Chapter 16: The Elephant Seal

A species having several forms is not uncommon. Among a fair amount of animals there exists something called sexual dimorphism, meaning that different genders express quite different visually. Ducks, moths, elephant seals... When I was a little kid, I was very excited when I saw that female elephant seals were much cuter than their male counterparts. I wasn't exactly a big fan of the proboscis. Then Mom told me about how they are wonderful mothers, who gain and lose absurd amounts of weight to grow and feed their babies. They completely change everything about themselves for their kids.

I was just excited that other creatures looked like I did when their gender expressions were different.

After James learned what I really am, it's like everything's changed when it comes to my forms. Kai and Astra are not separate entities with different secrets and permissions and rules and options. I'm shifting from one or another with the change of my moods, not out of...

It doesn't feel quite right saying it in my head, but the closest emotion I understand is fear. I was afraid when I changed before. Now, when I get scientific I'm Kai. When I'm excitable I'm Astra. And when I feel vulnerable...

Well, I'm the cuttlefish named Ligeia. It still feels kinda weird giving it a name. James seems to like it, though.

I'm taking notes on my reactions to the new shifting forms (omitting the fact I'm doing all this shifting in front of James) when said handsome man pokes the center of my forehead. "What should I call you?"

Blinking, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know you as Kai, Astra, and Ligeia. But it'd be easier to pick one name for day-to-day use, right? I mean, if you'd rather I use all three, I'll figure it out, but I wanted to ask."

James' looks quite flustered, like all the wind got sucked out of him with all his rushed words. He's been looking like that more often, now, since I told him the truth about my skin. I'm not sure if it's because he's overwhelmed by it all or if the... changing nature of our relationship did this.

Personally, I like the idea of the latter half, but both are just as likely, if not comorbid.

"I miss being Astra." It fell out of my mouth like it's easy to say. I can't remember the last time anything was easy to say. I sputter, "Ligeia is sweet and means a lot to me, so thank you, and Kai will always make sense. It's on most of my legal documents, and I guess most people would probably use it, but you..." I trail off. There's more to say, about how Astra fell for him first, how the stars feel right, some other romantic... things... but I'm not as good with that. Not like he is.

And he knows it, just smiling and saying, "Astra it is, then." He kisses my forehead. "So, Astra, what do you want to do today?"

While he asks questions, I'm stuck on the somersaults in my stomach and my burning forehead. All I can think about is kissing him again, which is crazy, right? It feels crazy, but I look up into his honey eyes and I just melt, from my neurons to my nose. And so, insanely, I do.

James chuckles under my lips. "I'd be okay with doing that all day. But I figured maybe we could be a bit more productive."

Cheeks flaming, I pull back and go down my mental list of interests and mention the second thing I can't stop thinking about. "I want to know more about you."

"What's more to know?" When I pout, James rolls his eyes. "Fine, make me talk about myself. What do you want to know?"

"What was high school like?" At his grimace, I explain, "I never got to be around so many people like that."

"Scoot." When he sidles next to me, I wait to hear him regale. What was he like, back then? It was only three years ago, but any James before the bonfire night... well, he's as alien to me as I am to everyone else. And I want to know him.

When I used to ask Mom about high school or her childhood, she just shrugged me off and started talking about research or puzzles and how we should do something together, and soon. It was this black hole of a conversation topic, like so many other things.

James was the first person to ever tell me stories about the person before the person I cared about now and, to be honest, I'm a little bit in love with him for it.

After a few moments of furrowing his brows and organizing his thoughts, he starts. "In high school, I wasn't exactly Mr. Popular, I was just a book nerd who got a few brownie points for knowing how to surf. Didn't matter much to me, really. I spent most of my time doing schoolwork or having lunch with my english teachers. Don't make a face, yes, I was that kid."

I stifle my giggles because I had only heard of that kid in movies. But between the way he always responded to the expressions and my face and picturing him in the teacher's lounge, eating his tidy little sandwiches... Well, assuming teachers' lounges were real. I'm starting to learn that films aren't the best resources for understanding teen life. When I asked about if he ever got any embarrassing school-wide group text, he gave me the strangest look.

