Lessons In Lesbianism - 9 (Patreon)

Thanks for What

Sunday was the de facto Thanksgiving in the Bishop Home. Which meant that Olivia’s mother wanted her in the kitchen. She was still a long way from mastering the family recipes, and Mrs. Bishop wanted to pass those on to both her daughters. Which was appreciated, as being taught all there was to know about the kitchen normally filled Olivia with utter delight and gender euphoria.

Unfortunately, Olivia was mildly distracted for much of the day. Late the evening before, Eliza had suddenly stopped answering her messages. Kala hadn’t been sure what was going on, though insisted there was no reason to suspect Eliza had been injured or anything that extreme. Despite Kala’s attempts at reassurances, Olivia’s mildly panicked fears insisted that there had been a mishap of some sort or another. (Fears that had led her to text ‘I hope you’re alright,’ for which Kala had lightly teased her.)

So, all through the morning and well into the afternoon, Olivia was only half focused on the cooking instructions her mother was telling her. Though, at least being stuck in the kitchen meant she wouldn’t have to deal with Carl until dinner (he promised he’d come over then, his family doing their big dinner on Monday instead). While she appreciated his attention… or, at least, kept telling herself she did, she only had so much patience for his recent behaviour. She really couldn’t understand why he was so annoying about her schooling choice.

Olivia was starting to wonder if pumpkin pies were really worth the trouble when her phone finally vibrated. It was a text from Eliza.

[I’m fine.]

That was it. No further details. No explanations.

Biting her lip as she stared at it (not really ‘reading’ it since it was short enough to process in only a moment) Olivia wondered how to respond. The message gave her nothing to go off of. It was simply so final. There was a period and everything.

Before she came up with a plan of action, Olivia found herself drafted into mashing potatoes.

-

The next few hours unyil dinner kept her too busy to think, let alone to text. Especially when her father brought Portia in, having had enough of looking after her. Between setting up one of the largest meals of the year and looking after a toddler, Olivia was soon thoroughly brain fried. Though she felt she was gaining skills she would need for a future as a wife.

Which made her feel a small flush of joy in some still functional part of her mind. Domestic life, acting as a mother and a wife, appealed to her so strongly.

… Surely a point against those confusions regarding her sexuality? Did lesbians tend to go for that whole ‘2.5 kids, white picket fence’ fantasy? She was reasonably certain they were bigger on breaking down the institutions of the patriarchy and all that.

Which, sure, she should probably also want to bring down. That was basic feminism. But she’d been raised in it, and so some of the markers she saw as gender ideals lined up with it and she wasn’t sure she wanted to get rid of things she dreamed of…

When Carl showed up for dinner she tried to slide into her role of a perfect future wife. Only to feel like her smile was growing more and more forced for the few minutes she spent offering vague pleasantries while he reluctantly helped set up the table.

“You know, you look so happy cooking, maybe that’s your real calling, instead of the theatre,” he said, the look in his eyes telling her exactly what he was implying.

“I can have more than one passion,” she mumbled in reply, heading past him to put some napkins down.

Only to have his hand brush against her rear in a way that felt quite on purpose. And that she did not care for.

It seemed Carl was trying his best to undo all the certainty she’d regained regarding her sexual orientation back in the kitchen.

By the time they were actually sitting down, with the meal in front of them, she was using Portia as a shield from a boyfriend who had clearly somehow gotten more hormonal in her absence.

Which confused her. He was 19 now. Wasn’t he supposed to be getting less horny, now that he was moving out of his teens? Or was that generally the result of guys getting to release their desires, and she’d been stopping it?

If that was the case, then the next eight or so months she’d be waiting for her surgery were going to be unbearable. Maybe she could stay in BC until it was time to go to Montreal?

The food was good when they started eating it, at least. Beyond being tasty, it was also an excuse not to talk to her parents or Carl, as long as her mouth was full.

“Keep eating like that and you’ll put on weight, dear,” her mother said as Olivia started to get another helping of mashed potatoes.

“I—it’s just so tasty,” Olivia managed, trying to cover for her odd behaviour.

“That it may be, but ladies must watch their figures. Especially when you seem to be starting to gain that ‘Freshman fifteen’,” her mother replied.

Staring at the plate, more than a little annoyed at the way she’d gone from ‘a growing boy’ to ‘a lady who should watch what she eats’, Olivia poked at her peas for a moment.

“I need a bit of pudge if I want any curves,” she muttered after a bit of thought. “HRT works better on fat distribution than it does on bones.”

“Huh, well that’s a new one,” her father muttered. “A woman wanting to gain weight.”

Olivia looked up, staring at her father. Had he always been like this? She didn’t want to say yes, as she had always loved her father, but… she was feeling like the last month or so at Freebairn’s had insulated her from both her father and Carl’s worst behaviours, and left her so much more sensitive to them now that she was exposed to them again.

She dropped her eyes again to stare at her plate, not knowing what to do. If she’d had friends in town she’d have tried to escape off to see them, but, well… she didn’t. That had been why she’d clung so much to Carl’s kindness and smiles. Why she’d told herself he was a knight in shining armour there to save her from bullying and harassment from her peers. Even if he’d always been a little annoying at times.

