Two Truths and a Guy

By Jeannine Henvey

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Peter and Stella may be twins, but individually their struggles are one of a kind. Peter wasn’t always Peter. And Stella misses who he used to be ––her sister Petra. From the outside, they seem like two kids just trying to find their way at a new school, but behind closed doors they deal with the emotional baggage from the past they’ve yet to unpack. Beauty queen Mom counts Stella’s every calorie rather than deal with Peter's transition. And even though Dad supports Peter’s true self, he’s blind to seeing Stella for who she really is. She just wants to be a teenage girl known for anything other than her sibling. Meanwhile, with a skin-tight binder around his chest, and desperation to be one of the guys, Peter feels like he’s suffocating. All this, just to have his outside match his inside––and simply be. If anyone learns their secret, the family’s sacrifice of moving to California will have been for nothing.

Brimming with a rollercoaster of emotion and unwavering hope, Two Truths And A Guy is a heartfelt coming of age story that touches us with the power of loyalty, the need for acceptance, and the importance of living our truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955784160

Jeannine Henvey

Jeannine Henvey, a Long Island native, graduated magna cum laude from Hofstra University with a Master of Arts in Industrial / Organizational Psychology.After graduate school she moved to Manhattan where she mastered the art of job hopping. She finally landed in publishing where she had a long stint as a promotional writer for many popular women’s magazines.Jeannine had backpacked around Europe with three of her friends in between undergrad and grad school. Whether in a youth hostel, on the EuroRail, sitting in a pub, or at a sidewalk cafe, she kept a journal throughout the two month trip. Over the years, she had come across the book and put it away, knowing that one day she would do something special with it. It was that journal that inspired her to write Tales From a Broad.When she's not traveling the world with her fictitious characters, Jeannine is happily grounded with her husband and three children on Long Island.

Book preview

2

Peter

Thank you, I whispered, closing my sister’s door. I stepped into the hallway where white walls stretched to the stairwell like a blank canvas. Don’t ask me who I was thanking. Stella, for treating me the way she used to? Myself, for summoning the courage to go into her room? All I knew was that today felt like the old days with Stella. And if she held any resentment toward me for not being back home with her friends, she most certainly hadn’t shown it.

Peter! Stel! Mom yelled up the stairs. You don’t want to be late on your first day!

I took the last sip of Stella’s smoothie and gagged. Coming! I croaked. That crap was vile but chugging vomit in a glass was the least I could do for Stella. Besides, my inner happy made it much easier to swallow.

I floated to my room to retrieve my backpack. Similar to the state of disarray in Stella’s room, my unmade bed was also covered in clothes.

This was the only time I had gotten dressed for the first day of school on my own—ever. Mom used to pick out our twin attire and selected outfits like it was her job, achieving the look she deemed perfect— similar but different —was what she had called it. When we had started middle school, she allowed us to do our own thing, but Stella and I always consulted one another—parties, nights out, and especially the first day of school. That was until we became less similar… and very different.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and took one last look. Not bad for a gas station attendant, I thought, smiling at myself. It may have taken me a hot minute to choose Stella’s outfit, but it took more than two hours to put together my own. You don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. Today was all I had to come in strong as the new guy. The new guy. I felt a rush of adrenaline.

The messy room could wait. Today was the start of my brand-new life. Attempting to disguise the clothing crisis from my neat freak of a mother, I threw the comforter back on the bed and descended the stairs at mach speed, On Top of the World by Imagine Dragons playing in my head. My heart thumped to the tune, matching the thud of my heavy footsteps on the wood stairs. Graceful had never been my thing.

I rounded the landing, dragging my hand lightly against the bare walls, still unadorned unlike the family photo strewn hallways at other houses. Hopping onto the slippery wood banister, I slid my way into the kitchen.

Here comes Peter Stevens!

My fight song came to a screeching halt. There stood Kate, Stella’s new best friend. She leaned on the kitchen island between Mom and Dad, smooshed in the middle of their two stools. She could’ve totally sat beside either one of them on her own stool, but no. She would rather be shoulder to shoulder in a Mom and Dad sandwich.

