A Rock and Family Vacation
[4]
Brooke filled her main tote with everything they needed, along with quite a few just-in-case additions, and whatever else occurred to her. She noticed that her daughter switched her sandy tote over to the same shoulder as her. She didn’t call attention to it, but gave a quick, private smile. Brooke absolutely didn’t want any of her kids to be exactly like her, but it felt good, as well as a relief, to be their role model.
The early air felt nice. It was still dense and clingy despite a steady sea breeze wafting a mist. The morning clouds stifled the heat. Clare started by scampering ahead to check out the waves. However, she soon pulled up and stepped lightly the rest of the way.
Brooke desperately hoped that her daughter hadn’t pulled a muscle or twisted her ankle. When she checked that Clare was all right, the girl shyly admitted it was just the pee butt feeling weird when she was walking. She stretched, kicked her legs, and twirled while stretching to do a split. At the end of the split, Clare squeaked and braced herself while flailing with a puff of air.
It brought reflexive wincing and sympathetic pain from Brooke, but her little girl hopped up and fixed her bag without a single note of complaint. Clare admitted that she landed a little sore but was quietly surprised it didn’t hurt. Of course, she soon decided that more experiments needed to be run.
Fervently, Brooke urged her not to run too far ahead because her brain still saved a half dozen solemn Netflix documentaries with photos of smiling, vanished kids. Clare smashed herself into a low wall made of spiral stone like she was riding a small horse. The breath gasped out of her, but she soon giggled.
“It doesn’t hurt as much without the birdie and eggs. I think the pee butt is better.” Brooke was quietly glad that the area where they were walking didn’t have any passersby to judge the fact that her daughter was hopping on and… hugging a stone wall. Clare had a lot to say about peeing standing up but all of Brooke’s attention was on scouting around for anyone who might hear this. Fortunately, Clare soon moved on to skipping and trying out different strides.
They arrived at the clothing store just as she was fake ice skating along some gravel and dirt. Brooke faced the girls' section with as much curiosity tinged with trepidation as her kid. It had been a long time, but even when growing up her mom wasn’t the sort to take her on shopping trips. They just had her point to the parts of the ordering catalog that she wanted, and had it modified if it wasn’t right.
She let her daughter explore, within reason, as the clerk at the counter waved and greeted them. “Hello there, ma’am. Greetings, little miss. Is there anything I can help you two with?” Clare looked up and it clearly took her a few moments to process that the ‘little miss’ sentiment was directed towards her.
“Hello. We’re just looking. Thank you!” Clare took charge with that, and the clerk encouraged them to look around. The first rack had a gorgeous variety of graphic tees. The offerings had a slimmer cut with slightly different shoulders than Brooke was used to. The boys' selections tended to have a focus on “bros”, gaming, action, ninjas, and roaring dinosaurs.
Here, there was a lot of peace, encouragement, rainbow unicorns, science, and still plenty of dinosaurs. Clare smiled at the neon pink top with a purple dinosaur reading a pile of novels with the words, “my weekend is booked” but she gasped at another top which had a flaming comet shining above assorted rainbow stones with the text, “science rocks!” That one went in their basket.
The section with dresses felt like a big step. Clare stood back respectfully as Brooke sifted through the options. But she was intrigued by certain ones called “skater dresses”. Brooke recalled that it wasn’t because it meant skateboarders wore them, as Clare considered from what she remembered of the movie last night, but rather that figure skaters tended to. Clare still thought that was cool though.
She was especially interested in the skirtalls, which didn’t look anything like what she expected for a skirt, blouse, or anything else. Brooke knew from work that some Influencer made them popular. She wasn’t quite as keen on the denim ones, since they made her think more of overalls. She also seemed ever so slightly annoyed that heavier fall designs with rustic oranges, pumpkins, and leaves were scattered about when it was still the middle of summer.
Leggings, jeans, and boots also came under her purview but, in her brain, she was starting to add up the uncomfortable cost of essentially acquiring a wardrobe for a brand new child. This place had several mark-off deals and looked to be the only location in the area with a significant children’s section, but there were far more, cheaper options back home. Before things got carried away, she resolved to just make sure there were enough comfortable outfits for the week, bolstered by the cheaper tees. A few pairs of jeans. A couple of leggings for Clare to try. One modest dress with science decorations. One blouse and a skirt just to say they got them. The cheapest pair of nice shoes and thank goodness the sandals they came here on still fit her feet.
Of everything though, it took her the longest to remember underwear. Over by the changing room, Clare eagerly tried on the familiar tees and pants. Not all of them earned her approval, but she definitely dug the rocks and books. She commented that there were a lot more fun things in the girls' choices. They hadn’t gotten to the dresses yet.
