“You know, that’s a question I’m starting to ask myself too.”

She stares at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” I pull the blanket away, rubbing my eyes before I stand up and stretch.

“Those are Wyatt’s clothes.”

“He let me borrow them,” I say, remembering again that Wyatt wants to keep their pronouns between us for now.

“Are you Wyatt’s boyfriend?” she asks again.

“Lana!” the woman from the kitchen shouts again. “Stop asking so many questions.”

“That’s one of my moms.”

“I figured.” I guess now’s no better time to meet at least one of Wyatt’s parents. I trudge into the kitchen, my feet shuffling on the floor. I didn’t realize just how badly traveling for an entire day would wear me out.

“Good morning,” the woman at the stove says.

She looks a lot like Wyatt. Same smile, same eyes, same frizzy hair.

“I’m Melanie.” She leaves the food on the stove for just long enough to walk over to me, shake my hand. “I’m Wyatt’s mama.”

Mama. Got it.

“I’m Neil, Wyatt’s … friend.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, that can’t be good.”

She goes back to the food: sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs that smell heavenly.

“Sit down, sit down. Wyatt’s still asleep, probably won’t be awake for a while.” Melanie moves to set a plate of toast on the table. “The boy sleeps like a log when he’s on break.”

“Yeah, sometimes I’m worried he’s not going to wake up for his classes.”

Melanie laughs at that, but not the kind of laugh you make when you actually find something funny, more the kind of laugh to make someone feel comfortable.

“Can I help you with anything?” I ask her.

“No, no, just sit down. It’ll all be ready in a few minutes.”

“Actually, um … can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. Down the hallway there, on the right.”

I make my way down the hallway, getting a good look at all the family photos that hang on the wall. There are a few of Wyatt with Melanie, them on a dock holding what has to be the smallest fish in the world on a fishing line, the two of them in the mountains. Then there are pictures of Wyatt and a taller Black woman where Wyatt looks maybe twelve or thirteen; I’m guessing this is their other mom. One of a young-looking guy holding an infant. I’m assuming that’s Wyatt and their birth father.

Wyatt doesn’t look too different now; it’s more like their entire body just got stretched out horizontally, and the rest stayed the same. Maybe with frizzier hair and more body dysmorphia.

I find the bathroom tucked under the stairs, pee, wash my hands, and return to the kitchen.

“Lana! Breakfast!”