Page 120 of Familiar Things New

Edwin clasped his hands together to try to hide their shaking.

“Yes,” Mrs. Whitney replied, seemingly reflexively, but then, she narrowed her eyes and seemed to reconsider. “Actually, no. Apologies, William, but I can’t remember ever having officially met the person you chose to replace . . .” She trailed off and frowned. “Oh, forgive me, I can’t remember the man’s name.”

“Mr. O’Brian,” Edwin said quietly. “Mr. O’Brian was the one who, uhm, who trained me.”

Mrs. Whitney’s eyes widened the tiniest bit. And then, to Edwin’s horror, they flickered with what he knew to be recognition. Unease clawed up his throat.

“Did you . . . work for us before this as well, Mr. . . .”

“Beasley,” Edwin choked out. His eyes filled with tears, his body now shaking so much there was no way to hide it, even a little.

After a moment—one that was brief but, to Edwin, felt like an eternity—Mrs. Whitney’s hand flew to her mouth, her fingertips brushing her lips. And Edwin knew for certain, then, that she must have realized who he was.

Or, who he had once been.

“Good gracious,” Mrs. Whitney said through an exhale.

“Beasley?” Mr. Whitney repeated, furrowing his brow. “But, no, Frederick had two—”

“Daughters, yes,” Edwin managed.

“Oh, but, then . . .” Mrs. Whitney finished for her husband. “You’re . . .”

Muscles tensing, Edwin shut his eyes, mentally, physically, and emotionally bracing himself for the inevitable utterance of a name that was no longer his.

And then, together, William’s parents said it, and Edwin flinched when it reached his ears.

Even though the name was, on its own, a lovely one, one that Edwin had borne for most of his life, it had become so much more than only a name. It had come to represent the melancholy and confusion and incongruence that he had suffered for so long. While Edwin was, in his heart, still the same person who had carried it, now the name seemed too heavy—steeped in the pain of the past—for him to hold, even for a moment.

And it nearly crushed him to hear it again.

“Yes,” Edwin said, his throat tight. “But I’m not . . . her anymore. I never really was her.”

William’s parents only stared. Edwin swallowed.

“Look, I know you remember me as . . . her. I know you remember me as Agnes’s sister. But I’m . . . not.” Edwin took a pause to try to compose his words. “After our father died, I had the—the realization that I was a . . . a man. In my heart.”

Edwin took a pause to blink back his tears, and his face heated as a few of them fell. He wasn’t sure he could go on, but he knew he had to.

He had to try. At the very least, he had to try. For William. And for Agnes. And, maybe most importantly, for himself.

After one more shaky inhale, he began again, though this time, his voice was smaller, and he could barely push out the words. William’s parents were still watching him intently, their severe expressions making him want to curl in on himself and hide.

“I realized that I was a m-man. Only I hadn’t . . . seen it before. And—and s-so, I had to start over. See, after we m-moved, I-I realized who I w-was and—”

“And now, his name is Edwin,” William cut in. “And Edwin is not only Agnes’s brother, but he’s mine, too, even if not by blood. Soon enough, he’ll be my brother by marriage, but even now, he’s more than just a childhood friend to me. He’s family. He’s my brother and the most supportive, most loyal friend I have ever had or could ever want. And I hope you can accept him for the man that he is, not someone who you once thought him to be.”

Edwin pressed his lips together to keep a cry from escaping, but tears began to fall from his eyes in a steady stream. Jesus, he couldn’t have ever asked for a better friend—a better brother—than William Whitney.

William’s parents looked at each other for the briefest moment before looking back at their son, their expressions a mixture of what felt to Edwin like every negative emotion known to exist. And then their eyes flitted over to Edwin, and Edwin’s cheeks burned hotter as his gaze fell to his shoes. He hoped to God he hadn’t ruined William’s relationship with his parents.

In tandem, both Mr. and Mrs. Whitney stood, and then they took leave from the room. Murmured excuses—Mr. Whitney saying that they needed to talk in private—rang in Edwin’s ears as they walked out. And then, the second their footsteps faded, Edwin let out a sob.

William immediately pulled Edwin in for a hug.

“Goddammit, Edwin, I thought they’d be better than this,” he said into Edwin’s hair. “God, fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

William kept on repeating those same words over and over while Edwin cried, his muscles trembling from the intense influx of fear and love and worry and so many other things. After a while, Edwin managed to pull back to look into William’s eyes, though he still couldn’t seem to stop crying.