The first step into those waters came with the pleated, very soft skirts. Clare was skeptical when she first stepped out. She pronounced that they looked like drapes, bedsheets, and lamp covers. The clerk walked by though and told her she looked really pretty. Clare brushed the skirt down and dipped her head. They bought one skirt and only because it looked like ocean waves. They also bought a few proper polos to cover formal possibilities. Clare had way too much fun spinning with the matching skort.
At one point, to mollify the curious clerk, Brooke put together an explanation structured from the idea that her daughter was recently in a particular situation where she never wore more than rather plain, unisex clothing and she herself had also been raised by a very aloof family that avoided certain kinds of fashion. It was all technically correct, but also painfully constructed. The clerk immediately assumed an ex-husband along with a cult of some sort and Brooke did her best not to get in the way of her imagination.
The clerk took charge of finding not only hidden beauties of clothing and whatever else they would need but also items that were quietly on discount. She placed her daughter in a luminous, blue star field dress. Clare cautiously stepped before the mirror in it and brushed her legs together as she smoothed down the hem. The clerk lavished her most vibrant praise. Small, unseen shorts went on underneath.
Clare didn’t bristle or squirm uncomfortably. She fussed gently with her dense blonde hair and quietly marveled at her reflection before whispering, “I’m a girl.
The clerk took that with a hearty laugh and encouraged her that she was a very pretty little girl. And she added a girl deserved to dress how she feels and in what makes her happy. Clare chewed at her lip as she continued to fuss. To Brooke’s nervous chagrin, as she took a sudden, nervous interest in gazing at her tote, Clare recited, “I am not a boy.”
To that, the clerk directed heartfelt sympathy at Clare. She shared part of a personal story about being the youngest child of five, mostly boys, who had to receive hand-me-downs that didn’t look cool and felt worn and itchy. She was even older than Clare when she was able to buy her very first dress. With that convincing, Clare added a few of the girlier skirts and dresses. She tried them on with a certain stiffness, as though scared she might rip a seam if she moved too fast. But, after a few tries, she was moving in a reserved but much more normal fashion.
Brooke glared at the final number, especially with the local sales tax rate. It wasn’t as bad as she feared, but it was definitely at least as big as a birthday spend. Something she didn’t want this early into their vacation. But Clare was happy and looked genuinely excited to wear the new clothes. She wore the star field dress on the way out.
There were more people on the boardwalk when they emerged with the bundle of bags enclosed by a massive one. Clare did her best to help support the load while Brooke swung it around like a literal Santa sack and twisted her tote forward for some degree of counterbalance. She was already dying though. Before she keeled over, Brooke wanted some dang ice cream.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The closest option was the contemptible version next to the bookstore with only non-dairy. Rainbow ice would have to suffice. Clare got what they called the confetti sherbet and they sat towards the water with the sky clearing above but the wind still brisk and cool. Clare kicked her feet and balanced her cone while keeping her dress from flapping. Halfway through the snack, Brooke searched for a hair tie in her bag because of the shifting breeze. Clare asked if she could have one too. Of course, Brooke kicked and berated herself for not thinking of offering sooner. She was just used to being the only one who even needed it.
She helped Clare slip it on, like she had last night for comfort. But Clare was actually pretty good with bundling up her hair and getting it out of her eyes. Brooke congratulated her and gave a faint sigh before asking, quietly enough that it didn’t seem like passersby could pick up everything, “Do you feel like you’re a girl, not a boy anymore?”
Brooke only had a vague sense that if someone changed sex then that meant a heck of a lot for their self-perception and gender identity. Her dad didn’t respect any of that and called it bullshit, so it just got the faintest lip service when it came to marketing. She tried her best though.
Quietly pondering that question while rubbing her face with a napkin, Clare resolved, “I am a girl. Not a boy. Am I feeling wrong?” Desperately, Brooke shot down that notion, encouraging that however she felt was valid, and never wrong, no matter what anyone said.
Clare continued to puzzle. “I feel like I have a butt that you open up to pee and it doesn’t hurt like a birdie and eggs. I am protected. But I’m soft and smaller and not as strong. That’s how I feel. I was sad before a shower because I thought I screwed up but it’s okay. I get the choice to wear girl clothes as a girl and it’s kind of fun. It’s super different and kind of weird. But not bad.”
Brooke could tell in her peripheral vision that some people walking along were noticing their conversation and glancing over. She didn’t care, at least she did her best not to care, because her child wasn’t sad or depressed or broken. She had been radically changed, but it was fine. It was still earth-shattering to her, and they had so many things to deal with on the other end of their vacation from the private school to paperwork and so many other details. But she was content to know that her little girl was having a good time.
Some good soul loaned her a tiny cart from one of the nearby stores for the aching load she had to haul back. It helped enormously even though she had to drag it across uneven pavement and rough gravel to pass the final stretch. When they arrived, she was sweating all over and could barely stretch her back up from a granny crouch. The front door was so close, but she staggered over to the trunk of the car with her fob and clicked it open. The Santa sack went in the back as she told Clare to go get dad for the bags.
