2. Prescription For Love

Blake pressed against her for a brief, beautiful moment before letting go. The main street through the village was mostly quiet, a few cars and trucks passing now and then and the occasional dog walker, strolling couple, or clutch of teens passing by. Most of the businesses were closed, and the air, heavy with heat and dusk, felt more like mid-August than barely summer. The parking lot in front of Clark’s pizzeria was full, however. Most of the vehicles were pickups. A bike rack along one side was nearly filled.

“This must be about the only place to eat at night,” Abby said.

“Except for the bars.”

“Well, that lets you out for a couple more years.”

He snorted and paused on the sidewalk in front of the pizza place, a one-story cement-block building painted Day-Glo orange that looked like a converted garage. Two big plate-glass windows framed a red door. An old-fashioned white glass sign, lit by flickering bulbs, hung over it, with Clark’s in red script. Teens and a few older patrons were visible through the windows.

“What do you say?” Abby said. Probably having pizza with his mom was the last thing on Blake’s to-do list, and the first foray into the social life of the town would be even more of a challenge. The group she’d joined for parents of trans teens had stressed the importance of letting Blake lead the way in defining what was comfortable for him and what wasn’t. If he wanted to tell his teachers and friends he was trans, she supported that. If he didn’t want to be out or chose to be more selective and only tell a few friends, she supported that as well. The only absolute was that she supported him in all ways in all situations with all comers. She resisted the urge to ruffle his short hair. He was her child, of course she supported him.

“I’m starving,” he said at last. “Pepperoni?”

“Mushrooms?”

He made a face.

Abby laughed. “Half pepperoni, half mushrooms?”

He grinned, and for just an instant she saw the child he had once been, filled with joy and expectation and trust. She wanted to see that smile dominate his life again.

“After you,” she said.

With an almost perceptible squaring of his shoulders, he strode forward and she followed.

The place was one big room with a counter at the back, noisy, smelling of tomato sauce and cheese and, of all things, hay. Three booths occupied one side and the rest of the space was filled with five or six rickety Formica tables surrounded by chairs that looked like they’d been there since the 1950s, aluminum legs and vinyl seats, cracked and patched in places. Pizza boxes, paper plates, and sweating cardboard cups of soda covered every surface. A dozen teenagers lounged around the room in groups of twos and threes. Some glanced their way and then went back to their conversations. Blake ordered for them while Abby grabbed a booth vacated by three high-school-age girls. The girls smiled at Blake as he returned. He colored slightly and slid into the booth. Abby sat across from him.

“Presley invited us to dinner Saturday afternoon,” Abby said.

“Do I have to go?” Blake said.

“Presley is an old friend and the head of the hospital. She used to help babysit when you were small.”

“I don’t remember.” Blake picked at the edge of a paper plate.

“I know. But we live here now and I’d like us to meet people as a family.” “Yeah, okay.”

He didn’t sound particularly enthused. Meeting new people was always a challenge for them both. Sometimes there were questions, sometimes only curious looks. Fortunately, they’d rarely run into overt bias or hostility, but she lived with the expectation that could happen at any time, and she knew he did too. All they could do was deal with whatever came, together.

“The hospital’s not far,” Abby said. “Probably a fifteen-or twenty-minute walk if you want to have lunch when I’m on the day shift.”

“I’d rather get a bicycle,” Blake said.

“Really? Okay. First thing.” The city hadn’t really been conducive to biking, the traffic too dangerous and the subway too convenient. They hadn’t lived all that far from his school, so he’d been able to walk or bus in inclement weather. He’d be ready for his driver’s license soon, but he hadn’t brought it up and she was in no hurry to have him on the roads. “I’ll try to get off early one afternoon and we can drive”—she laughed—“somewhere to get one.”

“I could probably get one on Craigslist.” “I think we can spring for a new bike.”

The guy behind the pizza counter called out Blake’s name. As he rose to get the pizza, a girl called,

“Hey, Blake!”

A teenager with blond curls to her shoulders, brilliant blue eyes, and the graceful gait of an athlete crossed the room to Blake, a big smile on her face. That was interesting. Somehow Blake had made the acquaintance of a girl he hadn’t mentioned. Blake picked up the pizza and gestured toward the booth. A moment later the two teenagers crowded into the booth across from her with the pizza pan in the middle of the table.