September 15—Tuesday

The last several days have found Jazz and I discussing what we ought to do, talking in snatches of conversation when no one else was around. As relieved as I was (and am) to have his support, there was, of course, the small matter of explaining this to the rest of the household—and not everyone proved to be as understanding as Jazz.

My poor, poor Beatrice. I had prayed the beginning of her new life might be easy.

We finally made the decision to simply tell them, and so earlier this afternoon we gathered the rest of our makeshift family into one room to make the announcement.

It started off well enough. Most everyone was supportive, if a little wary of the idea, but after a minute Beat made the mistake of saying that he felt like a liar every time he tried to pass himself off as a boy. Salsa jumped to her feet and immediately started arguing, a heated situation that defied any attempts to diffuse it and which culminated with my redhead shouting at the top of her voice, "Why don't you just tell everyone the truth, then?"

Beat set his mouth in a hard line, his face angry and hopeless at the same time. "The truth is I like dressing up in girl's clothes and pretending I'm a pretty princess, okay?"

"Well that's stupid," Salsa shot back, her hands balled into fists, "because you're not a pretty princess, you're a stupid ugly boy, and you better grow up and act like one before somebody comes up and whips your butt!"

"You're the ugly one!"

"Really? I wouldn't know, I'm not the hommasse here!"

"I hate you!" Beat screamed, and turned and ran full-speed up the stairs.

"Good," Salsa shouted, "because I hate you too!" and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance.

The rest of us stood in sudden, awkward silence, looking uncertainly at each other. Salsa's door rattled on its hinges as she slammed it shut.

"Well," Falsetto muttered. "That was fun."

I glanced at Jazz, who rubbed at the back of his neck apologetically. "I... can't imagine that could have gone much worse."

"She could've hit him," Viola offered. "That might have been worse."

"Yeah," Allegretto said sarcastically, "everyone knows blood is harder to clean up than hurt feelings."

March shrugged, her hands clasped in her lap. "Blood is really hard to get out of whites."

A few people laughed, but when we quieted down again we could hear Beat crying, probably locked upstairs in my music room. Jazz turned to look at me and whispered, "Do you want me to go talk to her?"

I was unsure which of our two new girls he meant, but I sighed slightly and shook my head. "I will see what I can do about Salsa if you can calm down Beat."

"Alright."

He squeezed my hand briefly and started off towards the staircase without waiting for a reply.

The rest of us sat together without speaking, unsure what there was we could say. For a moment I missed Beat, thinking that he would hurry over to one of his sisters and pull at her sleeve, exclaiming, "C'mon!" and they would all go off on some new adventure somewhere. But instead my dear March stood up, forever the peace-maker, and made a wide gesture with her hands. "I think we ought go and find some of the old gowns we have lying around. That way Beat will have something to wear tomorrow when he and Salsa have calmed down."

"Sounds good," Viola said, sounding relieved to be rid of the silence. "Between all of us here we must have something that would fit him."

"I have some old petticoats Beat could have," Polka said, and March nodded.

"There's a silk slip in my closet that I never wear."

"Yeah," Falsetto chuckled, "we should see if my—"

Allegretto stood up suddenly, his face pink. "Um, as long as you four are busy I'll go and... m-milk the goats."

The girls tried not to laugh as he hurried out of the room, and when I stood up to follow him (I was beginning to grow a little uncomfortable with the conversation myself) Falsetto yelled, "Brassiere! We should see if my brassiere fits him!"

I heard Retto choke a little on a response.

I made my way down to Salsa's room, certain that the women would be just fine without me. Honestly, I wouldn't know what a silk slipped looked like anyway.

Outside of the twins' room I paused, listening. I had learned my lesson about entering without invitation, but there was no sound except the faint bah of goats outside and the late summer wind rattling through the trees. I took a moment to think about how strange it was for things to change so much and yet not change at all.

I knocked gently, and then pushed open the door when I received no answer. Salsa was sitting on her bed in a mess of sheets and blankets, her arms folded tightly as she stared holes into her sister's side of the room.

"What do you want?" was my only acknowledgment.

"What you said was very hurtful," I murmured, sitting down on the edge of her mattress. She rolled her eyes.

"It was true."

"Perhaps," I agreed, after a moment, "but that doesn't mean you ought to have said it."

"That's so stupid," she huffed. "You're always telling us to be honest and tell the truth and stuff, and then when I do tell the truth you get mad at me! It's not fair."

I smiled slightly and thought of all the times I myself have said that. "I suppose a good part of life is unfair."

"Yeah, well, it's stupid."

I sighed, knowing there was no good way to answer such a statement. Instead I said quietly, "You made Beat cry."

"I'm not sorry," she muttered, but there was a little less venom in her voice than before. "It's not my fault if he's a crybaby."

"You know it took a great deal of courage for him to tell you what he did."

"What, that's he's a girl? Yeah, you're right—it would take a lot of courage to tell everyone that you're some kind of freak of nature who likes wearing dresses and playing with dolls even though you have a penis!"

I paled a little at the thought of my ten-year-old knowing what a penis was, but decided to ignore it. That hadn't been the point of the conversation, after all. "You enjoy doing boy things sometimes, Salsa. Your wrestling matches and Beat's doll houses are really not that different."

"Yeah, but I don't wear pants and call myself a boy!"