I don’t know why I was surprised to see her. Kate had become a fixture in our house. They had only met when we moved here in June, but they’d become inseparable by Independence Day. Pretty ironic considering that was when Stella had become more independent—from me. The three of us had been counselors at the same camp, but as everyone knows, that number’s always a crowd. Especially where a brother is concerned. They kind of did their thing, and I did mine—alone.

Kate plucked a strawberry from a platter on the center island, allowing Mom to cut a loose thread off her shirt. She shared Dad’s newspaper, with her long blonde hair hanging like a glossy curtain down the middle of her back. A curtain flanked by two shiny, happy side hooks—my parents. She looked like the other daughter they didn’t have—a true part of the family.

Well, she wasn’t. Who had Stella turned to during her clothing crisis?

I rest my case.

Yet, rooted to the wood floor, I didn’t want to make my presence known. The Today Show blasted from the flat screen above the fireplace in the family room, so they didn’t even notice I was there.

Ahem. I cleared my throat.

Three heads whipped around and while I knew my parents were pleased to see me, it was Kate’s illuminated face that took center stage.

Hi Pete! she exclaimed. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her wide smile showed every one of her pearly white teeth. She was everything I had ever prejudged a California girl to be. Flawless, cheerful, and a touch shallow. But she did have a way of making everyone feel welcome, even in their own home.

Mom gave me a quick once-over. Who’s this cool boy? She gave me a wink over Kate’s head. As if her voice hadn’t been condescending enough. She acted like I was pretending to be a cool boy. I was trying to be one—big difference.

My high was starting to slip.

Kate came to walk to school with you guys! Mom beamed as if Kate was going to usher us down the red carpet into the Magic Kingdom.

Yay, I said weakly.

High officially gone and face close to cracking, I forced a smile.

Dad stood up and gave me a playful punch on the arm. Morning hugs seemed to be a thing of the past. Ready for the big day?

I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off by a loud screeching sound in my ear. I jumped. Stella brushed past my arm as hugs and rapid compliments were fired between her and Kate.

Oh! My! God! You look amazing! No, you look amazing! I love your shirt! Yours is better!

When it was finally decided they both looked amazing––and I decided their bit would kill it as a TikTok trend––a sense of calm fell over the kitchen. It lasted a second.

"Stel, I am so sorry I didn’t get your text in time, but it looks like you didn’t need me, after all. You picked the perfect outfit."

My stomach dropped with the realization that I had been Stella’s second fiddle stylist.

So, are you guys excited? Kate asked.

Stella groaned. Excited? More like sick to my stomach. She reached across the island for a muffin and Mom swatted her hand, oblivious to her daughter’s fallen face.

Peter, how about you? How do you feel? Mom asked.

I didn’t know how to answer. I was excited. Until I saw Kate and felt like an outsider within my own family. Until I realized I had been Stella’s last resort. Until I realized my sister was a nervous wreck, all because of me.

The kitchen fell silent as everyone looked at me expectantly. Even the TV seemed to have pressed pause. I shrugged and picked off a piece of a muffin.

Take the whole thing, honey, Mom said. I will get you a plate.

Why does he get a plate and I can’t even take a crumb? Stella asked.

Mom tsked. You drank your smoothie. I would rather you eat protein. Carbs are not a girl’s friend. You know what they say. A moment on the lips…

Yeah, Mom, we know… Stella said, rolling her eyes, …a lifetime on the hips.

My mom says the same thing, Mrs. Stevens.

Of course she does. Mom could say she was into cannibalism and Kate would tell her that a high protein diet was amazing.

Dad stepped between Kate and Stella and put his arms around them. Doesn’t matter what you girls eat. You are both beautiful. Don’t listen to her.

I guess Dad still gave hugs––just not to me.

I didn’t say they weren’t beautiful, John. They are knock-outs. And Kate with that perfect hair…if only they had Keratin when I was their age.

Yet, I still have to beg for Keratin like a junkyard dog scrounging for bones, Stella said dryly.

