“The post office? Why are you shipping your cosplay? Are you going to a convention?”
“No. No, definitely no.” I paused. “I, uh, I sold some.”
“. . . You sold your cosplays?”
“Some.”
“Oh my God. You’re not going to regret this in a few weeks, are you?”
“Mom, no. I won’t. I made a lot of new things with fabric I had. Sorted through some old.”
“You spent so long making them.”
“I didn’t sell everything. And even if I did, it’s fine. I’m not going to be cosplaying again.”
“But if you change your mind—?”
“Hypothetically if I change my mind, I’ll make new ones that don’t have bad associations with them. A fresh start.”
We were quiet for several seconds. Mom eventually sighed. “I hope you at least made some decent money on them.”
“I did,” I said, omitting the part about giving a thousand dollars to that Anthony guy. “It was a good move. I needed to do this for me.”
“If you say so.”
“So how are you?” I asked, trying to change the topic.
“Tired,” she said. “Still working on a transfer. I started peeking at some other jobs online. Thought maybe I could find something.”
“You’re on your way to pension, though.”
“You’re more important.”
“Mom, don’t you dare quit it because of me,” I said. “Remember, I’m going to college next year. I wouldn’t be home anyway.”
“Are you really going to last that long at your aunt and uncle’s?”
“Of course,” I said although my tone was strangely unsure. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You know they’re going to make you go to Catholic school next year, right?”
“Uh . . . ?” My exchange with Reverend Monsignor Kline surfaced in my mind. Maybe that was another term of my staying here my aunt and uncle had failed to mention to me.
“If your uncle’s the one making the final call, you’re not going to be going to public school,” Mom said flatly. “And Catholic school’s a lot of work. Tons of homework. Uniforms. No sense of individuality.”
So I’d be invisible. Perfect. “I could live with that for a year.” Worst case, there were other options too, like taking the GED so I could get my high school diploma and still go to college, or taking as many credits as I could to graduate earlier.
I could picture Mom pacing the kitchen the way she always did when she was on the phone, no matter the type of call. “Have you made friends?”
“Sort of. There’s this nun, Sister Bernadette, who talks with me a bit. And this guy Dima. They’re both pretty nice. They seem pretty open-minded.”
“Do they know?”
“No. I mean, Dima sort of. I don’t know.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it today. Still adjusting to all this.”
“Oh. Then let me let you get a move on.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Mom said. “You’re just having a day, aren’t you?” By her tone, I could tell she was smiling. That put me at ease but wow, it made me think about how much I wished she was here.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Cross fingers that I get a transfer soon.”
“Crossing my eyes and toes, too. But I mean it. Don’t quit your job because of me or I’ll never, ever forgive you.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I swear, I’ll convert if you do.”
Mom burst out laughing on the line. “Threatening your own mother. What would your father think?”
“He’d think it was hilarious.”
“He would, wouldn’t he?” Mom took a breath. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We hung up. I realized that for the first time in ages, she hadn’t asked whether I was Alexis or Aleks. Did she know by the way I spoke or did it not matter because I was me no matter which gender? And if it didn’t matter, why should I suddenly feel as hollow as I did?
I sagged into my desk chair way more exhausted and drained than when I first woke up. Mom had me thinking about things I didn’t want to, like my attachment to my cosplay and maybe some regret. But I wasn’t going to cosplay anymore, and selling my stuff was for a good deed, and it had gotten me enough money for some classes at a community college. And if I ever wanted to try again . . . well. I was good at sewing. And fast. I could always make something new. Set aside a couple hours, then bam. Done.
There was a tap at my door.
“Come in,” I said.
Aunt Anne Marie walked in. “I thought I heard you on the phone with your mom.”
Crap. Was she eavesdropping? “Uh, yeah. Just a short catch-up.”
“Figured you’d be awake.” Aunt Anne Marie folded her arms as she peered around. “I don’t see any costumes out.”
“I sold out.”
“Sold out?”
“Yeah. The first day, really. It was weird.”
“Wow. The Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?”
I didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say? I’m pretty sure the internet doesn’t do the Lord’s bidding, but thanks anyway!
“Are you making any new costumes?” she asked.
“Don’t you hate those?”
“You make them for different purposes than demon worship. I thought . . . I thought maybe I could learn about how you do it.”
I looked over her face. She really was trying. That much, I was certain of. “Well . . .” I picked up my phone and started to scroll through my saved photos. It was hard to find a costume based on something that didn’t have some kind of religious connotation, since those costumes tended to be more elaborate and I liked making interesting things. I found one of a schoolgirl outfit. “If I were to make something like this, I’d do the blouse, then the square collar, and a pleated skirt. Might do a mockup for the cutouts and to get better A-seams. And here,” I added, using my index finger and thumb to zoom in the picture, “I’d use my embroidery setting to stitch the seal.”
“How’d you figure this out?” Aunt Anne Marie asked. “This is really hard to do.”
“Practice, I guess. Trial and error. I’m not the best, not even close. If you look at some of the professional cosplayers in Japan—they have impressive stuff.”
I could tell I was losing her, so I stopped talking. This wasn’t like talking to my parents. They both had a nerdy side—Mom with sci-fi, Dad with comics—so they sort of got cosplay and anime fandom. Kind of. This was new territory for my aunt.
“I’m, uh, I’m talking a lot about myself,” I said. “Sorry.”
“You were excited. Nothing wrong with that. And I doubt I have much to say that would interest you.”
“That’s not true,” I said even though I agreed with her.
“I’m serious. Ask me anything.”
Crap. Now I had to think fast. It wasn’t that I wasn’t curious about Aunt Anne Marie. But maybe because I spent so much energy trying to put a positive spin on her actions and beliefs, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about her. I suspected that the more I found out, the less I would like her. That all her niceness would be outweighed by hatefulness.