Where You Are. J.H. Trumble

she’s been collecting in the corner.

      Andrew

      “There’s my girl!”

      I scoop up Kiki and spin her around. She squeals in delight and pats my face like I’m one of her dolls.

      Maya smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “So, what do you two have planned for today?”

      I look at Kiki. “You want to go see Santa?”

      “Ho-ho-ho!”

      Maya laughs. “Good luck with that. My guess is you won’t get her anywhere near the jolly old elf. But if you do, I want pictures.”

      “You hear that, Kiki?” I say to her. “Mommy wants a picture of you with Santa, and we can’t disappoint Mommy, right?”

      My daughter’s cat strolls out the front door, and Kiki squirms to be put down so she can pet him. I drop her lightly to her feet. “So, you spending the day with Doug?”

      “He’s playing golf right now. Maybe later.”

      “Golf? Wow. How . . . upper-middle-class straight.”

      “Quit. Not everybody can be you. And at least he wants to be with me.”

      Ouch. But that’s Maya. Letting go has never been her strong suit. And now what should have been a friendly exchange of our child has become another awkward moment between us.

      “He’s a great guy, Maya. I don’t know why you two don’t make it official. Give the poor guy a break.”

      “Are you just trying to get out of paying child support?”

      At least she can still make a joke. I take that as a sign of continued progress. I know it’s been hard on her going from best friend to one-time lover to a married couple to this.

      Kiki has thrown herself over the aging cat, who seems to have resigned himself to the assault.

      “Are you taking care of yourself?” she asks.

      “Yeah. I’m good.”

      “I don’t like you being alone.”

      “Thanks, but I spend my days in a classroom so small I can’t spit without hitting a teenager.”

      “Eew.”

      I laugh. “Trust me, after a day at school, alone is all I want to be.” I don’t look at her when I say this. “I’ll drop Kiki off in the morning.” I free the cat and scoop up the toddler.

      “Are you going to your folks?” Maya asks.

      Kiki pokes at my nose and giggles. “Yeah. I wish I could bring this one, but maybe Easter.”

      “Sure,” she says.

      Maya and I have a good relationship, but it’s had its ups and downs. We both agree though that Kiki has been worth all the bad decisions. (I think of them as bad; I’m not so sure Maya agrees.)

      Kiki looks a lot like her mom—rich brown skin, thick black hair, and huge eyes set widely apart. I love her more than anything. Maya knows that. We share her, perhaps not equally, but there’s enough play in our agreement that I never feel shorted.

      My own parents barely skipped a beat when I came out. There was some discussion about how they already knew, but I think that was just a lie to get past that awkward phase. Because even though sexual orientation is really about identity, there’s no getting around the sexual part. If I’m gay, I’m interested in what’s going on between guys’ legs, and like it or not, my parents had to face that.

      So, not surprisingly, they were shocked and more than a little confused when Maya got pregnant. When I announced we were getting married, they sat me down for a real talk, the don’t-compound-one-mistake-by-making-another talk.

      I listened patiently to their arguments, even considered some of them, but in the end I did what I believed was the right thing. I married Maya. We’d slept together only that once. We didn’t even pretend to be a real husband and wife in that sense. For me, at least, we were friends and we were parents. I don’t know why I ever thought that would be enough for either of us.

      The mall turns out to be a mixed bag. Kiki refuses to go anywhere near the poser in the red suit. I won’t traumatize her by forcing her onto his lap, but I drop to one knee just to make sure this isn’t a momentary case of cold feet. After all, you’re only two once.

      “No like him,” Kiki says, her bottom lip jutting out. She sticks her thumb in her mouth and I gently pull it back out again.

      “But he’s Santa. Like we saw in the movie, right? And Santa is nice. Don’t you want to tell him about the doll you want for Christmas so his elves can be sure and make one just for you? You could tell him how much you like Rudolph, too, and that red nose. I’m sure he’d like to hear that.”

      “Hey, teach!”

      I look up and see one of my students, a freshman. He’s holding hands with a girl I don’t recognize, and he keeps flicking his head to the side to clear his early–Justin Bieber hair from his eyes.

      I’m trying to recall his name, but seeing him in a different environment makes him hard to place. And then I remember—second-period Algebra, back row, corner seat. “Hey, Alex. Doing a little Christmas shopping?”

      “Nah. We’re just hanging out.”

      “Well, have fun!” And get a haircut, I think. They move on and I turn back to Kiki. She looks glum and maybe a little sleepy. “You want to build a teddy bear?”

      Build-A-Bear is crazy. There’s a birthday party ahead of us with a gaggle of preteen girls, so it takes a while to get through all the stations. Kiki chooses a Dalmatian instead of a bear and dresses the stuffed animal in a froufrou little summer dress even though it’s winter outside. At the sound table, she picks out a little box that plays “Who Let the Dogs Out” and giggles every time it goes woof, woof, woof-woof. When we’re done, we print out the birth certificate and head to the counter to check out. I am exhausted.

      “Mr. McNelis!”

      “Kim! I didn’t know you worked here.” Kim I know immediately. She’s another of those serious students like Robert. Same class, in fact. She’s strictly academics though. I’ve wondered before if she knows what a cliché she is—Asian, smart, respectful. Even the serious, dark-framed glasses scream ambition. But she has a job, and therefore I must concede that she is more well-rounded than I thought. I have her pegged for valedictorian, or salutatorian at the least. I set Kiki on the counter and introduce her.

      “Is this your doggy?” Kim asks Kiki, bouncing the dog on the counter so the skirt on its dress flaps up and down. Kiki smiles and hugs the dog to herself. “She’s a cutie,” Kim says, then to me, “She’s a cutie too.”

      “Thanks. I think so.” I pull out my wallet while Kim puts together a traveling home for the dog, aptly named Spot now.

      “So, I didn’t know you were married,” Kim says, sliding the credit card receipt over for me to sign.

      “Divorced.”

      I hand the receipt over and see her eyes widen as she says, “Oh.” Then she flashes me a smile, a very big smile, and tells Kiki to take good care of that puppy. We leave, and I can’t help thinking I’ve just missed something.

      Robert

      I think I would have gone out to dinner with Hannibal Lecter if it got me out of the house for a couple of hours.

      With school out, the mall is packed with Christmas shoppers. But if there’s one thing Nic likes, it’s a big audience.

      He hangs his heavy sunglasses from the V-neck of his sweater as we merge with the crowd. “I want to pick out some boots,” he says, grabbing my hand.

      His hand feels foreign in mine, and immediately I suspect it’s