{Jon}

Jon had just set his email auto reply to say he was on holidays when he heard Naomi speaking to someone in the hallway.

"Why don't I just give you a tour of the children's rooms?"

Frowning, Jon got up from the computer. Who was here? The children's rooms were private and Naomi knew it.

A woman's voice, deep and unfamiliar, said "No. I'll wait."

A rap on the office door, and Naomi put her head in, her full cheeks pinched with worry. "Darla Kickingbird is here to pick up the children."

Jon's eyes flew to the clock on the wall. Jordin and Dusty's mom wasn't expected until suppertime; it was barely noon.

"I'll sort it out," Jon said. "Thank you Naomi."

A tall woman stood in the middle of their kitchen, her arms folded over her black Metallica Tshirt. Her high, rounded cheekbones and long angular limbs reminded Jon of her daughter Jordin. Darla looked like a woodcarving, like she would wait there for hours, unmoving, until her children arrived.

Jon gave her a friendly smile and put out his hand; she glanced at his hand but didn't move a muscle in response.

"Ms. Kickingbird," Jon said. "Hi. Um, we didn't expect you so early. Dusty and Jordin are in school until three-thirty."

"I'll wait," she said again. Her lidded eyes studied Jon's face.

Jon took his hand back, brushing the front of his hoodie. "I'm Jon White." Her flat mouth twitched, curling a little in contempt. Jon sighed inwardly; in situations like these he truly regretted his last name. Did this woman really need a reminder of his privilege? "We spoke on the phone briefly last month."

"I know who you are," Darla said evenly. "Dusty told me about you."

Jon decided to be as forthright as he knew how. "Dusty's been in the house as long as I have--so long, he feels like family." He laughed a little. "Both your children have thrived here, I think."

There was a pause. "You want I should thank you?" Darla said, her accent making the words sound soft and rounded, but they were blunt as the backside of an ax. "For taking my children from our family and keeping them in institutional care like orphans?"

Jon took a breath, spreading his feet a little to just absorb that without punching back. As far as he knew, there had been no family able to care for Jordin and Dusty for some time. Their Kokum was too frail to keep them permanently. But there was always another side to the story, and the history of their Canadian government with Indigenous children was shady at best.

"I hope you can see this home is as far from an institution as we can make it," Jon replied quietly. "We're more than happy for Dusty and Jordin to spend Christmas with their family this year. They've been counting down the days." At least, Dusty had.

His brain was rapidly looking for ways to solve this--no way was he leaving this woman to wait in the kitchen for four hours. "Would you like me to contact the school and pick the children up early for you? Then you can get on the road to whatever Christmas plans you might have."

She nodded shortly and Jon turned aside, shoving his hand through his rumpled hair trying to think of everything. "I'll just pack their things."

Darla followed him down the hall, standing in Dusty's doorway while Jon checked the boy's backpack. Dusty had packed the night before, and Jon just made sure he had enough pairs of socks and underwear and grabbed Dusty's bunny off his bed.

Darla glanced over the Spiderman bedspread that Dusty had hastily pulled up over his pillow this morning, the dresser covered in Marvel stickers, the photos tacked up by his bed of Jon and Jordin on their camping trip last summer. Her face remained impassive, but she reached for the backpack and bunny in Jon's hands and hugged them to herself, following him to Jordin's room.

Jordin had packed nothing.

Jon sighed, opening the closet doors and scanning the blouses and skirts there for what he thought were her favourite things. Angel had been thrifting with Jordin regularly and they had amassed quite a collection of flowy, flowery clothing. He began to throw skirts on the bed in a pile.

Darla moved into the room, fingering a crinkly lilac skirt, a spark in her eyes for the first time as she scanned the closet. "He likes these things now."

It was not phrased as a question, but Jon answered as if it was. The only thing Jordin had insisted Dusty write to their mother from her, was that she was transitioning to be a girl. There was no question of keeping that a secret, but Jon had no idea how Darla was going to respond to the news.

"I think Dusty wrote you that Jordin uses she/her pronouns now," he said. "And yes, I think that skirt is one of her favourites."

Darla sat on the unmade bed, touching every item of clothing Jon tossed in the pile. "She's so tall," she said to herself. Carefully she began to fold each item, packing them into a couple shopping bags. Jordin had not even wanted a suitcase, being so completely convinced this visit wasn't happening.

"Your daughter performed in the school Christmas play this year as a sugar plum fairy," Jon offered. "We took a video on her phone to show you."

Darla finished packing Jordin's things and stood up to leave without a word.

"Um--I'll need to meet you at the school," Jon said. "To sign the children out." This was awkward; their biological mother was not on the approved list of guardians for pick up, and in fact Jon thought the school might call the police if they saw Darla on the premises. In another chapter of her relationship with her children, a less sober chapter, Darla had threatened to kidnap them and take them back. The system had a long, unforgiving memory for that kind of behaviour.

Darla shrugged. "This is everything they need?" she asked. "They have their toothbrushes in here?"