It was hard not to laugh. From the time I had left Stella’s room, she had managed to transform her frizz into perfect curls. Which was probably why Mom, who was always fixated on the end result, never tossed her the Keratin bone. Stella always looked great—to everyone, but herself.

I think she was born with a curl wrapped around her brain.

When I was pageanting, I used to throw my hair over the ironing board, Mom said, unfazed by Stella’s comment. She recounted the same story we all heard hundreds of times—how she got the scar on the back of her neck. Kate hung on Mom’s every word, while Stella smoothed and twisted her hair in a repetitive manner. She gave me a look.

Want to leave now? We can stop at Starbucks, I said to Stella pointedly. I’ll buy. Translation: I will buy you craploads of carbs.

She didn’t respond.

I don’t think we have time, Pete, Kate said with a pout. We were going to pick up another one of my friends on the way.

No problem, I said. But if you call me Pete one more time, we may have one. I’m going to head out.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look.

Alone? Mom asked. Her eyes were worried and I’m sure if she didn’t do Botox, her face would’ve crinkled too. Stella, you should go with your…Peter.

Mom, Starbucks is up the street, Stella said. She smiled supportively, but it made me think she didn’t want to be seen with me. It had been like that since we moved. One step forward and two steps back. I couldn’t sit there anymore.

I’ll be fine. I wanna call Ryan, anyway. I gathered my stuff and gave Mom a kiss on the cheek. Dad squeezed my shoulder awkwardly. Burying my face in my phone, I opened FaceTime on the way out the door.

He’s calling his friend back home, Stella explained to Kate. They talk, like, every day.

We sure do. He’s the only one who gets me.

I closed the wood door, silencing them all behind me.

The call connected and Ryan’s pixie face appeared on the screen.

FaceTime? he asked.

More like show and tell time. I held the phone closer, and his mouth fell open.

Is that…

Facial hair? Why yes it is, I said proudly. This is why I suggested we space our FaceTimes out. A lot happens once the T kicks in. And by the way, your voice sounds a little deeper! But we can analyze that without me tripping over my own two feet. I took the phone off FaceTime. Stella ditched me for Barbie again.

"Sorry. But look on the bright side. You’re going to a new school with the gender pronouns of your choice. Finally, you can be yourself."

A smile teased the corners of my mouth. "Aren’t I supposed to be mentoring you?"

You totally are! I get a sneak peek at what’s to come. We knew this wouldn’t be easy, but things could be worse. You could still be Petra.

Gender Bender

A Straight Up Blog from a Bent Gent

December 2019

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My mom had always called me a tomboy. Most girls wouldn’t have liked that term, but I wasn’t most girls. I loved it.

She would be talking on the phone with her friends, and I would hear her say things like, Thank God I have Stella to shop for. Petra is a tomboy. Or I need to find some non-girly ways to spend time with Petra. She’s my tomboy. Those words created a bubble of joy in my stomach that would erupt into a giddy giggle. Of course, I felt like a massive let down, but those feelings of disappointing my mom were overshadowed by something else—I was understood.

Being called a tomboy was like getting a bracelet for unlimited rides to an amusement park. A speed pass out of manicures, hair bows, and girly get togethers.

It was official: Petra was excused from x, y, or z on account of being a tomboy. Amen.

I was free to be me.

And that meant I could stay in the sandbox while my sister played with dolls. I was in a small box of my own while the other girls sat in a bigger one together.

My mother had prescribed an identity for me: Petra the tomboy.

It was fine when I was younger, but at twelve-years-old, not so much. Stella and her friends began to discover make-up, boys, and bras. And when our Mom bought us our first bra, Stella couldn’t wait to put it on. Whereas I couldn’t wait to take it off.

My mom told me it was normal and that some kids never wanted to grow up. She called it a Peter Pan complex, but I knew in my heart that wasn’t it. I did want to grow up. I just didn’t know how to do it. Bra or not, when I looked in the mirror, I saw a boy staring back at me. I wished I was Peter Pan. That was my complex.