James, however, chooses to ignore my giggles and continue, "But I used to have these absurd friends. Theater kids; lots of overlap with book nerds. They were bold. Creative. Funny. I just was kinda the... glue guy. My sister always said that we were like a team of magic anime girls and I was the one that got everyone together. She didn't explain if she meant I was Usagi or one of the damned talking cats." At my look of horror, he snorts. "You haven't watch Sailor Moon much, did you?"

But my thoughts are all caught up around something else he said. "You have a sister?"

Something in his face falls, like I just hit a sore point. "Yeah. Two years older. She's at John Hopkins working towards a doctorate in gynecology. She's an annoying little genius. She's also dating my childhood best friend which was really weird for a while. They live in Baltimore together." He looks so bittersweet, with this kind of smile that fills his cheeks, but his eyes almost look underwater. "I was thinking I might go there when I leave town."

"Tell me about them."

"Nah, you don't want to-" When I frown at him, he stops short. "Right. Hypocrite of me. Okay, my sister is named Elizabeth because my parents are the whitest people in the world. She loves anime, reading textbooks to rock music, and international food."

James' eyes got wide and he winces. What, a bad memory?

When he turns to look directly at me with this sincere, apologetic look and his hand lands on mine, I'm only more confused. "I didn't tell you. I may have made steamed buns before."

"What? I thought-" I gasp. "How dare you!"

"Had to look cool for someone pretty."

"Y-you're forgiven, then. But just barely," I say, stumbling through my words.

Somehow, and I'll never admit it, this act of treason only makes him more charming. Romance really did turn everything upside down and backward, didn't it?

Shaking my head, I change the subject and ask, "And your friend?"

"Reese. He's been my best friend since he was the only kid who stayed over despite my "scary dad" and I kept his secret that he would steal my clothes until tenth grade. We did do a few full-swaps a few times. My favorite was his nice Easter dress. He's an IT guy, but he has a band on the side that does Tool covers and my sister is ridiculously supportive. Honestly the scariest groupie I've ever met."

"They sound lovely."

"They are." James twines my fingers with his and stares at them. It's like he's looking for some sort of connection between them. Not just whatever we have, though. Something more and- And from the look on his face, it's missing. James admits, explaining his expression, "I miss them. I haven't seen them since Thanksgiving."

My chest falls and I remember: I'm not the only lonely one, am I?

Then James gets this wide grin and this far-off look in his eyes and distracts me from saying anything comforting and helpful. He just sucks me in.

"Let me tell you, one time the three of us..."

And I listen to his story, watching him get brighter with each word. Moments like these.... These are what make him so luminescent. Not just the stories in books, but the stories he remembers, and the stories he keeps making. Where I'm a rolling sea, he's the sky itself, and he only burns brighter the more starry tales he can map across his memories.

Involuntarily, my face gets hot as I realize: does that mean his time here with me help with that?

Watching him glow is something I can do all day and thinking about how sunny his smile could get once he doesn't have to worry about this town or his dad... It makes my heart swell.

And a smaller, quieter part of that same heart wonders how shiny, good shiny, I can be if I go out there.

I'll never know if I don't try, will I?

....

"So, I gave the cuttlefish a name."

In the middle of another testing session, to see if I can shift my skin colors and shapes without copying. The answer is somewhat. I can go from bright shades of orange to dark browns, and I can change my eye color, but without a specific palette to work off of, there's only so much I can do. So at the moment, original characters are a no-go.

But, that isn't what we're talking about.

Beck raises an eyebrow, "Oh really?"

I don't mean to smile so wide, but I do. "Ligeia."

"That definitely sounds like a romantic James thing." Beck scoffs, but when he looks back up to my face, he scoffs even more incredulously. "He knows, doesn't he?"