Jon snapped his fingers. "Thank you for reminding me."

*

By the time Jon reached the school office, Dusty and Jordin were already standing there waiting for him. Dusty was bouncing with excitement, while Jordin played with the end of her braid looking bored.

"Is she here?" Dusty asked, looking all around Jon. "Is our mom really here?"

Jon grinned. "She's really here. She's waiting in the parking lot with your things." He wished he'd taken a minute this morning to brush Dusty's hair; one side was a nest of tangles. He hoped Darla would leave a light on for Dusty at night, and he thought maybe he should have told her that Dusty's favourite snack was Honey Grahams with peanut butter. Dusty was a very picky eater when he was feeling excited or anxious; the boy had lived on Honey Grahams when he first came to their house.

Jordin would speak up for herself; Jon worried that Darla would miss seeing that her youngest needed a little extra tenderness. He wanted their mom to love them both so badly his chest was aching.

"Okay, listen to me," Jon said, tapping Dusty's shoulder to get his attention. "Your mom doesn't know you very well, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you." It was as much for himself as for them. "Give her a chance to get to know who you are now, okay?"

Dusty took off down the hall, walking so speedily he nearly levitated with excitement.

Jordin didn't move, her face hard and wary. "I told Dusty to tell her I'm a girl. She knows that, right?"

Jon nodded, giving her an encouraging smile. "We packed your favourite skirts and things."

"I'm calling you to pick me up if she gives me any shit about it," Jordin said flatly.

"I'm on holidays, but yeah, call the house or your social worker," Jon said. "You're still officially in our care. Your phone charger is with your things."

They exited into the cold sunshine and Jordin paused, squinting across the snowy parking lot to confirm that, yes, a very tall Indigenous woman was standing beside a battered piebald Pontiac. The car's hood and doors were white, the body rust-pocked brown, and the whole vehicle was spattered with mud like they'd ridden cross-country to get here.

Dusty was hanging back in the shadow of the school building, abruptly uncertain. "Is that her?" he asked Jon softly.

"Yup, that's your mom," Jon said. Dusty tucked in close to Jon's side to walk together.

It was Jordin who forged ahead, chin up, her skirt flapping with her long graceful strides. She stopped just out of arms' reach of her mother, brushing a stray hair off her face and raising her chin silently.

Darla's mouth lifted for the first time all day. "Jordin. You've stretched up. I was a tall girl too. Finding girl jeans for my flat butt was hell."

There was a pause, then Jordin flipped her hand. "That's why I stick to skirts," she said.

"Who does your braid?" Darla said.

"Jon, usually. I did my French braid today."

Darla glanced back at Jon, then down at Dusty leaning against Jon's legs. Half-turning to open the car door, she said, "Your Auntie wonders if you want to practice with her dance troupe. They're touring this summer. I still have my jingle dress from when I was your age."

Jordin sucked in her breath, her face unlocking. "Yes. I would."

Darla nodded once, and put out her hand to Dusty. "Are you coming, nicawâsimis?"

Jon gave Dusty a little nudge, and the boy shuffled shyly towards Darla. His mother just put a hand on his bent head, stroking his hair behind his ear. That was all the encouragement Dusty needed; he threw his arms around her waist, wiggling with happiness.

Darla's arms lifted in surprise, looking down at the child with his arms wrapped around her, then her hands settled carefully on Dusty's shoulders, patting him. She met Jon's eyes, acknowledging him with a lift of her chin. It was impossible to tell in the bright sunlight if that was the glimmer of a smile way down in her dark eyes.

"Have a good Kickingbird family Christmas," Jon said.

Dusty unpeeled from his mom to run back and give Jon a quick hug. "Bye Pops," he said cheerfully. "See you next year!"

Jon stood in the school parking lot, his hand lifted in a wave as the piebald Pontiac pulled away. He saw no flash of Dusty or Jordin turning to wave from the back seat--they were gone. As he stuffed his chilly fingers in his pockets and turned back to his van, a huge sigh shook his body.

You can be done now.

The words were as clear as the sun in the sky, trailed by rainbow 'sun-dogs' signalling snow to come. Jon weighed them as he warmed up the van and pulled out of the school parking lot to meet Kurt and Cary for lunch.

The day Jon had signed the contract for this job--the day he'd sat in Terry's office, read the lifestyle agreement and put the pen to paper to press his name, Jon White, on the bottom--he had not cared what he was signing away.

It had seemed like a small ask, to separate himself from identifying as gay and fold away an insignificant amount of things he wouldn't miss: a handful of heart-breaking experiences with guys, a handful of joyous Pride events, a thousand 'gay man' stereotypes that fit him badly. He was still free to quietly advocate for LGBTQ+ people inside his role, and Jon thought that was all that really mattered to him.

As if sexuality was optional and Jon could just quit having one.

He'd been wrong. There was no separating 'gay' from 'Jon White' even if he didn't fit the stereotypes. His sexuality was woven through his body and his heart and his mind; in the years that followed Jon had just put his awareness of that to sleep to fit in the box he'd been given.

