“And some fall very far,” I say. I don’t remember much about my grandparents—they passed when I was in elementary school—but keeping a secret like this all your life must be tough. “I feel sad for you, Auntie. To keep this part of your life from our family.”

She laughs again. I’m cracking her up tonight. “Honey, I may be related to them, but they aren’t my family.”

Davina laughs softly as she heads to the kitchen and puts her plate in the sink. She moves around the house like she knows the place well. Like she would know where every pineapple-shaped object is stored.

“Do you live here?” I ask Davina. I’ve only been here one night—maybe she was hiding.

“No,” Aunt Lil cuts in.

“I’m allergic to pineapple,” Davina says with a wink.

“And you’re never too old to do the walk of shame,” Aunt Lil adds.

“August,” Davina says, putting her hand on my shoulder, “I’m going to head upstairs and give you and your aunt time to talk. You’re a brave boy, and I look forward to getting to know you better.” The way she smiles makes me think everything will be all right.

“I’ll be up in a few,” Aunt Lil says to her. Once Davina has cleared the room, Aunt Lil turns to me and says, “I’m sorry for keeping this part of my life from you. I had a feeling you would understand, but your mom was always around. I could tell there was something going on with you when I’d come for a visit, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I just hoped you would reach out if you needed me.”

“Thanks,” I say. “For being there when I needed you.”

“August,” she says, looking me right in the eyes. “It was your talk about ending your life that alarmed me most.”

A few days ago, an envelope changed my life. Mail doesn’t usually get my attention, but the address on this envelope, handwritten in tight cursive, was from Brand New Day Therapy. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember from where. First result on Google was a web page promising a conversion therapy program for gender confusion. Then I remembered where I’d heard of it—the pastor had their brochures on his desk.

I didn’t know much about conversion therapy. But I knew it wasn’t good. I couldn’t believe my parents were considering sending me. They would take me out of school and out of theater. It would probably destroy me. It felt like there was only one option left—to end this life and hope I came back in the right body next time.