Laughing, I tuck the family portrait into its place in the stack. Joe drops onto the bed and I continue to look through the pages alone, too immersed to stop halfway down memory lane.

Too immersed to catch my idiot tongue. 'D'you want kids?'

Warning: Code "casual" breached. Take it back!

But Joe don't seem to mind. She shrugs. Her upper body is out of my sight but the sound of the movement rubs against my duvet. 'I think for me it's like a "if it happens, it happens—if it doesn't, it doesn't" thing.'

'Me too.' I nod, only to continue, 'I mean, I definitely want kids in my life but I'm not particularly fussed about them being my kids. I'd be just as fulfilled helping with my friends' kids or fostering or adopting. I'd like to foster, I think. Though I probably wouldn't be that good at it.'

Which is to say I'd be fucking shit it at it if my attempt with Cece is owt to judge by.

'I think you'd be good at it.'

I shrug.

'Do you want to get married?' Joe asks.

'Yeah. No. I mean...' Grimacing, I gather Cece's drawings back into the right order as I try to explain. 'I know it's not en vogue cause "it's just a piece of paper" and that, but I reckon the idea of celebrating your love for someone is dead beautiful. It's not like "if you're not married, it's not a proper relationship" or owt cause that's ridiculous. But I just imagine being able to call someone "my wife"—I'd giggle every time. Realistically speaking, I'm poor and weddings are expensive.'

Realistically speaking, who the fuck would marry me?

I close the plastic box of drawings and wheel it back under the bed. I watch Joe over my shoulder and she looks up at me.

'I think I was super lucky in the parent department,' she says. 'They were kind of absent, to be honest. At least for me and Jaz—you know, standard middle child syndrome. Maybe they treated us like adults a little too early cause sometimes it's nice to just get help—not just financially. They always say "you need money, don't you?" and they always give it, but I don't want money. I want them to teach me so I can do things by myself.

'All that said, they did always respect us as independent people who can make their own decisions. And I mostly felt safe and loved, I think.

'It's weird though. My grandad is queer and has been in a relationship with a man since before I was born and Jaz is trans and my parents pay for all her GAC. But then our church is insanely queerphobic. And yet, they'd force us all to go every Sunday when we were kids—and I mean force.

'How can they be so laissez faire "do what you want" about everything but then we have to go to church and we have to go to that church?'

'That awful. I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, it sucks. I'd love to be able to say that my relationship with God is just between me and Them and that the Bible was written by men and the homophobes in church are flawed people, but... It's hard. Cause these are "God's people" and let's say they are all interpreting the text wrong, well why is God fine with people using Their word like that then?'

She waves a dismissing hand. 'But you don't want to listen to my religious angst.'

'I do.' Despite the voice yelling at the back of my mind—Casual! Casual! This is casual!—I tangle my gaze with Joe's shocked stare. 'I wanna listen to anything you tell me.'

Her cheeks puff up and I know she's blushing though her skin is too dark to show it. Her eyes flee only to boomerang right back, summat blossoming in the depths that I can't name.

She blinks it away. 'What about your parents?'

'My parents?' I exhale slowly. 'I'm pretty sure my parents just had kids as a form of political resistance.'

Joe jolts up so quickly, her spine cracks. 'What?' Though her face is bright with shock, her voice is barely audible, like she's afraid of manifesting summat she can't get rid of.

'Cause, genocide.' I do pathetic jazz hands.

I've never told anyone this, not even Caleb, definitely not Cece. Looking away from her, I rub my wrist. 'They were always– they are invested in safeguarding our heritage. That's what they do. So having kids were like the ultimate way of doing that. They've passed on the genetics. Fuck colonialism. Mission accomplished.'

Then they left without teaching us any of the heritage. Though Shayna and Desmond were loving guardians, they're Jamaican; they couldn't answer my questions about Ticuna culture. And neither can Google, and that's not for a lack of trying. That's summat I need Mamá and Papá for.

Why would they leave us here? Couldn't they–?

'I'm sure that's not true.' Joe's hand falls on my shoulder to rub the tension away. 'Your parents lo– I'm really sorry you've been made to feel that way.'

Is she talking to me as a friend or is this a practice date slash therapy session?

A chill seeps through my skin and I realise I'm still topless. I get dressed and hand her another of my hoodies and knitted socks. Compared to Joe's recently renovated flat, this place is about as warm as an igloo. On the positive side, it gives me the opportunity to see her dressed in my hoodie, her fingers easily tucked into the sleeves.

Reminder: Just the sex chemicals.

'I don't wear socks to sleep.'

'You will in this house if ya wanna wake up with your toes still attached to your body.'

I pull them on her feet, rolling the cuff so that they have a chance at staying on. The excess wool makes it look like she's wearing floaties on her ankles.

I stay kneeling on the carpet, absentmindedly massaging her feet through the socks. 'Can I get ya owt? Ibuprofen? Hot water bottle?'

'I'm okay.'

'I don't mind.'

Joe drops her head into a tilt as she smiles. 'A hot water bottle would be nice.'

'Okay,' I say, though I don't get up.

Her skin is still glossy from the moisturiser, catching the light along with her eyes. Her eyes. Joe's eyes turn even the dim reading light in my bedroom to summat ethereal.

My window is behind her and all the plants gathered in front of it give her a halo and wings of foliage. The breakout of acne creates a pattern similar to the leaves of the polka dot plant on her right, her under-eye wrinkles like a Peperomia caperata leaf when she smiles. She really is so beautiful.

I'm too engrossed to notice Joe move before her lips are pressed to mine. It's a quick kiss, so charmingly casual that it might be the most intimate thing I've experienced. Her hands cradle my face for a few seconds longer.

Then she jerks away. 'That was weird. I don't know why I did that. Sorry–'

'You're alright.' I'm pleased that my voice don't betray exactly how little I minded. How I'm internally giggling and kicking my feet even as my chest aches.

If I believed in God, I might think Joe was created just to torture me, just to show me what I'll never get, what I'll never be good enough for.

I might've been created just to give her a few orgasms. Well, can't say I've not fulfilled my purpose.

'It's just the sex chemicals.'

'Sex chemicals,' Joe echoes, but summat shuts behind her eyes.

Notes

GAC: Gender Affirming Care. Any treatment that allows a trans (incl. non-binary) person to feel affirmed in their gender. GAC ranges from surgery to speech therapy.

Begonia maculata: Polka dot plant. Native to Brazil.

Peperomia caperata: Ripple peperdomia. Native to Brazil.