Jane -3- Brothers (Patreon)

I heard one of my brothers come in through the back door into the kitchen. “Ma!” It was Morgan, four years older than me and a complete asshole. “What’s for dinner, Ma?” he shouted.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Wanna help me tame the beasts?” she asked me.

I shook my head but she tugged me to my feet and I trailed after her. “Didn’t Dad take them out for pizza?” I asked.

“Teenage boys are never full,” said Mom.

I made an unladylike snort but with my current appetite, I didn’t have room to sneer.

Morgan looked up from the open refrigerator as we entered the room. “Hey, sis,” he said. “You’re looking nice. Except for the hair,” he added.

I stared at him. Oh, yeah, Dad said he would tell them about my —temporary?— change in status. His casual acceptance of what I was wearing floored me but the last comment was a reminder that I was dealing with one of my brothers after all. And I could almost bet that Dad had not said this was just a try-out for the big leagues.

“Get your head out of the refrigerator,” Mom ordered him. “And don’t tease your sister about her hair—it will grow out. Audrey, if you can get past the Moose, take out stuff for making a salad.”

“A salad?” Morgan pulled a face like a cat examining a lemon but he got out of my way.

“No one in this house eats enough salad and don’t tell me your father thought to make you eat one with your pizza.”

I took out a head of lettuce, two tomatoes, three carrots and half a red onion from the cold bin. From the meat drawer, I took a block of jack cheese and a stick of the summer sausage Mrs. Fordyce makes herself. 

“I eat salad,” I commented. Since the Crisis, I ate lots of salad, it had become one of my favorite things and making a good one was something I enjoyed, too. Morgan attempted to grab the sausage but I turned away in time.

“Get out of the kitchen or we’ll put you to work,” Mom warned him. 

He fled, pausing only to laugh at me. “Looks like you’re going to be on permanent K.P.”

I pointed the knife I was cutting tomatoes with at him. “Yard work,” I said. “It’s a fair trade.” It was true, I hated yard work and Morgan hated helping in the kitchen. 

He scowled on his way out. 

Mom giggled while she grated cheese. “You found a bright side?”

I shrugged. “A teeny one. Will I still have to work on cars with Dad?” I hated that, too. Getting greasy and dirty had never been a thing for me.

“I dunno,” she said. “He made sure I know how to change a flat, so maybe, maybe not.”

I already knew how to do that so maybe I was safe from oil changes, greasing the zerts, and replacing spark plugs. I had never considered my aversion to be a symptom of hidden girliness, just common sense and ordinary prudence.

Just like I had not thought of kitchen work as being girly either but it was something I enjoyed and was good at. I decided not to think about with a sharp object in my hand.

I started dumping veggies in the large salad bowl while Mom tore slightly stale, homemade sourdough into chunks and spread them on a cookie sheet. 

I heard Lee Junior clomping down the outside stairs. As youngest, I had gotten the small inside second bedroom while my older brothers divided the huge room on top of the garage between them. 

It would work out now, too, for different reasons. I never had wanted to share a room with my brothers. They were noisy slobs and I wasn’t.

Lee was eldest and named Leland after my Dad, though not actually a Junior because they had different middle names. Still, we usually called him Lee Junior or just Junior since Little Lee had stopped being appropriate years ago. If Morgan was Morgan the Moose, Junior was Lee-Viathan. Two inches taller than Dad and fifty pounds heavier, at seventeen Junior had been busting broncs and punching cattle for two years.

He smelled like it, too, as he came in the kitchen door. “Hey, chicklet,” he said to me. “Looking good. ‘Cept for the hair.”

“Get your reeking carcass out of my kitchen!” Mom roared at him.

Chicklet? That’s what he called his girlfriends. I scowled and pretended to stab at him as he stole sliced carrots from the salad bowl.

Mom did more than pretend. She snatched up a wooden spoon and thwacked him across the knuckles with it. “Keep your dirty paws out of the salad bowl, you heathen!”

“Ow! Ma! I didn’t do nothing with that hand!”