Stiffening, I shake my head probably a little too hard. "What? No, what would give you that-"

"Wasn't sure at all, but that half-assed cover-up certainly gives me my answer." Chuckling under his breath, I want to swear at him. What a cheeky asshole. "Makes sense. I was curious how you got him to stay after the pickle you put your ass in. At first I just assumed you used some romantic charms on him, but clearly he took the shapeshifter thing pretty well." Beck stops prodding the brown patch of skin I'd created on my arm and looks up at me gravely. "Be careful, Kai."

I want to brush him off; explain that I'm an adult and James is trustworthy and he has no right.

If I knew it wasn't a bit more complicated than that, of course I would.

I know why his face looks like that, though. The lab rat thing has always been in the back of our minds, especially since Beck and I have learned more and more about what I can do. And I can't really argue with him, especially when I've promised James I'll think about leaving with him. Leaving town, of all things, isn't exactly safe or careful.

Since explaining that dilemma of mine is definitely off the table with Beck, I focus on something I've been rolling around in my head for a few days. When he's done writing down notes about my skin (we made a rule not to take pictures, just in case), I ask, "Can we try something?"

"Sure. What?"

"Just give me your hand." Sucking in a deep breath of air, I do the normal procedure: I think about the way his skin feels, how he looks, how he smells. But this time, I don't make it mine. Instead, I think about being as Beck as possible. I make sure to stretch my lungs wide and leave some empty space to fill the mass I'm making up for. When my skin stops shifting, I open my eyes and ignore my beating heart. It probably didn't work anyway but-

Swallowing, I ask, "Did I do a good job?"

Hearing Beck's voice come out of my mouth is shocking enough, but Beck looks even worse.

"Holy ten goddamn tons of shit." Beck's eyes are like saucers. I've never seen him like this. "That's not my brother."

Unprompted, I walk over to his mirror. There I am, in my shirt that now looked like a crop top and some very, very tight shorts. I'm somewhat thinner, my hair's still long, and I didn't make it past 6 foot 1, but otherwise.... My face breaks out in a grin. "I can do it."

Beck comes up behind me, his eyes still bugged."That's real super-spy shit, Kai." He frowns at seeing two of himself in the mirror. "Now please take my face off, it's weird."

"Will do." Before my eyes, I shrink back down to Kai, thin and small and much more feminine, and I don't know why I feel so choked up. It's not like I want to be Beck or anything.

But as I stare down at my fingertips, I know.

This, Beck's face on my face, is finally proof that I'm not helpless. I have power and I'm growing stronger. All my life, Mom told me- I thought-

I wipe away the hot tears at the edge of my eyes.

Beck's voice very suddenly interrupts my thoughts. He's looking a bit twitchier than before, and there's an unsettled air about him. "Hey, so we can't do this next week."

Frowning, I ask, "Why? Do you think Mom's catching on?"

"Oh, absolutely not. The woman's clueless. I meant I'm going back home to see my parents for a week. Take care of my Sea Monkeys, will you?"

I give Beck a salute, even if the way he's acting has me on edge. "Of course."

When I walk out of Beck's room, I shove away any errant concern about Beck's weird behavior, kicking me out so suddenly. Instead, I focus on the stairs leading up. I want with all my heart to run and tell James everything. I want to talk about Beck's long, tiresome limbs and itchy stubble and how ridiculous he looks in my clothes. I even wanted to try him and see how I feel with worse eyesight and strange hair. I want to know if I know him well enough to get close.

But just then, from downstairs I hear, "Kai! Dinner!"

I groan. Right. Well, James has to wait through one dinner, I guess. Then I can tell him everything.

Shutting down the smirk that started growing on my face, (because what could look more suspicious), I bounce down the stairs. Mom is already taking out a wide spread of Asian classics on the counter, and my stomach grumbles at the sight. Mmmm. Smelling soy sauce always makes me hungry.

"Looks great, Mom."

"I know, right? Now if only I could say I made it."

I snort. "I would've let you take the credit." Plating a hearty helping of rice and teriyaki, my stomach and heart get to talking before my head can tell it to shut up."I remember when you and Mama would switch cooking nights and she would always try to make Japanese food for you and you ate every bite of her bad sticky rice. Somehow she managed to make it half-fluffy and half-crunchy? It was so bad."