I tried to change my self-image. I forced myself to dress ultra-feminine and hang out with the girls. My mom was thrilled. Stella, too. She finally had someone to trade clothes with. The word on the street was that the new Petra was so much fun—everyone loved her.

All but one. I hated myself for conforming to society's idea of femininity.

This past September, one of our 8th grade writing assignments was to write a paper on gender identity. The whole class was stumped, yet my hand couldn’t seem to write fast enough. I explained how I had never identified with traditional girl things and still couldn’t bring myself to try on lipstick in Sephora or sniff bath bombs at Lush. And it wasn’t that I identified with sports or other traditional boy things either, but I really felt like one. I identified more as a boy trapped inside the body of a girl.

The more I wrote, the better I felt. It may not have made sense to anyone else, but I finally began to make sense of me.

3

Stella

Say cheese, kids! Smile! Stella, stand up straighter! Peter, eyes on me!

Mom shouted out commands from where she stood on our blue stone walkway, phone sandwiched between her thumbs. Poised and put together, it was hard to believe she was the same lady who had just ran down the street, high heels and all, chasing after her son. She was hellbent on capturing our first day of tenth grade underneath a palm tree. Meanwhile, the white line of African Irises directly behind her would’ve served as the perfect backdrop and capture our house instead of being photo bombed by the neighbor’s. But it didn’t matter. Every white stucco house with its terracotta roof was pretty much the same, anyway. It was the landscaping that provided a little individuality, and my favorite patch of Sea Lavender made its way into the picture.

Chin up, stellar Stel! Mom sang.

Tilting my chin toward the cloudless sky, I threw my shoulders back. The corners of my lips twitched when I smiled and the groan under my breath sounded like a toddler pushing out a poop. Peter’s shoulders shook against mine. First day jitters or not, he was still an easy one to make laugh, especially at the expense of Mom, who had a way of barking orders while sounding like Snow White. Even now. I wouldn’t be shocked if a blue bird landed on her shoulder.

Perfect! Mom’s thumb pressed the screen a few times. Everything was always perfect when she was involved. Even her appearance before the sun came up. She called it pride. I called it cray. Couldn’t she be like the other stay-at-home moms—in pj’s or yoga pants when their kids left for school?

Mom lowered the phone, examining it with a critical eye. Three clicks of her tongue later, she made a face.

Sweet Jesus.

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Kate. She watched from the front door, her light blonde hair glistening against the dark wood. With her head jutted out and eyes wide open, one would think she was watching the live taping of America’s favorite sitcom family. Between us being East Coast transplants with amazing parents (according to her), and overall, the best family ever (her words again), Kate was fascinated by us, and she didn’t even know our back story. Maybe it was because she was an only child or that her workaholic parents were never home. Regardless of the reason behind her intrigue, I knew she loved us. And I loved that she did. It was nice to be seen as a normal family in someone’s eyes, and I was not going to allow our photo shoot to change that.

One more time! The white-knuckled death grip Mom had on her phone did not match her chipper voice.

I took a deep inhale, recoiling from the masculine stench of cedar and musk—lumberjack meets macho man. Petra had always smelled like baby powder until she went uber girly and traded her signature scent for a heavy perfume that reminded me of our 90-year-old Aunt Doris. At the time, it had made me nauseous, and I wished she would wear anything other than that.

Watch what you wish for.

I held my breath and pressed my back against Peter’s. The back of our heads lined up like always. We may have still been the same height, but it wasn’t the same. Petra’s ponytail had always bumped up against my head. Peter’s head was smooth. There was no bump.

A lump formed in my throat. The brother I never had stood behind me, and with a palm tree to my left and a new best friend to my right, nothing felt normal. Including my forced smile, threatening to crack my face. The lump in my throat made a loud razz when I swallowed. Hot tears pricked my eyes.

I am going to cry. Please, God, no.

Aware of Kate’s watchful eyes, my heartbeat quickened. It matched the ticking sound of the neighbor’s sprinkler. I can’t cry in front of Kate.

Stella, stop touching your hair! Mom scolded.