“It’s the one I could reach,” she said. “Besides, if I hit the hand with the carrots in it, you’d probably fling them all over the room.”

I began to understand why Mom seemed happy with the thought of a daughter in the house instead of another son.

Mom slipped the tray of croutons under the broiler while I turned olive oil, water, balsamic vinegar, crushed garlic and spices into homemade Italian dressing.

Moose had set the table and Junior had filled glasses with water and ice from the wet bar. They weren’t completely useless indoors, though Dad must have reminded them of such chores. I could hear him in his usual seat at the head of the table making gruff noises at the boys.

Everything, including slices of summer sausage, went into the salad bowl and I carried it in to set in front of Dad who stood up to do the tossing with overlarge salad tongs. Then we all sat down at our usual places and Dad said a short prayer. “God bless this food and this house. Amen.”

We repeated the amen and then we ate.

I had almost forgotten that I was wearing jewelry, panties and a bra. I might have managed complete amnesia except my brothers kept sneaking looks at me. Other than the jewelry, I’m not sure what they were looking at. Maybe the teddy bear logo on my shirt.

Mom got up to fetch fresh bread and sweet butter from the Fordyce creamery to fill up the corners of the beastly stomachs. I buttered a small slice myself while I thought about how I should handle the interest of the animals.

I caught the Moose leaning a bit to examine my profile so I turned to him, being direct. “Yes,” I said. “I’m wearing a bra because I need one.”

“I didn’t ask,” he said quickly.

I took both of them in with a look. “What made you two think it appropriate to make remarks about my hair?”

Junior volunteered, “Dad didn’t make it off limits.” The Moose smirked.

Dad covered his face with his hands but I could see his shoulders shaking. He was laughing.

“You could wear a wig,” Morgan suggested. “Just till it grows out.”

“You could wear a dish of butter, upside down,” I said. I reached out and flicked him on the ear. “And you can’t hit me back cause I’m your sister now.” 

“Audrey!” Mom snapped. Moose rubbed his ear but he was grinning at me.

“Don’t tease the animals,” Mom warned me. Dad kept his hands up but his forehead was turning red.

“Is it Audrey now instead of Audie?” Junior asked from across the table and out of reach.

I stood up quickly, grabbing a glass of water to prevent it from turning over. “Just call me Jane,” I said then I left the table without permission and ran down the hall to my own room.

I’m not crying I told myself but I knew I was lying. 

I heard Moose complaining before I shut my door, “But we’re all named Jane.”

***

It must be the hormones, I decided. The ones that were causing me to grow titties and need a bra. I couldn’t even think of what I had been crying about, exactly. Well, the whole thing of discovering that I am actually a girl and my brothers being sort of cluelessly shitty about it. That.

But they had been trying to be nice. And I had taken almost everything they said and did the wrong way. Like I was suspicious because they were being nice. Kind of funny when you think of it that way.

But I knew that if I had run from the table a week ago I would have got yelled at right then and someone would be in the room now reading me the riot act.

I sat up on the bed and looked at myself in the mirror on my dresser. Too much crap in the way, so I stood up to get a better look. Was my hair really that terrible? Short, yeah but I remembered girls who had hair just as short. But there was no style to it, curls going any way they wanted. It might as well have been cut with a bowl on my head.

Did I want to do something about the disaster? Or tough it out as being evidence of my clinging to my boyhood? How exactly is ugly hair boyish?

The door to my room opened and Dad stuck his face in. “Punkin?” he said.

I grinned at him, hideously, I hoped, but he grinned back. “So you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I said. Had I almost called him Daddy? “I just got mad about Morgan and Junior staring at me and saying dumb stuff.”

“You weren’t crying?”

I waved a hand. “Oh yeah, comes with the new territory, I guess. I’ll probably cry the next time I see a cute puppy, too.” I tried to laugh but it didn’t come out right, more of a giggle with a sob at the end. Shit.

Dad came into the room and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. “So brave,” he said.

