of hair removal cream. But they have yet to talk about the underwear she’s been finding in the trash for the past several weeks. She’s told him about wet dreams before, but now that they’re actually happening, he avoids any kind of discussion about them.
“Ms. Webster also indicates that Aaron is no longer attending school but doing his studies by correspondence.”
“That was not our choice. The principal at Beauville is just as small-minded as the parents.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dr. Goertzen clicks his pen a few times. “But isolation can add to what seems to be a very challenging time right now.” He stares at Aaron and Aaron’s chin quivers, but he clenches his jaw and stops it.
“In addition to the continued sessions,” Dr. Goertzen continues, “I’d like to recommend that we start Aaron on a course of antidepressants.”
“Antidepressants?”
“They will help alleviate some of this inner turmoil, and ultimately, we hope, help him cope with these challenges.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“What are your concerns?”
“My concern is that you don’t understand at all.” She twirls a purse tassel in her fingers. “This turmoil you say he’s going through, these stressors, his emotional state—these are all the result of one thing. If you would just fix that one thing, then there wouldn’t be any of these ‘other things.’”
“Miss Gourlay—”
“Stop with the ‘Miss Gourlay’ shit,” she says. “Please.”
“I am trying to help you in the best way I know how.”
“How? The one thing we’ve come to you for is the one thing you won’t give us. And because you won’t, things have gotten worse. And now you’re throwing solutions at us that don’t make sense.”
“Hormone therapy is not a decision to enter into lightly, especially for someone who is only fourteen. And if sex reassignment surgery is still the intended end goal,” he says, closing the file, “well, it’s not something that’s reversible if the client decides they were wrong.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Nadine says, leaning back in her chair, “the hicks back at home, or you people with all your education and money who think you know better than us.”
“Miss Gour—” He stops himself. “Nadine.”
“None of you know what the fuck you’re doing, do you? Two bloody years of this nonsense. All those framed certificates and degrees that are supposed to impress people,” she says, pointing at the walls, “they don’t mean dick when you can’t do what they say you’re supposed to, which is help people.”
“Getting upset doesn’t help the situation. In fact, it makes things worse for Aaron.”
Nadine falls silent. “You think I’m making things worse for my own child?”
“No, I recognize that you’re trying your best to help Aaron. However, I know things must be challenging for you as well. Money is tight and finding a job in your hometown is difficult. And you’ve mentioned you’re intentionally remaining single because of this situation.”
Nadine hugs her purse to her stomach.
“I think it would be beneficial if you were to discuss some of your challenges with a therapist as well. It doesn’t have to be the same as Aaron’s. In fact, it’d be better if you were to see someone other than Ms. Webster. I can put a referral in the system today.”
Nadine follows Aaron out the doors of the medical building. Rush hour. Endless cars, streams of people. A grey blur. She follows him down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction of their parked car.
“Aaron?”
He walks faster and then tucks into a narrow space between another building and its neighbour. There’s a faint odour of spray paint and urine.
“I’m so sorry,” Nadine says, and puts her hand on his shoulder.
“I keep thinking I’m getting closer but each time it just feels farther and farther away.” His voice is strained, crackly with emotion.
“I know, hon. I don’t know what to say. I thought we were getting the prescription today.” His head collapses onto her shoulder and she stretches up to put her arms around him. He’s had two inches on her for a while, but now his shoulders are broader too.
“He said just six more months.” Nadine squeezes him tighter. “We can do that, right?”
“There’s no guarantee he’ll write a prescription then, though.”
He’s right, but she doesn’t say so. “We can find another doctor,” she says instead.
“He’s the fourth one, Mom.”
“Goertzen is a pompous ass but he has gotten us this far.” The first three doctors they saw diagnosed Aaron with developmental disorders, ADHD, Asperger’s, even undernutrition.
“But how long is it going to take?”
“We’ll get there. I promise.” Footsteps and car horns bounce off the walls around them, almost deafening.
When Aaron’s sobs have died down, she pulls away from him. “Want to hit Shanghai Garden before we head home?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Come on. Deep-fried wontons with sweet and sour sauce?”
“I just want to go home.”
When he was younger, Winnipeg was a safe place for him. But as he grows, each time they come there are more stares, more comments. Nadine imagines punching the concrete walls around them with her fists.
Aaron pulls away and his bangs hang over his eyes. Nadine removes his bobby pin, uses her fingers to comb them smooth to the side, and re-pins them.
The temperature drops that evening and when they arrive home in Beauville, Nadine turns the furnace on for the first time since last winter. Tonight, she doesn’t care about the cost. Aaron changes into his favourite B.U.M. Equipment sweater and fuzzy leggings, while Nadine heats the Shanghai Garden takeout and prepares the TV tables.
When Quantum Leap is half over and there’s a commercial break, Nadine mutes the television. “When is your next appointment with Ms. Webster?”
“Two weeks.”
“I was thinking…” She pauses. “What if you did get a prescription? For antidepressants.”
Aaron turns to her. His mouth open but nothing coming out.
“We just have to get through the next few months so why don’t we bite the bullet and keep the damn doctors happy?”
He still doesn’t respond.
“If you get the prescription then both Dr. Goertzen and Ms. Webster will see that you’re following their advice and might be more inclined to start you on hormones.”
In a surge that startles her, Aaron kicks his TV tray and it topples over. The food that he barely ate falls to the floor. Sticky sweet and sour sauce spatters the rug. He pulls his knees to his chest and tucks his head between them.
“You’re changing your mind,” he chokes out the words.
“No, no, Aaron. Not at all. You don’t even have to take the pills. You could just fill the prescription and pretend that you are.”
“That’d be like admitting that they’re right and they’re not. You said so.”
“I’m just thinking of it like a compromise.”
“Why