There’s no good place to have a heart attack, but if you must, being in a hospital surrounded by doctors isn’t the worst choice. One minute, I was managing a ceremonial ribbon cutting. The next, the stage was cleared for CPR, a gurney whisked my best friend’s dad off to the Emergency Department, and she chased after it, leaving me staring at the red ribbon sagging like a forgotten Christmas present.
That evening, Bruce’s family was called up to the cardiac ICU, and when I hesitated at the nurses’ station, Mallory gripped my hand and pulled me along. When I retracted my hand and gestured for her to lead the way, Mallory slid her arm through her mother’s as they walked into Bruce’s room. I washed my hands, giving them time without me loitering. They were his family, I was just his daughter’s friend. Bruce’s skin was sallow, gray hair clumpy due to his awful surgical shower cap. He smiled groggily as his wife and daughter leaned down for a hug. Mallory, who normally could joke about anything, forced a tight smile.
“Mr. Clarke, I’m Carla, your overnight nurse,” she greeted as she washed her hands. She recognized me as a fellow staff member, her lips lifting before she pulled a flashlight out of her scrubs pocket to check his pupils. “You gave these women quite a scare. Can you tell me who they are?” I braced myself. Carla was doing her job, trying to check her patient’s cognitive skills and memory while taking his vitals. She couldn’t know how loaded her question was. “The gorgeous one is my wife Helen. Her cute clone is my daughter Mallory. And over there,” his head flopped in my direction. No better time to get an honest opinion than after anesthesia, it’s practically truth serum. “That’s my Grace.” Carla raised a brow before she teased, “She works with me, I thought she was my Grace.” “Nope, you can’t have her, I’ve already got her.” He flipped his left wrist up in a silent request, and I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Carla’s eyes softened as she watched the tender moment and rested two fingers on his other wrist to take his pulse. “How did you get yourself a Grace, anyway?”
“I don't know how other people get their Graces, but I got mine for Christmas.” After discovering my Christmas plans last year — or more accurately, lack of plans — Mallory had insisted I join her family’s holiday ski trip to their Adirondack cabin. She skied the most difficult black diamond runs effortlessly, gaining a crowd of admirers to flirt with on the lifts, while I stayed with Bruce on the easier blue square trails. I was a nervous wreck. I’d grown up in Plattsburgh, 20 miles north of the ski resort, and I hadn’t been that close to home in seven years. I scanned the mountain, expecting to see members of the church where I’d been raised … or worse, my father or one of my brothers. They’d never skied growing up, but a lot could change in seven years. A person’s whole life could change. “Loosen your grip on your poles, Grace,” Bruce coached. “Alex once dislocated his thumb from gripping too tight, and whined about how redundant it was to ice your hand and put it back in a glove, and I said —“ “I’m sorry, could you — I haven’t talked to my father in years, and you being so … “ I felt bad interrupting, but I couldn’t handle stories about his kids’ perfect childhoods. Not here, not today. Bruce gestured to a heated bench, handing me a granola bar from his coat’s inside pocket. “My dad had a drinking problem. When he died sixteen years ago, Helen and I hadn’t talked to him in eleven years. Every summer, Dad loved taking Alex to the racetrack to bet on horses. One year, he had enough whiskey that he hit the mailbox turning into the driveway. Alexander was unbuckled in the back seat and his forehead got scratched. He was only seven, too excited about showing me their winnings to care, but it was a wake-up call. I had to make a choice: I had to choose my future over my past.” His arm draped along the bench as we watched the ski lift in silence. A father dismounted, leading a little boy to the launching point and ruffling his ski cap before they pressed off.
