Wilson was kind of a creeper, but I never heard about him actually doing anything. I'm glad Faamate took that seriously."

Izzy nodded vigorously. Anyway, Faamate has been overtaxed since then, and the city keeps posting for a new officer. There's one on the bulletin board by the door, covered in dust.

The fork paused halfway to my mouth. Is that his first name?

No, his name is Saulo, but I guess he doesn't like it much. Every time it comes up, he says he just wants people to call him 'Officer Faamate.' Not Saulo, not Mister Faamate. Must be really into his job, but I suppose since he's perpetually on duty, that makes sense. He lives by himself in the middle of town. So, what was the crazy?

I looked at the plate, and put the bite of food back onto it, frowning. Some big guy I've never seen before tried to follow me home. Probably a tourist on a fishing trip.

They visibly winced. "Yikes. What did he look like? Besides 'big.' You buy kiddie clothes and I can pick you up and carry you around. Everybody is 'big' to you."

I blushed and gritted my teeth a moment at the reminder. At least six feet tall, heavy, not much hair. White guy. Green jacket. He had glasses on. I didn't want to get too close.

Well, I'll keep my eye out. What did you do?

Keith's face poured into my mind; first the shape of his face—mostly as white as me but shaped and shaded by a Filipino grandparent I had never met—then the trickle of memories that should have been inconsequential that my brain clung to greedily. The warmth of his hand, the faint feel of work-toughened skin and sweat, the familiar rhythm of his voice. Some guy showed up and acted like my boyfriend, then walked me home. I think he said his name was Keith? Julia's brother, I guess. I didn't even know she had a brother. He was really sweet, though.

Sweet wasn't the only adjective I would use; the man was hot. I wondered what he looked like in the middle of a workout, sweaty and shirtless.

Ground control to Lynn, come in Lynn. Izzy watched me expectantly, grinning now.

I suddenly realized that I'd completely missed the last thing they said to me. My cheeks flushed, and I looked away, mortified. Sorry! I was just thinking.

I said, I had inferred that you liked girls. Izzy shrugged some. Or is this a both ways kind of thing? You always kind of dodged the subject.

Oh! No, girls are just kind of…too girly. They just don't do anything for me. Izzy peered at me. Well, yeah, there were one or two exceptions. Other than that, I like guys. I just don't want to date any of them. They don't get it; they just want to be the boss of the family and kill any hope of a career I might have, get me pregnant and leave. There is no way I am going to end up like my mom!

Izzy blinked. "Projection much? I hope I don't make you uncomfortable on blue days."

I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed at my thoughtless comment. No, no, you're really sweet. And besides, you're more like a sib. Non-binary to a fault, they obviously couldn't be a sister or a brother; sibling had to work.

Well, okay. I was going to be abashed that you didn't insult me and feel unbalanced about it all day. They grinned playfully, then frowned, growing more serious