The perfect, happy expression on Mom's face has faded. She says, "Yep."

With one word, it feels like I'm punched in the chest. I know what "yep" means. It means, "Bad topic, Kai. Change it. Now".

Normally, I do. That's what I've been doing for fourteen years, listening to every little cue of hers and adjusting accordingly. It's our rhythm, our song. I screw up and then fix it by bringing up something else. We normally talk about research and movies, maybe, the safe stuff.

But that punch doesn't feel any less sore just because I'm obsessively adjusting to avoid all the things she won't touch. And today I don't really feel like letting her ignore how much it hurts me.

What would she really do to me for talking about Mama, right? I get she doesn't have to talk about her, but why couldn't I?

Even though I stumble a bit, I try to pull together a shaky grin and continue, "My favorite was when we'd have those days where she didn't have any sessions on her schedule and she'd say she just wanted to veg out and play board games and-"

Mom's frown deepens. "Let's talk about something else, Tiger."

I don't know what's been triggered in me, this deep roiling hurt and anger, but it's like instead of being an ocean I've turned into a wildfire and every time she insists on dodging me I only grow hungrier.

My patience wearing thin, and my voracious need for Mama roaring behind me, I stiffen my jaw.

I put down my fork and ask, "Why didn't she call?"

"You mother abandoned us. She didn't accept you. She doesn't deserve to call."

Crossing my arms, I'm not satisfied. I remember Mama. She loved me until suddenly, Mom said she didn't. That doesn't make much sense. That isn't enough, is it? It never has been. "What happened that day, Mom? I remember you guys arguing, but then-"

"I don't want to talk about this." There's this sharpness to Mom's eyes, and a rare aggression fuels all her movements. "What is with you? You've been going in the attic and pulling out old recipes and watching endless movies-"

"I always watch movies, that's not new."

"Kai." She snaps on the word like the mouth of an alligator. I hate it when she says Kai like that. Like it can magically make me shut up. Like she has me under a spell. "There's no good reason to be picking at these old wounds."

Mom waves her hand, trying to wave the whole problem away. But it isn't just one problem; it's a hundred problems, maybe thousands, that all started with losing mom and now we're living like our memories are landmines that we have to keep stepping around or else.

Well, maybe I'm done living with landmines.

I push my plate away and ask, "I don't know, maybe the fact she was my mother is a good reason?"

"You're being irrational."

"I'm not."

Mom is so bristly that I half expect her skin to turn hard and tough like mine used to do, but instead both our skins stay the same and we're just there, glaring at each other. "I will say, I do miss the counseling. You were a lot less temperamental."

"Temperamental? I literally spend every moment of my life trying to make sure you're happy. I want you to be happy. Is it so terrible that I've spent the past month focusing on myself more?"

Picking up her plate and pouring it into the garbage, Mom doesn't look at me as she walks away. She just casually tosses over her shoulder: "I have some paperwork I should finish. Will you put the food away?"

"Of course, Mom."

And then she's gone.

I scream silently into my hands. I kick over the garbage and then clean it all up. I almost throw away all the food, but that feels like a waste, so instead I make a second plate and stomp upstairs because someone deserves to enjoy this.

When I am almost to my room, James is already on the third floor landing.

"I was just sneaking some more of your Mom's books-"

"You heard some of that, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry, Astra. Hard to think same person who reads all that fantastical escapism is-"

I'm such a bizarre bundle of emotions that I somehow manage to laugh, and it's loud and even... angry. I say, unimpressed, "Hilarious. Those books aren't Mom's."

I usher him into my room and put our food down on my desk. I don't let myself start chipping to pieces until I grab his hands and know he's looking at me. I need someone looking at me. It makes the anger calm down some and just left...

Well, all that's left is her.

And so I tell him about her.

"I had a second mom, once. Her name was Joanna. She was a counselor. Her hair was even curlier than mine and she always wore this shiny foundation because she said everyone deserves to sparkle. I haven't seen her in fourteen years and my Mom acts like she just didn't exist."