Now, though… now she wanted to leave. She wanted to be back with Kala and Eliza and all the others. People who didn’t make all those little comments and let her just be.

“Twenty four hours,” she whispered under her breath, only Portia seeming to hear her.

“Wha’ dat?” the small girl asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Olivia said, putting on a smile. “But, maybe I am a bit more full than I thought.”

-

Dishes had followed dinner, as surely as any two things were linked in the universe. Even if they had a dishwasher now (unlike when Olivia had been growing up), most things still needed at least a rinse before they went in, and a few pots and pans required a full manual scrubbing. Despite the annoyance of it all, Olivia had felt no need to rush, waiting to let her father pull Carl off to some conversation in the garage before she left the kitchen.

Heading out into the living room, she flopped onto the couch with as little grace as she felt she could get away with. Her mother would make comments if her body language ever seemed ‘too masculine’, after all… though she’d also mentally chastise herself for the same general thing (but with a smidge more leeway). Feeling ready to shut her brain off, she leaned back to watch whatever strange primary coloured characters made up the modern children’s cartoon that Portia was watching.

The brainless noise of it, offering only the vaguest hints of a ‘plot’ were about all she felt ready for, at least.

Unfortunately the fates had other ideas for how her evening would go, when she heard the buzz of a phone. She checked her own, only to find it was not the source, as there was another vibration while she was checking.

Leaning over, she found Carl’s phone must have fallen out of his pocket and slid between the cushions of the couch. She pulled it out and got to her feet, ready to go hand it to him before she had a chance to forget in her current zonked out state.

Only to have the phone vibrate again as she was carrying it. It was a text. From someone labeled as ‘dessert’.

[I don’t get what you see in her anyhow.]

That message left her doing a double take, suspicions swirling in her mind. She found herself frozen, wishing that the locked phone would show more of the conversation beyond the most recent message as it came in and a count of six missed texts from ‘dessert’.

Was this about her? Who was ‘dessert’? She had nothing to go on but fear, paranoia, and her own lack of self worth.

Carl was… no, there was no way Carl would cheat on her, surely?

She wasn’t worth cheating on. He’d just dump her and move one to a girlfriend who would actually ‘put out’ surely? One that could actually provide him with kids that were his own down the line.

Olivia found herself standing there, waiting. Hoping another message would flash up to clear up her fears. One way or the other.

Nothing came, however, and her mother seemed to be noticing her standing aimlessly in the hallway. So she headed over towards the garage. Stepping in, she found her father showing off some new fishing rods (or, at least, ones Olivia didn’t recognise).

“Um, I found your phone in the couch,” she offered, holding it out towards Carl.

“Oh. Thanks,” he replied, all reassuring smiles.

“Are you feeling alright, Olivia?” her father asked.

“Fine. Fine… just, tired. I guess the jet lag is hitting strangely. I might go to bed early,” she muttered, waving away any concerns. “Probably the turkey not helping.”

The two men gave small nods, at least sort of buying what she’d said.

She then went to the upstairs bathroom, brushing her teeth before heading to her bedroom. There, she got changed and then flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Her heart was a roiling mass of confusion. Was Carl cheating on her? What reason could he have to do that, when he could just dump her?

Slowly, the answer hit her: her father and the family business. The Bishop Theatre Company wasn’t the most successful one in Stratford, but it made money. Getting in on that was probably seen as a smart life choice in Carl’s eyes. Which also explained the whole reason he’d bother dating her in the first place. She’d always wondered why an older boy had wanted to be in a relationship with her back in high school.

She also found herself wondering if she even cared. Did she even want to be dating Carl anymore? If she stayed in BC, especially if she moved to Vancouver, where there would be a much larger dating pool. Finding someone willing to date a trans girl like her who was actually decent.

Someone like Eliza… but a guy, obviously.

Probably.

Was that the big issue? Was she attracted to women?

No. No… she couldn’t be. Her psychiatrist had said so. There was no sign she was transitioning out of an attraction to women.

The only reason thinking about being with a guy in that way made her skin crawl was because of her body, right? If she thought about it with a woman, it would probably—her mind flashed back to the thoughts she’d had about Eliza just a few days ago. Her cheeks went hot, but the feelings of discomfort were different.

Different how, she was a bit unsure. There was the feeling she was betraying Eliza with the thoughts, but beyond that? Well… there was also dysphoria, thinking about the specifics of her body, but… well, there was something that wasn’t there.

She thought back to the few times she’d kissed Carl, and how awkward that had felt. She’d told herself that had been the result of her puberty blockers, ensuring she was an extra-late bloomer. But she was still feeling that.

Meanwhile, she didn’t even have to tell herself to try to think about it to find her brain happily thinking again about the idea of kissing Eliza. Or some of the other tall a ‘handsome’ stageboys she’d seen at the Academy, including some of the ones in higher years that she’d seen about but never even talked to.

Honestly, she felt slightly concerned about how easily her mind was willing to think about all that.