“Well, after my parents got divorced, they kind of picked my mother over their son. He didn’t like that very much, so he told them to stay away from us. I’d still sneak out to see them, though. Go get some fresh-baked cookies and sit down and watch movies with them. But Grandpa died a few years ago. And Grandma moved all the way up to Red Bluff. I think she wanted to come to the wedding, but since Dad said he wasn’t coming, I think she decided it was better to stay on his side. It’s complicated.”

“That’s awful, Neil. I’m so sorry about your grandfather.”

“He had a hard fight, and we knew where it was going, so we just tried to make him comfortable. Dad had the balls to tell me that I couldn’t still see him, but Mom stepped in. I basically lived with them the last two months he was alive.”

Wyatt remains silent.

“He was actually the first person I came out to,” I say, because the faucet has been turned on and now I can’t stop myself. “I was so scared of what he’d think. I know it’s not fair to assume, but you just kind of think a lot of older people won’t understand gender or being trans.

“I told him how I felt, how my outside didn’t feel like my inside, how it felt almost like I was two different people, and how confusing and scary it was, and how good I felt when I wore T-shirts and jeans and sneakers and when I pulled my long hair into a ponytail and hid it in a hat or behind my head.

“He just told me that he loved me, and that I was always his favorite grandson. Then he asked me about my name, and I didn’t have an answer for him. I hadn’t decided what I wanted my new name to be. I hadn’t found one that I’d connected to yet.” I remember feeling so bad for not having an answer for him, a different name he could call me.

My old name, the one that was given to me, wasn’t mine; it hadn’t felt like it belonged to me for a long time.

“He made me promise that I’d tell him my new one before he died. He wanted to be able to know his grandson’s name.”

“So you picked Neil?”

I nod slowly, trying to stop the shaking of my hands under the table. I don’t know why I’m telling him this, and I feel like an idiot.

“What was his name?” Wyatt asks.

“Neil,” I say. “Neil Kearney Jr.”