{Jon}

As Jon stepped through the door of River House, the smell of roasting turkey, butter and onions filled his senses. Naomi was in the kitchen, an bright red apron wrapped around her full body, whisking up drippings on the stove. A glorious turkey, crisp and brown and oozing with juices, sat on the sideboard resting.

"Naomi, everything smells wonderful," Jon said. "Thank you for coming in to do a Thanksgiving dinner for us." With the boys heading to the reserve to spend the long-weekend with their grandmother, they were feasting early with them.

She beamed back, her dark eyes sparkling. "My pleasure. I told my Theodore I'd bring him a plate so he's not missing out. With just the two of us empty-nesters home now, I wasn't going to go to all the trouble to make a turkey. He's pleased as punch."

"As are we all," Jon said reverently. His mouth was already watering.

Angel was in the office, her hands full of fat tissue paper turkey decorations, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she fiendishly stapled their bodies. "I think I figured these out, boss. Sorry about the mess." The floor was littered the disfigured remains of the failed experiments, and there was a scrap of tissue paper caught in the peaks of her now faded-red hair.

Jon laughed quietly as he hung up his coat and shrugged his hoodie straight on his body. "It's a bit of a horror show in here, Angel."

"I'll clean it up--look!" She held up her finished turkey; it's tissue body unfurled as big as her head, and its  cardboard neck was only slightly crooked.

"Uh-huh, thing of beauty," Jon said.

Lopsided tissue turkeys presided over their dinner table, packed not only with Dusty, Jordin and Grace and the usual day staff, but also all the staff who were free to join, cramming elbow to elbow in shaky folding chairs.

Jon said the grace his father had so often spoken over their family meals, and then everyone dug into Naomi's feast of turkey, fluffy mashed potatoes, candied yams, brown rice dressing for Jon, and savoury bread dressing in a pan for everyone else. The only green on the table was Angel's tissue decorations and a dish of roasted Brussels sprouts, which Jon noticed the children avoided completely. He had two helpings; they melted in his mouth like veggie caramel and he almost passed out from bliss.

As Naomi was slicing the pumpkin pies, Jordin spoke up. "I told my teacher today I'm a girl."

Alert quiet rippled over the table, as each person registered his words. Only Dusty wasn't paying attention, busy licking the gravy off his plate.

"I wanna be a girl," Jordin said again, his black eyes snapping as they met Jon's.

Jon smiled back, worry niggling at his stomach. "We'll love you whoever you are," he said. "We're proud of who you're becoming, Jordin. You're kind and smart and courageous. Angel will help you go through your closet, and get you girl things, okay? Whatever you need."

Jordin smiled back. "Okay."

"Do you want us to call you something different?" Jon asked carefully.

"I'm a she." Jordin said firmly. "Or you can call me they/them. Everybody should just use 'they/them'--it makes more sense."

Jon laughed drily. "Well you're not going to change everybody's mind on that anytime soon, but in this house we'll use she/them pronouns for you. It doesn't change anything about who you are to us. You belong here, Jordin."

Jon swept his eyes around the table, seeing some mixed expressions on the faces of the other staff, and worry similar to his own inner feelings on Naomi's kind face. Jordin had a hard road ahead, and they would do their best to smooth it for her. "Who's ready for pie?"

At the end of the evening, Jon carefully logged Jordin's change of pronoun in the shift notes for the staff who had not been present. His staff training notes on transgender identity were ready for the next morning. Saying farewell to the night staff, Jon wearily shrugged into his jacket, grateful he could go home to his own bed tonight. In his car, he checked his personal phone.

Kurt: <how was shift? Practice done at midnight *fingers crossed**red heart* am I seeing you?>

Jon should have been exhausted, but the thought of seeing Kurt for longer than fifteen minutes and falling asleep together gave him fresh energy. <tell you about it when you get home *red heart* see you tonight>

*

After a stretch of night shifts, Jon wasn't used to winding down in the dark. He made a pot of coffee, showered and stretched, candlelight flickering on the walls of the living room, while a playlist Kurt had made for him unspooled. It felt as though time held still, expectant. He became aware again of the things his father had said to him, holding them in his body as he flowed through the poses, then inverted into a headstand.

A thousand tiny adjustments were needed to hold this position, and Jon's muscles shook slightly with exertion while he breathed evenly, filling his ribs, feeling the tension in his neck release, his lower back shifting to correctly align his spine. You couldn't not know if your posture was off, or if your balance was out, when you inverted into a headstand.

Jon felt as if his father's words had brought his body's desire into alignment with his whole self. Pete's high view of sex, as part of a whole loving relationship, was as demanding as this pose, but Jon could see how balanced and strong his relationship with Kurt would be if they took it up as a practice. It was a picture in which Jon being intimate with Kurt was completely consistent with Jon kneeling at the communion rail, or tucking his kids into bed. Sex wasn't some dirty secret in a closet of his life, and it wasn't something he did just to pleasure himself; sex was one more good, loving part woven into a whole self-giving way of life which Jon had been pursuing for years.

As he stepped out of the headstand and folded into child's pose, Jon felt light, like he'd just completed a detox, from the last traces of self-hatred, instead of the usual gluten and preservatives. Peace anchored him down in the centre of his being, a feeling he recognized as confirmation from the Spirit that he was moving in the right direction. He breathed out a prayer: That's a yes from me, Father. Provide for me and Kurt whatever we need to come together in your good time.

(Apparently, he was a person who prayed a blessing over sexy times with his boyfriend now. And God seemed very fine with that. The world was full of surprises.)

When Kurt didn't show at midnight, Jon tidied his room, and then the room he shared with Kurt, picking up clothes on the floor and making both beds. It felt very deja vous: he'd done this exact thing for the kids in his house every morning this week, and he laughed a little to himself. Sometimes his work life and his home life felt exactly the same, just different laundry machines.

At twenty to one in the morning, Kurt still wasn't home, and Jon was sitting on the floor against the foot of their bed, working his way through a new level of Legend of Zelda on the handheld gaming system he'd treated himself to when he was promoted to manager two years ago. He barely had any time for it, but there was something very satisfying about slaying monsters with swords.

Finally he heard the front door open, and Kurt running up the stairs two at a time. His boyfriend pulled up in the doorway of their room, worry in his face.

Jon smiled at him from the floor. "Hey love. You were out late. Good practice?"

Kurt ducked his head in a nod. "Got away as soon as I could. Sorry White. I just need to shower quick." As he passed, Jon registered the sickly-sweet smell of alcohol, mixed with cigarettes. Kurt's hair was dishevelled and his 'Sounds gay' Tshirt was inside-out, the tag sticking out like a tongue at the base of his neck.

Jon frowned. "Have you been drinking?"

Kurt shook his head, shucking his shirt off. "Nicky and the guys. One of them spilled his beer on me which is why I smell like a brewery. I just had iced tea." He touched Jon's eyes, his face strained. "I swear I'm sober, Jon. Taste me." He leaned over to kiss Jon, and while the alcohol fumes surrounded his boyfriend's body, his mouth just tasted of lemons and bitter tang of tea tannins.

Jon was still frowning at him as Kurt stripped to his boxer-briefs. "Why was Nicky drinking with you there? That seems really disrespectful of your decision to stay sober."

Kurt paused in the doorway, and Jon saw his ribs go in and out in a sigh. He only showed Jon half his face. "Can we not talk about Nicky?" Kurt asked. "I've been looking forward to coming home to you for hours and I just... want to leave that shit at the door. You know?"

Jon clicked his gaming system shut, trying to fold away his growing mistrust of Kurt's ex-boyfriend as easily. "Sure."

1560 words.