It’s on the tenth of March that the idea hits me. Two things happen that morning.
The first: Lily plays Donna’sA Love Trilogyalbum while we make soft-boiled eggs with slices of toast for breakfast. “Could It Be Magic” fills the house. Lily’s favorite song of all time. I feel Oliver’s presence in the room.
Spirits move me, whirling like a cyclone in my mind.
I feel that in my core. He’s been the cyclone in my mind for over fifty years now. Then she sings the chorus.
Could this be a magic at last?
The question feels like a dare. Like Donna Summer herself is asking me if I’m ready to finally have the magical life I’ve always dreamed of.
Another thing happens. Poppy barges into the house just as we’re finishing up breakfast. Asks if Lily has heard the news. Poppy says that the BBC is going to re-airA Change of Sex. More than that. They’ll be airing two new chapters about Julia’s gender transition.
The news isn’t enough to stop Lily from sewing. “That’s great, or maybe it’s not.”
“It’s one of us on the telly. No one’s afraid of the people they see on the telly.”
Lily shrugs. “I see Thatcher on the telly, and I’m terrified of the woman.”
Poppy cackles at that.
Lily does a chilling Iron Lady impression. “People are really rather afraid that this country might be swamped by people with a different culture.”
“She really said that, didn’t she?” Poppy shakes her head in disgust. “Okay, Thatcher is evil, but at least now we have a party that’s truly on our side.”
“Are they?”
“They say so, at least. I think maybe things are changing, finally.”
“Finally maybe.”
And then Poppy says the words that send chills through me: “I think this is our time, Lily.”
I don’t hear what Lily says next. My mind turns into a haze when Poppy says that this is our time.
Isn’t that what I promised Oliver I’d wait for?Our time.An age when we could love freely and openly. Without fear or shame. Isn’t this that time? I have a real home. A beloved mother. I can dress how I want in the streets. I can dance alongside other freaks and queers at night. This is it. A moment like this may never come again.
I knock on Lily’s workroom door late that night. She tells me to come in. I find her frustrated. Unable to get the dress she’s working on just right. She’s a perfectionist. Even when she’s making dresses for people she hates. This one is for some society ball.
“Can I ask you something?” I hear the shake in my voice.
She takes her hands off the sewing machine. Waves me over. I pull a chair next to her. “What’s going on, kid?”
“There’s someone I once... well, I know we said we’d neverdiscuss our pasts again, but I think that’s because our pasts are painful, right?” She waits for me to say more. “But there’s one part of my past that’s beautiful.”
“You’ve been in love?”
I nod. “He doesn’t live here though. But I was thinking...” I bite my lower lip. I can never turn back once I ask. “Well... Now that we have this big place, maybe he could visit for a holiday. Meet you. Maybe I could see him again and know if what we once had is still real.”
“Where does he live?”
I can’t bring myself to say he’s in Buenos Aires. It seems too absurd. She’ll wonder how and why he ended up there if she meets him. There will be too many questions. I tell myself it’s not a lie to speak of the Oliver I knew. Not the one who leaves me cryptic classified ads. “Boston. I was visiting the city with a family I was a tutor for, and we met there. It didn’t last long, but it meant more to me than any relationship I’ve had.” A beat. “Until you.”
“Boston’s not very close, but if he makes the trip, he’s welcome here for a holiday.” She smiles. “What took you so long to tell me about him?”
“I don’t know.” Of course I know. I’m afraid I’ll say something that might reveal the truth. “What about you, Lily? Have you ever been in love?”
She nods. “Only once, sweetie.” She shakes her head. “But it wasn’t a good love. There’s good love, the kind that lets you shine in its glow. And there’s destructive love that makes you less of who you are. That pushes you into a place of fear. I did love him, but he was destructive.”