Brave? I didn’t feel brave, I felt terrified. And yes, that was what I was crying about, being scared. The way my brothers had treated me was not awful, it was sort of funny and sweet and I didn’t know how to react, and that scared me.

“I’m not brave,” I said between sobs. “I’m scared out of my wits.”

“And yet, you keep on keeping on,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to cry. The rest of us have got your back, you know. Your brothers would do anything for you, except maybe go through what you’re going through.”

I had to laugh at the mental picture of Moose or Junior trying on jeans with hearts on the butt.

We both laughed then he wiped away my tears and we sat on the bed for a while, his arm around my shoulders while I held his other hand in my lap.

My dad doesn’t give the impression of massiveness my brothers do. He’s tall but lean and lanky. He’d been just another ranch hand when Mr. Fordyce sent him back to school to learn bookkeeping and accounting. Now he was in charge of the finances of the whole of the Fordyce family enterprises, not just the ranch.

So what I’m saying is Dad is smart. Really smart. If he thinks I’m brave, maybe I am brave. I don’t feel brave, though.

“You’ve always been brave,” Dad said. “Your brothers are bold, they don’t feel fear like you or I do. They just do what they want and deal with the consequences. But you’re smart and thoughtful, you know what risk is and yet, you go ahead and do what you need to do. That’s courage.”

He grinned down at me. “Your brothers are reckless, like your mother. Everyone advised her against marrying a saddlebum like me but she did what she wanted to do and hang the consequences.” He looked around. “I guess things worked out okay.”

I had to laugh and cry again.

“Not that it didn’t take some courage on my part to marry a wild woman like Evie,” he said grinning.

We both wiped our eyes and stood up. “Are you ready to go back in and let the animals sniff you so they know you’re still family?”

“It’s scary, but yeah. I don’t want them to think I’m mad at them,” I said. “But tell me the truth, is my hair really a problem or were they just teasing?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “Hair is your mother’s department. C’mon.”

I followed him back to the dining room where the boys had been busy, clearing the table away. I knew what I had to do and I didn’t want to do it. 

“She’s ba-ack,” said the Moose as I came in.

I walked up to him and he pretended to dodge a blow. “Don’t hit me, again,” he said in a fake whimper. “I can’t hit back.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said and I wrapped my arms around him and hugged. Then I kissed him on the chin, I had to stand on tiptoe to do it. Moose is almost six feet tall at fourteen.

Junior was grinning as I walked up to him. He bent down to put his face in reach and pointed to his cheek. “Right there, chicklet,” he said.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, too. It felt weird but right. “I don’t know much about how to be a sister,” I said. “Am I doing it right?”

“Crazy? Check. Unpredictable? Check. But sweet? Check,” he said, laughing. “Remember when Moose and I used to throw you around?” His arms went around me.

“Ack! No, don’t!” I squealed. We hadn’t done this in years, not since I started school. I was a lot taller now and not sure I could keep my balance.

“Go long!” Junior shouted to Moose, then he threw me at my brother. Literally picked me up by my waist and hurled me with both hands at Moose who was scrambling around the dining room chairs like a free safety trying for an intercept.

“Mom! Daddy! Help!” I screamed as I flew through the air.

“Not in the house!” Mom screamed, too.

I didn’t leave the floor for more than a few feet and landed running, tripping, falling, to be caught before I went down by Moose who was laughing so hard I thought we would both fall over. “I got you, sis,” he said, wrapping his big arms around me and pulling me to his chest.

Then he kissed me on the forehead just before I stomped on his foot. “Ow, ow,” he laughed. “I forgot you always do that.”

“I’m not a chew-toy!” I yelled at him. But we were all laughing, Mom, Dad, my brothers and me, too. Nothing got broken, not even Moose’s foot. 

I didn’t weigh more than 85 pounds even if I was nearly five feet tall. And this after a growth spurt and putting on more than the weight I’d lost in the crisis. With the clodhopper boots he wore for ranch work, Moose’s feet were in no danger from me. 

Next time, I’d kick him in the shins.