For Us

40. Headstand.

{Jon}

As Jon stepped through the door of River House, the smell of roasting turkey, butter and onions filled his senses. Naomi was in the kitchen, an bright red apron wrapped around her full body, whisking up drippings on the stove. A glorious turkey, crisp and brown and oozing with juices, sat on the sideboard resting.

"Naomi, everything smells wonderful," Jon said. "Thank you for coming in to do a Thanksgiving dinner for us." With the boys heading to the reserve to spend the long-weekend with their grandmother, they were feasting early with them.

She beamed back, her dark eyes sparkling. "My pleasure. I told my Theodore I'd bring him a plate so he's not missing out. With just the two of us empty-nesters home now, I wasn't going to go to all the trouble to make a turkey. He's pleased as punch."

"As are we all," Jon said reverently. His mouth was already watering.

Angel was in the office, her hands full of fat tissue paper turkey decorations, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she fiendishly stapled their bodies. "I think I figured these out, boss. Sorry about the mess." The floor was littered the disfigured remains of the failed experiments, and there was a scrap of tissue paper caught in the peaks of her now faded-red hair.

Jon laughed quietly as he hung up his coat and shrugged his hoodie straight on his body. "It's a bit of a horror show in here, Angel."

"I'll clean it up--look!" She held up her finished turkey; it's tissue body unfurled as big as her head, and its  cardboard neck was only slightly crooked.

"Uh-huh, thing of beauty," Jon said.

Lopsided tissue turkeys presided over their dinner table, packed not only with Dusty, Jordin and Grace and the usual day staff, but also all the staff who were free to join, cramming elbow to elbow in shaky folding chairs.

Jon said the grace his father had so often spoken over their family meals, and then everyone dug into Naomi's feast of turkey, fluffy mashed potatoes, candied yams, brown rice dressing for Jon, and savoury bread dressing in a pan for everyone else. The only green on the table was Angel's tissue decorations and a dish of roasted Brussels sprouts, which Jon noticed the children avoided completely. He had two helpings; they melted in his mouth like veggie caramel and he almost passed out from bliss.

As Naomi was slicing the pumpkin pies, Jordin spoke up. "I told my teacher today I'm a girl."

Alert quiet rippled over the table, as each person registered his words. Only Dusty wasn't paying attention, busy licking the gravy off his plate.

"I wanna be a girl," Jordin said again, his black eyes snapping as they met Jon's.

Jon smiled back, worry niggling at his stomach. "We'll love you whoever you are," he said. "We're proud of who you're becoming, Jordin. You're kind and smart and courageous. Angel will help you go through your closet, and get you girl things, okay? Whatever you need."

Jordin smiled back. "Okay."

"Do you want us to call you something different?" Jon asked carefully.

"I'm a she." Jordin said firmly. "Or you can call me they/them. Everybody should just use 'they/them'--it makes more sense."

Jon laughed drily. "Well you're not going to change everybody's mind on that anytime soon, but in this house we'll use she/them pronouns for you. It doesn't change anything about who you are to us. You belong here, Jordin."

Jon swept his eyes around the table, seeing some mixed expressions on the faces of the other staff, and worry similar to his own inner feelings on Naomi's kind face. Jordin had a hard road ahead, and they would do their best to smooth it for her. "Who's ready for pie?"