Free Happy Families by Tanita S. Davis

screw up Dad’s life? I don’t want to hear some crap about his bad childhood.”
    “You really think it’ll be like that?” Ysabel stands and picks up her duffel bag. “Probably we’re just going to talk to someone who’s supposed to help us adjust or something.”
    “I don’t want to talk to anyone.” It’s stupid, but her calmness is making me angrier. “I don’t want help, and I don’t want to adjust to anything.”
    Ysabel puts her bag on the bed and digs out a notebook and her Bible. “Yeah, well, life sucks, and then you find out no one cares what you want. You taking the first shower?”
    “What are you doing with a journal? We don’t have time for that.”
    Ysabel’s mouth tightens. “Could you go somewhere else? Maybe to your
own
room? And mind your
own
business?”
    I bounce up from the floor and drag my mattress toward the door. “Fine, whatever. It probably doesn’t matter if we’re late anyway.”
    “Would you shut up? I’m not going to make us late.”
    I open the door to my room, then pause. “Come get me before you go upstairs, okay?”
    Ysabel’s expression is mulish. “Why?”
    “Because I’ll wait for you. I’m not going up to stand around with Dad by myself.”
    “Like I had to last night.”
    I drag the mattress across the hall and throw it in the general direction of the box spring in my room. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I fell asleep.”
    “Fine, whatever.” Ysabel bends over her journal. “Close the door.”
    I dig through my bag for clean jeans and
The Constitution: I Read It for the Articles
T-shirt, and head into the bathroom, annoyed to see myself in the mirror, scowling. I’ve got to find my game face before we meet this therapist. This isn’t going to be like the times when Mom dragged us to see Pastor Max, who only prayed with us and told us that we could just sit and listen to music or talk, if we wanted.
    As I stand under the shower spray, I wonder what else is on my father’s agenda. He mentioned outings and meeting transgender families. Is this what it’s going to be like every time we come here? Does Dad seriously expect we’re just going to fit in and hang out with these people? I feel another pulse of anger at Poppy and Grandmama. I still can’t believe Poppy said they couldn’t get involved. Why couldn’t they have given us an out?
    Breakfast is boxes of assorted cold cereals, fruit, yogurt, and bakery sweet rolls. Ysabel pours herself a bowl of some kind of granola clusters and eats it dry, like she always does, scanning the nutritional information on the side of the box, alternating each dry bite with a spoonful of yogurt.
    Even annoyed with each other, we automatically double-team Dad. Despite his hovering, Ysabel and I drag out the meal as long as possible. Dad hates to be late even more than I do and finally insists that we have to leave
now
. Ysabel simply shrugs and carries her bowl of dry cereal with her. My father gives her an exasperated look, but doesn’t say anything as he bundles us into the car and drives us downtown to a large suite of offices.
    In the empty waiting room, which is a sickly mint green, we wait in silence, Dad standing relaxed by the door, Ysabel perched on a chair, reading a magazine, with her cereal balanced in her lap, and me, trying to pretend that all I’m doing is getting readyfor a debate. The receptionist offers us coffee or tea, but I’m already wishing I hadn’t eaten the roll I had for breakfast.
    There’s no clock in the waiting room, but I keep track of the minutes on my phone. I scroll through my email and see a notification from the Kids of Trans site; someone is requesting to chat with me off-line. I have begun to text a response when the door opens.
    “Chris,” the small gray-haired woman says happily, as if seeing Dad is the highlight of her day. “And these must be your twins.”
    I now realize why the waiting room is empty. There’s a closed door on the other side of the doctor’s