"Oh. Astra, I-" The way he says my name, like a kindness instead of a command, sends the rest spilling out of me.

I don't let him finish. I just start talking.

"When I was eight, I walked in on them arguing. Mama wanted to enroll me in public school, but Mom was against it. She was talking about how, based on my anxiety problem, that I was in danger of shifting at any time and unless she found a way to fix me, they should be protecting me more. When Mama said she was overreacting, Mom tried to make her point by saying that I must've been left because I was defective. Mama just wanted me to be a normal little kid. Mom said there was no point pretending I wasn't more cuttlefish than human." Squeezing James' hands a little tighter, I continue, "Mama took my hand and we went to the park. I don't remember how it happened, but some kid was pulling on my braids and shoved me and I shoved back. My skin got all shimmery and somehow, they got launched all the way down the slide and they were bleeding and I remember how soft and breakable my skin felt and there was so much screaming-"

Swallowing, it feels like I'm churning up the waves in my head on purpose, and I should feel ashamed, but it isn't on purpose. My head's just like this. I was the burden who doesn't know why her mother didn't stay.

The only thing anchoring me is James' hand tightly holding mine.

"Mama brought me home and then Mom and I left on a plane the next day. I haven't heard or seen from her ever again."

James is silent, but pulls me into his arms. "I don't know what to say."

"I miss her."

"She sounds very special." I can feel him kiss the top of my head. He's pressing in like he needs me to know he's there, but i don't think he realizes how much I need it. James whispers, "I wish that didn't happen to you."

"When I have my panic attacks, I see her. And I know it's not really her, but..."

"But it's something." He's rubbing the small of my back and it feels nice. He isn't pushing me away. I don't want to be pushed away. "I have nightmares about my Mom and sometimes when I wake up, I wish I could fall back asleep. Just to see her, y'know?"

Pulling a bit back from our embrace, I look up into his eyes and say, "I think I would've really liked your mom."

"I think she would've loved you. She always wanted a movie lover and masterclass instant ramen chef in the house."

It startles me, but I laugh. My face is freshly wet from crying, but I laugh and I mean it. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. I can totally picture it. High school age me, bringing home this stunning science-club president a year older than me for dinner. Liz making very tiresome cougar jokes that turn into her wanting to talk about what your parents served at home and if they could teach her a thing or two. My Mom hanging back until I invited her to say hello, and then with this tiny bird voice of hers asking you if you wanted a drink. She'd hum while we told her about our school day, about how I got in trouble in class because I kept passing you notes full of book quotes and you got me out of it by panic-fabricating a whole false English project that we now actually have to do. Because you are very good at making extra unnecessary work for yourself, of course. And she'd ask about the TedX talk you were preparing for and I'd help make dinner with her. And everything would be this chaotic, lovely energy of you taking in our messy lives and getting that little smirk of yours about it- that one, exactly. And sure, when my dad came home he'd be all intense but we'd play nice because we had a lovely guest. And dammit, I'd still find him a self-righteous asshole, but even he would be impressed with the future marine anthropologist sitting at his table. And I'd get to drive you home, but we'd take a stop by the beach and walk on the shore for a bit, letting the sand sink between our toes until I kissed you on your front steps and kept making excuses to stay longer until you made me go." James kisses my forehead again, and it's something I can get used to. Especially because he likes to place his chin on it afterward, like sealing it there, reminding me that's where it goes; where it belongs.

He asks, "Sounds nice, right?"

"I wish it was real."

"I would've liked to meet your other Mom, at the very least to tell her how much of a mistake it was to let you go," he adds, albeit a little sheepishly.

I wish I could tell him that I think he's right and she's wrong, but I can't. Instead, I ask, "Can we stay like this for a while?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

What I want to know is why I've never quite felt this way before. You're supposed to feel this way, right? When you're with you're family, when you're home.

But, for now, I'm happy to take what I can from James, someone who I know wants me, cuttlefish and human and all.

And that's when I'm sure. I say, "James, I want us to leave."