The granola bar turned to ash on my tongue. “I wasn’t born a girl.” The words escaped, coming out wrong. “I mean, I always have been, I know that now. But I was assigned male at birth, raised as the youngest of four boys. I knew I was different, but we were raised Evangelical, no room for deviating from the Scripture. When I told my father … it didn’t go well.” I held my breath. Thankfully, he didn’t keep me waiting very long. “Well that’s a shame,” Bruce said, and I flinched, “that he didn’t listen.” My mind spun. “It doesn’t bother you?” “What would bother me?” “That I’m transgender?” “Why would that bother me? I believe you are who you say you are,” he shrugged. “You say you’re Grace, so … you’re Grace.”
“Can I add a Grace to my Christmas list?” Carla asked, meeting my eyes again before wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. “There aren’t any Graces in Santa’s workshop. You have to go find your own Grace.” He sang softly, “Have yourself a Merry Little Gracie …” “Completely consensual, of course,” Mallory said. “No Grace-trafficking.” Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Is she trying to kidnap our Gracie?” Our Gracie. I bit my lip to restrain my sob. Mallory placed her palm over our interlocked hands. “Don’t worry, Dad. Grace isn’t going anywhere. Nobody can take her from us.” Carla wrote his pulse and blood pressure on the whiteboard. “Vitals look good, but he needs sleep. Visiting hours are over, they restart tomorrow at 10.” I looked imploringly at Carla as she guided Helen and Mallory out of the room. She held up an open palm, giving me five minutes. Mallory batted her eyelashes and mouthed, ‘Can I add a Grace to my Christmas list?‘' Typical. Even in the cardiac ICU, she was still trying to set me up. I rolled my eyes then sent a quick text to Alexander: Visited your dad, charming as ever. It would bolster his spirits to see your face. By the time I clicked send, Bruce had fallen asleep. Pulling the chair closer, I took his outstretched hand and rested my forehead against the back of his palm. If this were my father in the hospital and I approached his bedside, would he hold out his hand to welcome back his outcast child? Or did the parable of the Prodigal Son not apply to daughters? “Please,” I whispered my first prayer in years. “Please don’t let me lose him too.”
As he slept, I thought Bruce’s hand squeezed mine. I dozed off remembering a quiet Sunday afternoon with my grandma: the first time I shared my truth, before I understood the repercussions, dreaming of a time when praying felt as natural as breathing. “Nanna,“ I said, inspecting her jewelry to avoid eye contact and running my sweaty palms over my thighs. “Does God make mistakes?” Her eyes snapped up from her romance novel, Lord of Scoundrels. Daddy says she shouldn’t read those ‘filthy bodice rippers,’ but her stash under the bed was our little secret. “Why do you ask?” “Daddy read this Scripture on Sunday about being knit together as babies.” “Psalm 139.” She identified it easily, reciting with the confidence of a woman whose son was an Evangelical minister: “For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” “Yeah, that one." My voice shook as my fingertips traced a pearl brooch of a butterfly. “Is it true?” “As far as I know,” she said, popping her recliner lever to sit up. “Why?” “Well, at school this week, we had to write about what we want to be when we grow up, and I wrote about wanting to be a mom.” My eyes jolted up at Nanna's sharp inhale to her reflection in the mirror. Her alarmed eyes softened as they took in my panic. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. And the kids, they told me I’d be a dad, but I —“ My face scrunched up to fight back tears. Daddy said I couldn’t cry anymore since I’m seven. Mama didn’t give him the girls he wanted, so he wanted no more tears under his roof. If he saw my puffy face, I knew which Scripture he'd choose: ‘When I was a child, I behaved like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.’ Last time he’d recited it, I pointed out that Jesus also said, ‘Unless you become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’ He reprimanded me for talking back. “Come here,” Nanna prompted sternly. I trudged over with heavy feet and shared my theory: “Maybe since Elijah and I were in Mama’s belly together, God didn’t notice I’m not supposed to be a boy. He wasn’t trying to forget me, but … like when Mary and Joseph got home from vacation and realized they forgot Jesus because they both thought the other one had him?” “You know what I think?” Nanna scruffed my short hair. Her eyes flickered around, landing on her dresser. “I think grown-ups are like butterflies, each uniquely beautiful. But butterflies aren’t born that way, are they?” I shook my head, remembering the tank in my second grade class. “No, they start as caterpillars before they metamorf—um, go into cocoons.” “Right, metamorphosis. Some butterflies don’t change much, they start and finish blue.” Her gentle hand cupped my cheek. “But some caterpillars are different when they grow up.” “Like the monarch,” I murmured, thinking of the yellow and black striped caterpillars. After the green shells — crystal somethings — they emerge bright orange and black. “Like the monarch. Do you know what happens when they’re in their chrysalises?” Nanna leaned closer like she was telling a secret. “They turn into goo. Their entire body, all of their cells …” She made a farting sound and I laughed out loud. “Scientists have studied it, but can’t explain exactly what happens in that chrysalis. Even their best microscopes can’t look inside. Do you know the only one who knows?” “God?” “He decides who each caterpillar will grow up to be. We can’t predict it, we have to rely on His grace for the faith that each will turn out the way they’re meant to. Do you understand?” “I think so.”