Let’s do a boomerang, I blurted out, running toward her. I’ll show you how.

Peter groaned. Did you really have to make a bad situation worse?

Suck it up, Buttercup. You’re the reason why we’re under a freaking palm tree.

Fumbling with Mom's phone, I drew in a slow inhale, relishing in the familiarity of her Chloé perfume. She had always said that scent was like a time machine; the key to evoking happy memories from the past. I never fully understood what she meant, but at that moment, it made perfect sense. I took a final gulp of Mom-scented air, allowing myself to be comforted by her lifelong fragrance. To me, it had become happiness in a bottle and was exactly what I needed.

Take two.

A few shots later, we said our goodbyes and finally parted ways. Peter aborted the Starbucks mission for the sake of time, but still walked a few paces ahead of Kate and I as she gave me the 4-1-1 on her friends. Ever since we first started hanging out at the start of summer, she always did a full disclosure before introducing me to anyone. There were never any surprises. I often wondered how Kate described me, but based on her kindness and everyone’s reactions to her introduction, it had to be good. She’d introduce me as East Coast Stella—from right outside of Philly. I probably would’ve felt more interesting if I really was from right outside of Philly instead of Nowheresville, Pennsylvania, but thankfully I didn’t have a GPS flag stamped on my forehead. The beauty of moving is that we could be whoever we claimed to be. Or didn’t, in this case. And here in California, I was just Stella. I wasn’t the transgender kid’s sister. I wasn’t the normal twin. I wasn’t a case study, the subject of everyone’s curiosity.

"So, you’ve only met Hadley that one time. She is very sweet—just a little socially awkward," Kate said, filling me in on the friend we were about to pick up.

Peter cast a look over his shoulder. Maybe she’s just a bitch.

Kate’s mouth fell open.

I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for sarcasm. And, of course, Kate didn’t know he tended to make jokes when he was happy.

Kidding! I don’t even know the girl. It’s just funny to me how every ‘issue,’ he made air quotes, has a label. I’m not talking about your friend specifically. I’ve heard that socially awkward term a lot lately. It’s as if everyone needs an excuse—or is put in a box.

You know what… Kate nodded her head. You’re right. Not about Hadley, she quickly added, "because she’s really just quiet. But you make a great point. My cousin is the clumsiest person I know—it’s actually cringy to watch. And my aunt says he doesn’t play sports because he’s too into the arts. Maybe he’s just a spaz! And why does his brother, who is way into girls, get called a ‘ladies man’ like it’s a good thing? Maybe he’s just a player!"

I saw Peter’s interest piqued—social issues were his wheelhouse.

Please don’t get him started.

He slowed down and Kate sped up until they walked side by side, going head to head one-upping each other on the label game. This time, I trailed behind, with my heart in my mouth, wracking my brain for a subject change. What if gender profiling came up? I loved Kate and didn’t want to lose another friend due to an ignoramus statement. Not only would it set Peter back, but it would be something I wouldn’t be able to forget.

Kate stopped in front of a red brick colonial around the block. We’re here.

Is this the bitch’s house? Peter asked.

He and Kate laughed like they had been friends forever. I, on the other hand, wished he had gone to Starbucks. Why was he so friendly all of a sudden? This was my friend. Back off, buddy.

Hadley appeared from behind the front door and made her way down the sidewalk, gazing at the ground as she walked. Her paper white legs were like stilts underneath a jean skirt. Was everyone skinny in LA County? Wearing a beige shirt, she reminded me of a baby fawn approaching a pack of wolves—with a perfect head of hair. Of course.

Hi, she said, tucking a few strands behind her ears. A smile stretched across her face.

Nice to see you. I instinctively spiraled the ends of my own hair until I subconsciously heard my Mom’s voice commanding me to stop. I clamped down on the nail of my thumb.

Kate released Hadley from a tight hug and kept one hand on her arm, the other on Peter’s. Hadley, this is Pete, Kate’s brother. Pete, this is Hadley.

Pet-ER, my brother said, emphasizing the last syllable. He extended a hand while I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

Hi, Hadley said in a soft voice. Her cheeks turned red, complementing the color of her strawberry blonde hair.