He was fully awake now and he just wanted to stretch his arms and take a full breath. This box was small and for the first time, Jon was conscious of the fact that he was not small.

He'd given up the ability to share his full self with people he cared about; he'd given up the freedom to share a life with Kurt out in the open. But he could be done. If he wanted, he could reach out his hand and take those things back; the only lock on this box was of his own making.

Turning into the Tim Horton's parking lot, Jon manoeuvred into a parking spot and silenced the van. He slumped in his seat, pressing a hand against the front of his puffy jacket.

That 'you can be done' had sounded like Jesus' voice to him, but it was too big a deal not to make sure.

I gave this up for You, Jon said to Jesus in his heart. To do Your work at that house. No one made me--I gave it to you freely, as a gift. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to take it back now and walk away because I love Kurt? Isn't it selfish for me to choose what would make me happy over what would be good for others?

Where had he absorbed that message, that it was selfish to be gay because of the trouble he would cause other Christians who didn't believe God created or blessed gay sexuality?

Jon's mouth pulled down, tasting the toxicity of that thought. Was that really his job, to make himself small so no one was offended? It sounded like just another way of saying that his Maker made a mistake and it was Jon's job to spend a lifetime apologizing and making up for it. He had chucked that idea over his shoulder years ago.

At least, he thought he had.

Jon tucked his hands into the collar of his jacket to rub his tight neck. I'm not leaving Angel behind if you don't promise me she's going to be okay, he said in his thoughts, like he could tell God what to do.

Angel's my responsibility. The answering voice was soft, but warm. So is Jordin. So is Dusty. You can't do my job, Jon--I'm so much bigger than you.

Jon took a long slow breath, feeling some of the tension in his neck releasing under the clasp of his hand. I know you are, he said softly back. He forgot sometimes and needed a reminder. In the quiet, he felt his Maker finish that thought:

You gave me yourself as a gift--I'm giving you to Kurt. And Kurt to you. Time for a new chapter, love. Time to give me my job back.

Jon laughed a little at that, eyes stinging. No one sassed him back like Jesus. "Sorry," he said. "Yes. Help, please." How often had he prayed that prayer over the years? And really, in the long run Jon had always felt like his Maker showed up and rescued him in generous, unexpected ways. Jon took a deep, steadying breath, flicking his fingers over his eyes. "Amen."

When he pushed through the Tim Horton's doors, Kurt's sparkly purple cap was unmistakable at a table across the restaurant, and his partner's face turned towards him. The smile Kurt gave him pulled up on Jon's own mouth, like they'd kissed across the room.

Cary also looked pleased when he pulled up a chair. "Hey Jon," he said. "Didn't expect you here."

"Timmy's lunch break, like old times," Jon said, unzipping his jacket. Maybe Cary could find enough work to employ the three of them for a bit. It might take some time to find a new position that fit Jon's education and experience. Jon was surprised to note how easy it was to consider that.

Pulling out the chair beside Kurt, he leaned in to brush a kiss on Kurt's cheek. "Hey love."

Kurt looked startled and pleased at the public gesture. "Hey darlin'. Got you those spinach and egg thingys," he said, pushing his tray in front of Jon. "And hashbrowns and a coffee."

Cary laughed soundlessly. "Shoulda known Jon was coming when you bought two coffees."

Jon sighed happily. "Food. Thank you." First things first--Jon tugged the shoelace out of his hoodie, picking apart the knot to free his ring.

"That's a look," Kurt said, eyes laughing at him. "You need me to shop for more jewellery for you?"

Jon wrinkled his nose with a smile back. "Best I could do on short notice. Turns out people at my work are nosy." He slipped the ring onto his wedding finger, squeezing Kurt's hand once at the worry that flashed in his partner's face. "We're good, love."

Jon ate in quick bites, unable to keep a smile off his face. "So Darla Kickingbird came through for her kids. She picked them up for Christmas today."

Kurt's 'whoop' drew every eye in the restaurant to their table. "Score one for sober moms!" He did a little dance in his chair while Jon laughed.

"That's great, Jon," Cary said, his dark eyes crinkling in a smile. "You did good."

The affirmation caught Jon's breath a little and he blinked his stinging eyes, nodding. "Thank you."

"So you're done," Kurt said, nudging his shoulder into Jon's. "All mine for a week."

Jon leaned into Kurt, sighing. "Yeah I'm done," he said softly. "All yours, Kurt." There would be time to talk about what that meant for the future later; he was suddenly exhausted. It was time for Jon White to take a lonnnng, well-deserved nap.

*Just in time for Mother's Day weekend, Darla Kickingbird comes through for her kids. The lyrics to the soundtrack song are: "Anagehya- women of all the Nations - you are the strength, you are the force, you are the healing of the Nations."

Here's a gorgeous dancer in a jingle dress with a rainbow theme, at Helena Pow wow 2012. Image by sheltieboy, free to use with photo credit. Can you just imagine Jordin rocking this look??*