Clare considered that, but instead desperately wanted to stay with her mom. She acquiesced so long as Clare dragged the cart part of the way because she certainly couldn’t. God, she privately lamented, forty can hit freaking hard. The indomitable energy twirling and swirling next to her kindled quiet jealousy.
She didn’t want any age regression curse like whatever gender flip curse hit her daughter, but she wouldn’t mind a refresh of her telomeres or any other medical science fact part of her that broke down with time. Too much marketing pseudoscience jargon on the brain from work about creams and ointments that had some miracle chemical. A slather of BenGay would have to suffice.
And maybe an umbrella-sheltered hour or two on the beach with the indirect nurturing of the sun through the clouds while a really good podcast played through an earbud. While living for that moment ahead, at least once she sent all the documentation and the final draft, she found serenity for the moment in her daughter’s quick and vibrant energy. Her little girl was so different from her little boy, yet they were deeply the same.
This could work, she told herself. Sure, the morning was full of the older boys being chaotic and crazy, but they never weren’t. Given time, it could all work out. Her dad would be bitterly angry and have even more questions than the government but fuck him.
Back at the house, Brooke cracked her back with an unsteady wobble before venturing into the main room to see Blair and Eliot watching some streaming series. Lacy wasn’t around, but Brooke didn’t dwell on this before informing everyone that they were back and had a lot of clothes.
Blair was the first to react with a double eyebrow raise and offered up the word, “Woah…” Eliot immediately made sure he told Clare that she looked amazing, and he was sorry that Brooke’s back hurt. Clare fussed with her dress and admitted, after a deep breath, “I like it and the nice lady at the store said it looked really good.”
“Introducing, Madame Clotheshorse”, Blair teased. Clare wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she still gave her brother a sour look. Brooke encouraged her eldest to be nice and inquired where “Ace” was.
Wiggling a finger in the air, Blair clarified, “Ace is the dingus’s superhero name. Mine is Big B and she used to be Sea Note. With the water, not the letter.” Clare asserted that she could still be Sea Note.
Before the conversation got massively off course, Brooke just asked where Lacy was. Blair fanned the air and proclaimed, “Sleepy and grumpy and dopey and stinky and the whole mess of other dwarves. He said he was taking a nap.” Eliot took care of bringing in the clothing sack as Brooke stretched her back again and ambled upstairs to the side guest room.
Only after pushing open the door slightly did she warn herself to knock first. The mistake of too many times and too much she didn’t wanna know. At least nothing crazy was going on inside. Just Lacy sprawled out on the bed, hugging the blanket. Except…
The first oddity was the snoring sound. It was like a strange attempt to whistle while holding a mouth full of something. Usually, Lacy sounded more like a goblin going through a workout when snoozing. And then there was the most obvious sign of all which should’ve alerted her sooner, but she must’ve been somehow blind to it…Longer hair.
Lacy had a decent amount of blonde hair, enough to raise occasional questions. But that was hair that surrounded his neck and spilled over his ears while straining to reach his shoulders. This hair was a straw volcano erupting over his back with nearly two feet of plumes. Faintly whimpering, the figure in bed turned away from the window.
Brooke sucked in a breath of concern. It was Lacy, it had to be. From the clothes she had on earlier as… a boy, to her subtly-altered facial features. There was no denying that slim, soft face. The fullness that gave her middle boy his model touches was compressed into a narrower, slender look while still retaining youthful baby fat. Brooke also saw that her daughter inherited far more of her puffy lips than she ever intended to pass along. She further grimaced at another way her child took after her. They would need to get more than a training bra for their middle child.
She winced internally, remembering all the cruel comments and mooing noises made when she was Lacy‘s age in school. Just surviving the uncertainty of one clothing trek, Brooke didn’t know if she could go back so soon. She gazed at her child, the second one now immensely altered by some unknown force. She wanted to brush her hair back and hold her in her arms so tightly that she wasn’t scared of what she was about to awaken to.
She wanted to tell her that the classmates in her school weren’t like the ones when her mom was growing up. They would treat her right, they wouldn’t bully her. They would accept the fact that Lacy just returned from her vacation with what had to be D cups. They… They…
Brooke cupped her mouth and sat on the edge of Blair‘s bed. Too much for one day. She already needed a rest from everything. Settling down sideways, she watched Lacy quietly sleep as she’d done when her middle boy wasn’t quite so big. Blair was the child that zoomed through her life with so many distractions that she felt like she missed all the quiet moments because she needed to advance her career with her dad or fervently arrange all the planning, so Blair grew up into the best child possible.
She wanted the same with Lacy and again with Clare. But with Lacy, it was like remembering some feeling long lost. She wanted to indulge in every touch and every restful snooze because she had no idea if this would be it. Once again, this might be the last quiet moment in her life for a long time before Lacy started screaming in shock. She accepted it for as long as she could.