An uncontrollable urge to laugh rose inside of me and I clenched my stomach. The fact that the word bitch actually came anywhere near this sweet girl’s name was pretty funny. Peter and I exchanged a quick glance. The corners of his twitching mouth told me he felt the same. Thankfully, our emotions were stifled in the sea of compliments exchanged by Kate and Hadley.

Let’s go! Kate waved her hand with the confident command of a cheerleader.

The four of us started out in a line, but when Peter went a few paces ahead, Kate sped up to catch him. We fell into pairs, and I was left behind with Hadley, no longer able to monitor his conversation.

We were walking to school together as brother and sister. We were really doing this.

Peter turned and flashed a sheepish smile over his shoulder. This morning he couldn’t escape our house fast enough, yet now he seemed to be perfectly present, three-thousand miles away from our old home. Meanwhile, at that moment, Pennsylvania was the only place I wanted to be as I wracked my brain about what to say to the stranger beside me. I had liked Hadley when we briefly met at Kate’s house this summer, but she sort of reminded me of a glass sculpture on a mantle—fragile, dainty, and kind of just there.

So, I said. Hadley looked at me expectantly, her pale eyebrows raised. Do you have a good schedule?

My question was swallowed up by one of her own. I’m sorry, what was that? I asked.

Do you miss home? she repeated.

I swallowed. That word was a punch in the gut. It wasn’t just home that I missed. It was my sister, my friends, our family structure…basically my entire identity.

"Yes, I miss home, but I’m so happy to be here, I said, one octave too high. I do miss my friends, though." I had to say something to make up for my fake voice before repeating my question about her schedule. Hadley’s feelings about her classes got lost in a photo montage that swirled in my mind. I thought about my friends back east, the switch between periods, Karin putting her stuff into Trish’s locker, the way I used to, and the girls waiting by the vending machines for the potato chip junkie, Ali. They were already about halfway through their day and in it together, whereas mine hadn’t even begun.

Hadley’s lips stopped moving. It was my turn to talk. If only I had listened to what she had been saying. I shook my head to erase the memories from my mind like an Etch A Sketch.

Sorry! For a minute I thought I left my schedule at home, but duh… I waved my phone in the air. What did you say?

Hadley swallowed. Sorry, sometimes I talk too much. Um, I was asking why you guys came to California. Did your father get transferred?

Oh yes, yes he did. I paused, desperate for a subject change and to make up for my lack of attentiveness.

Hadley fidgeted with her bracelet. It was white with a gold letter H in the center.

I like your initial bracelet, I offered. My mom has the same one in navy. She’s also an H—Harper.

Hadley face relaxed into a smile. It’s Hermés! The Clic H? She raised her eyebrows as if it were a question. Or maybe she was questioning how I could be so clueless.

I knew I was.

Oh! My fingernail instinctively made its way into the comfort zone of my mouth. I didn’t realize it was an actual thing. I’ve only seen it on my mom, I admitted from behind my thumb.

"No biggie, but you’re about to see it everywhere. It is the thing at our school. Kate has like five. Only child," she said, lowering her voice.

Lucky her. Not that I would ever trade Peter for a bracelet. Although, at that moment, he did kind of feel like a shackle around my wrist. Do you have siblings?

One older sister—she’s in her freshman year at Boston College.

Cool. You must miss her.

Hadley placed a hand on her chest and closed her eyes for a second. "You have no idea."

Try me, girlfriend.

It’s hard for the ones left behind, I said.

You’re so lucky that you and Peter will leave for college together. It feels like a death in my house. But your parents… she groaned. "Two at the same time! That’s one of the downsides of having twins. My cousins are girl twins, and my aunt was a mess when they left. Which, by the way, is the downside to being a twin. Aren’t you so glad you aren’t girl twins?"

My stomach lurched. I wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Everyone would compare you, Hadley said, saving me from myself. "One of my cousins is drop dead gorgeous and super cool. The other… well, let’s just say she didn’t get those same genes. She is