“Remember what the Lord said to your namesake, the prophet Jeremiah,” Nanna pressed her forehead to mine. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; For I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
~~~~
And, I wanted to share the following acknowledgment by the author related to her research for the book:
To Sydney Fowler, my sensitivity reader & developmental editor: Thank you for your gentle guidance to make sure Grace’s story was told with care and compassion, while remaining true to lived experiences … and also sharing Ships I’d never imagined.
Of course, we are sexual beings and within the business world, we are faced with issues that may surround sex. As a group oversight function however--you know, what I mean, right--Equal Pay for Equal Work, for example, should ensure that sex is not a basis for determining pay. Yet we all know that has been argued for hundreds and thousands of years in one way or another.
Even Jesus got involved... So did the pharisees and any other religion that looks at men and women in a different way as it relates to anything that is used to discriminate or show bias... within a business; and, sometimes personal environment...
In this book, we hone in on the transgender issue. Something that affects a very small number of people, yet, for various reasons, may cause friction within a family. Worse, within a society. I chose to share the most important part of the book related to gender. I think it was beautifully done, don't you think? A young boy, a twin boy, from early in his life had felt that he was meant to be a mom in his future. As he grew older and played with toys that related to his role or that in society, he didn't go toward the fire engines, or other male-oriented toys, he thought about holding a child, being its mother... This would fulfill his goal for the future. So even while he grew and, later, as he thought about working, he chose to become a social worker in order to help other people through their lives... By that time, he had chosen to fulfill what had been a burning need since early in his life. He became Grace...
And, immediately upon sharing with the patriarch, an evangelical pastor, a young member was banned from the family...
Personally, I tend to look at somebody being different physically as a matter of science. When I learn of God's planning for each of us, I think more about the type of person/personality of the individual as opposed to what they will look like or what sex they would be. For instance, since my father was killed in a mine accident while my mother carried me, I've often wondered about what part that had in God's plan for me. Since I would not have a father in my life, would He allow me to choose differently, be a strong independent spirit, with an awareness of the Holy Trinity, might it play in my decisions? You see, often I have realized that, my life has followed the role of a man as opposed to a woman. Certainly events in my early life have influenced some of my decisions... But, it didn't seem to me that, if we had free will, my creation would not spell out exactly my life's path... would be... As I learned along the way, my basic point of view was whether or not, we would ask God into our lives. That he would become a part of us throughout our lives.
Jeremiah certainly didn't have a choice. Having a leader of a religious group certainly led him and his siblings into the church environment. And, of course, the religious life was to be set right from the beginning. But at some point, Jeremiah began to realize that he was different in some ways from his twin brother. Even though they were very close throughout their early lives.
