I woke up from a stress-induced nap right before I slept through dinner. This time, it was a trip to the department store for some stockings for Lou. It wasn’t easy finding the right size for someone over six feet tall. I usually asked Ellie or Barb to accompany me on one of these trips, but it was Saturday, and I tried to limit seeing anyone from work. 

While there, I did a bit of window shopping and noted what was in season. Walking through the men’s section was always a nightmare, and I couldn’t bring myself to so much as glance at a blouse. After slowly losing my will to live over convincing the sales girl that my tall girlfriend would love this brown nylon, I raced to my car and floored it. 

Hours later, I was bundled in my covers, erasing my memories of her questions about what dresses “she” liked to wear or if I wanted to get “her” a bottle of perfume or earrings. Next time, Lou was getting his own stockings. I crawled out of bed and prepared dinner before my stomach knotted more. 

I trudged laps around my apartment to occupy my time. Lou would have dragged me to one of the last clubs he was allowed in, but I had too many interactions with strangers for one day. On my third trip through my bedroom, I opened the drawer where I hid my lipstick. I had fifteen minutes to spare, and given my day, a little something for myself might take the edge off.

Working up the same nerve as the other day in less time, I removed the cap and leaned over the bathroom sink. I looked in the mirror, and for the first time today, maybe in a while, I felt like myself. The matte finish reminded me these moments still existed. Next time I’d work up the nerve to buy mascara.

All good things came crashing down when the phone rang. Only a handful of people knew I’d be home on a Saturday night, and none left me in a good mood. I braced myself and answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Natty. I’m surprised you’re home.”

I smeared the lipstick on the back of my hand, though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Don’t call me that.” Worse than Mathieu or Lou—my brother. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, only Nanny can call you that,” he said. Daniel was such a pain in the ass. “I was calling my little brother to see how he was doing. You know, since you moved off to Hollywood and have forgotten about us —”

I heard my mom in the background scold Daniel. I’d rather she have called, even my dad, than listen to this. “Get it straight,” I replied. “I call. I just don’t talk to you.”

“Is that so? Well—” 

I was sure he got a few whacks, then my mom’s voice came through over the sound of Daniel sulking. “Hi, baby—ignore your brother—are you still coming over tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mama. I am.” Once a month, we got together for a family dinner. They insisted that it was one of the ways they could ensure they saw me outside of holidays. It nearly slipped my mind while I was in my anxiety cacoon. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself. It’ll be good to see you.” The lull afterward stretched half a second into awkward territory. “Did you want to talk back to your brother?”

“Not really.”

“Well, he has something he wants to tell you—will you stop—bye, Darzsa. Love you.” Another scuffle over the phone, and Daniel was back, speaking low after he rushed her off the phone. 

“This is about tomorrow,” Daniel said. “Don’t come over here in one of those colorful homemade vests you like to wear. Nanny won’t sweat it, and Mama won’t say anything, but Dad might. I think he’s been reading too many tabloids again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Darzsa, don’t play—”

The timer in the kitchen dinged and saved me from acknowledging Daniel’s request. Thank God. “Well, I have to get my dinner out of the oven, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell everyone good night.”

I hung up before Daniel got another word in. Meatloaf. It never tasted like my Nanny’s—she always remembered to make it without onions—but it was all the same after the day I had. I’d probably ask her when I saw her the next day for some pointers. 

Other than cooking together, Nanny always encouraged me to pursue clothes making. Before she retired as a seamstress, I was practically her assistant. When my parents were too busy convincing me to chase a more “macho” job, my Nanny gifted me with a sewing machine.

I washed my hands, scrubbed away the lipstick, and sat down at the tiny rectangular table I fit into my kitchen. It made things cramped, but I didn’t have company like that anyway—Lou and I usually pigged out in the living room, and Mathieu… Well, we didn’t spend much time here. 

I sliced into the steamy meat and hoped my first decent meal today would alleviate the headache that I had predicted. What was I supposed to wear? Thinking about it gave me flashbacks to my disastrous shopping experience. I guess this dinner the next day wouldn’t be too different, spending hours somewhere I didn’t belong and constant questions that reminded me to keep certain parts of myself hidden. 

That’s what family was for—especially mine.