I had a sudden memory of my dear Aurore dressed up in trousers and a top hat and calling herself George Sand: how it had disgusted me when I'd first met her, the prospect of a woman dressing as a man. Nearly a decade later, I hadn't been able to imagine my life without this beautiful person, no matter which pronoun I used. "Sweetheart, why does this bother you so much? Beat will be the same person he's always been; he will still be part of our family, and all of us will still love both of you exactly as much as we always have. None of the things that will change will affect you."

Salsa shook her head in exasperation. "You wouldn't get it."

I could not imagine it had simply been part of her upbringing, since March hadn't seemed to harbor any of the same concerns—but then again, Salsa had gone through her own trials while she was away from her sister. "Could you explain it to me?"

"I maybe like him," she said after a moment, and her face looked like Beat's had earlier: angry and hard, and hiding something more vulnerable underneath. "And I don't even know for sure if I like him because sometimes he acts like a whiny baby, but sometimes I do and now I can't because all of a sudden he's a girl!"

I sat in stunned silence, unsure what to say. Certainly that hadn't been the answer I'd expected. "You... like him?"

"Yes," she grumbled, "that's what I said."

"But the two of you fight all the time." Salsa glared at me, and I realized too late how foolish an observation that'd been. Love comes in many forms, after all. "I... I see."

"It isn't a big deal," she said, folding her arms again. "Or it wasn't a big deal, but now he has to come out and say all this stuff about how he wants to change his name to some girl name I've never even heard of before and now I don't even know what to call him because he's always been a boy and now suddenly he's not!"

I blinked, still overwhelmed by this abrupt revelation. I was beginning to understand the fact that this whole situation was much more than I had realized at first—not simply a changing of outfits and titles, but the loss of a family member. This, in essence, was the beginning of a girl named Beatrice and the end of a boy named Beat, and I had not quite factored in the need to mourn for the one before we could welcome the other. I pulled Salsa into my arms.

"You know," I said gently, "there is nothing to say a woman must fall in love with a man."

Salsa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, but you're still supposed to anyway. It's kind of expected."

I chuckled slightly. "My dear, since when have you done something simply because it was expected of you?"

"You don't get it," she huffed, and folded her arms over mine. "You guys are home all the time; you don't ever have to deal with all the people who think it's weird."

"Who think that what is weird?"

"You guys. You and Jazz. Because... you know." She paused. "Because you're both boys."

I considered that for a moment, and my little one leaned her head against my shoulder as I asked, "Salsa, are you uncomfortable with Jazz and I being together?"

She didn't answer right away and I didn't say anything, not wanting to force a response before she was ready to give one. "I... don't know," she admitted finally. "I mean, boys aren't supposed to love other boys, and at first I kinda thought it was gross to see you guys kiss and stuff, even though March was mad at me for thinking that. But..."

She trailed off, and after a moment I prodded gently, "You can tell me, little one."

"I know you fight, and sometimes I hear Jazz yelling at you in the middle of the night, but you guys really love each other. Like, really, really love each other. And... I don't know." She shrugged and looked away. "I guess sometimes it's kinda cute."

I laughed a little, hugging her, and Salsa blushed and pushed me away. "It might be a little strange," I agreed, "and the rest of the world may not agree with our decision, but we both care about you and about each other more than you will ever know."

"We love you guys, too."

"And he might not always seem like it, but Jazz is a good man."

"That's it!" Salsa cried, jumping to her feet, and I was left sitting by myself on her bed, baffled. "Jazz can teach Beat how to be a boy!"

"W-what?"

"Jazz is a boy," she demanded, "right? So if he could just teach Beat how to act like a boy, then everything would be okay again!"

"I… am afraid that wouldn't quite work."

"Why not? It's perfect!"

"Being a boy or a girl is not something you can teach," I murmured. "And even if it were, I am not certain I would want Jazz to be the one to teach it."

I had not meant to add that last part out loud, but it was too late to retract it. Salsa turned to glare at me. "What'dya mean, he couldn't teach it? He's like the manliest guy I know!"

I smiled a little, wondering offhandedly if that has been meant as a slight. "Why do you think that?"

"'Cause he has a giant sword and tons of really heavy armor and he fights bad guys all the time to keep us safe. Like, what's more amazing than that?"

"You know, I am a boy too."

Salsa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but you're different."

"Prince Crescendo and Count Waltz were both boys, as well."

"The Captain is pretty cool," she agreed, "and Count Crazy Train was just loony, so he doesn't count."

I laughed. "Count Crazy Train?"

"Yeah, that's his name. We decided."

We had not decided, but I only shook my head. "There are many, many boys in this world besides Jazz, my dear, and there are many, many different ways to define masculinity."

"So why can't Beat be one of them?" she groaned, throwing herself facedown onto the bed.

"That's the thing about love," I murmured, running my fingers through her wild hair. "You have to love people exactly the way they are right now."

She rolled over and shielded her eyes with one arm. "I still think it's weird."

"I know, little one."

"And I still think he should be a boy."

"I know. But such things are not our decisions—the only thing we can do is accept them or not accept them. We can't change them at all."

She sighed and peeked out at me from behind her arm. "Father?"

I smiled. "Yes?"

"I'll try."

I bent down to kiss her forehead and whispered, "That's all I ask."

A/N - 'hommasse' was the best insult I could find, although I'm aware that Salsa isn't properly using the word. I imagine she picked it up from someone off the streets or something. :)

And also, we passed 50 reviews!