A key point in the book was that Grace had been turned away from that home. She made it on her own--the book doesn't cover too much of that time period. But she did connect and made friends with a girl, who pulled her directly into her home life. A life which, interestingly, had love as a central part, although a religion was not significant, if there at all. In any event, it was clear that, to this family, her being a girl called Grace, was somebody who they had come to love very much...
And then Grace met Mallory's brother, Alex... He had come home for Christmas and because Grace had called him, making him feel very guilty, to immediately come home since his father had a heart attack and, for her, that meant, family should come! Besides he hadn't been home for 7 years--busy man... And soon, Grace had somehow talked him in to being the hospital's Santa Claus--and she was already Mrs. Claus... Yes, that was the beginning, especially after the hospital staff had pointed out the mistletoe hanging after all the children had met with Santa...
Sure, thereafter was mostly a traditional romance novel and was fun to watch their relationship develop. In fact, the book's POV moves between Grace and Alex so readers get to learn of their innermost thoughts as the story moves forward...
The key was, of course, whether bias would be part of that relationship.
Dad hustled for years to make partner in his firm — this firm where we were standing right now, that provided everything that my spoiled little sister wanted. This was the sacrifice required to be successful. My snotty little sister stuck out her chin. “So you can make more money to spend on your fancy condo where you never spend any time, and your Mercedes that you only drive to and from work? So you can become yet another interchangeable straight white man joining the patriarchal lineage of straight white men?” “I don’t have time for a lecture about the patriarchy.”
Indeed, the potential connection with Grace and Alex was more an issue for Mallory, Alex's sister, than for Alex--purely connected to her own thoughts about her brother, LOL... That also included Mallory's father, who immediately took on a protective role as he wanted only the best for Grace, who he had come to love as a member of his family... All or Nothing certainly is the theme for this new series and I loved it!
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” she strode around the desk to push her finger into my chest. “You’re working so damn hard to make a name for yourself, but you’re not living.” “After I make partner —” “— you’ll change the goalpost and keep running full speed until it kills you.” Her bottom lip trembled, but she sucked it in with a quick breath and barreled on. “It scares the shit out of me, Alex, because last week, I watched Dad die."
Folks, this is a special book I consider should be read across the world. It includes religious aspects, while still allowing humor and love to dominate where anger had once been... There are those that have chosen "Pro-life" which turns out to be a political tool to harm... Then once a child is forced to be born, especially when hunger is still a major problem across the world, there is a constant refusal to care fore those hungry who were forced to be born. Those who have specific ideas of either their religious documents, traditions, or just what they personally place first in their lives--like power and riches--over the lives of others... have been using that power to "play god" while our children are always those who are hurt the most... Please don't attempt to deny this. We have seen it more in the last decade and especially for the last few years of madness. Why does this continue year after year, century after century? Indeed, it has now reached the point that even children know that something has changed, if they are old enough, like Grace, to decide that she could no longer follow the damaging life forced upon her by her religious leader and father who chose rules and words rather than love for another... Because isn't that the primary issue for many who still cling to the old ways rather than choosing God's Truth and Love?
Kudos to Bailey Seaborn for beginning this series... She started with a major division that is now in the United States headlines again and again. I'm thrilled that she has both the writing and research skills exhibited in this exciting new type of series and hope she will find the strength to continue even knowing that there will be a few that practice ritual and words to harm rather than help those who need assistance of one thing or another. There is a lot covered in this book that only reading can give you. I hope, though, that I've shared enough to have you begin to really think about all those words that have been taught to you and which now are so openly being used for corruption of even the basic moral laws which are being ignored...
This, then, is a writer who wants you to lighten up and start singing... Choosing Christmas as the time of the book was a fantastic choice, in my opinion. It allows readers to think about the songs in their lives for important celebrations and decide just how those songs of both good and bad times have affected each of us. Me, I'm still learning daily. I guarantee this book will provide the foundation for you, too, to consider changing or firming up your beliefs that loving our neighbors, no matter who they are, shall continue or become a part of your daily thoughts and actions...
Gabby
