Forget What You Know in Green Shore

Chapter One: James

The espresso machine was louder here than in any of James’ usual cafes. They set their notebook on a table not far from the register and sat down to wait for their drink to be finished. As they softened their gaze against the back wall, James wondered how much longer this place could stay in business, what with how empty it looked this morning. Only three other patrons occupied the seating area, leaving a few dozen empty chairs. But then James remembered it was New Year’s Day at — they checked their watch — 7:35 a.m., which would mean almost everyone else was still burrowed under their bedsheets in a hungover fugue. The date and hour might have also explained the exasperated tone of the barista as she called James over to retrieve their iced americano.

With their coffee in one hand and notebook in the other, James dropped their weight into an armchair off to the side of the room. As the first sip of warm liquid warmed their stomach, James opened the notebook atop a crossed leg and began marking. Because they’d already been mulling over the out-of-place theme for days, James’ subconscious took over and guided their hand. The first image that emerged depicted ocean waves breaking atop a wooden snow sled with metal runners. James smiled to themself and moved on to sketch another thumbnail.

It wasn’t because of the holiday that James had chosen to change up their routine. Without any parties or family gatherings to attend, the new year had, in fact, been far from their mind. Instead, James was concerned about a far more personal matter. For the first two years that they’d lived in the city, James had experienced few problems operating in anonymity. It wasn’t like they lived a completely solitary life; they went two-stepping with a few pals on Friday nights and occasionally met up with some old cohort mates for a game of volleyball in the park, but that was different. Those were people they wanted to see, and the moments in which they were prepared to see them.

Once James hit the (apparently) mystical two-year threshold, however, they started to run into acquaintances a few times a week. In the city of nearly one million, and with their seemingly small social network, they hadn’t thought it would be difficult to avoid crossing paths with old bosses, their cousins’ ex-partners, people with whom they’d once gone on failed first dates, and so on. And, for the pleasant period of twenty-four months, everything had been fine.

It was early December when James walked into Lin’s Tea Shop ready to order their regular Thai boba tea. They were feeling overstimulated by the previous night’s windstorm and sought out Lin’s to decompress a bit. There was something about the ambiance of the place that caused even first-time customers to whisper just as they would in a library. But on this particular day, James raised their head and glimpsed a familiar face waiting for their order: the woman who had once cheated on their then-roommate. Without stopping to wonder if she’d noticed them, James turned on their heel and left. So much for decompressing.

One awkward run-in was bad luck, but by Christmas, James had racked up eleven. They decided to change all of their routines, from the places and times they grocery-shopped to the parks they strolled through to the café in which they spent their days sketching. In the week since they’d implemented the shift, James had avoided unwanted encounters. Things were looking up. And then, in this new café, they lifted their eyes above their notebook.

There was something too familiar about the silhouette of the figure that passed in front of them. It was one of those moments in which they wanted to slip down into denial (this can’t be happening), and yet they couldn’t quite give up on curiosity. With a soft gaze meant to hide their interest from any onlooking strangers, James watched the person and their companion arrive at the register.

Before the cashier could even open their mouth, the person said, So tell me what’s good here! Her voice emerged as if she was trying to speak over an espresso machine, except there wasn’t one running. James recognized the tone immediately: They no longer harbored any doubt that this was indeed their mom’s close friend, Tricia.

When James was growing up Tricia had often appeared out of nowhere, not even bothering to knock before she burst into the kitchen with a chilled bottle of wine in hand. Their mom would steadfastly refuse to greet her friend until she’d come to a stopping point in what she was doing — which was often helping James with their homework — and yet James always begrudged what ultimately felt like the theft of attention meant only for them. It wasn’t like James had other siblings to hang out with, and their dad was frequently gone on long trips for his trucking job. Then again, this was how James had gotten so good at drawing, calling their own worlds into existence with nothing more than crayons on paper.

Eventually the barista managed to convince Tricia to order a latte with a pump of peppermint syrup and a huckleberry scone. Without asking her companion for his opinion, she doubled the order to include two of each item. She paid and the espresso machine whirred to life. James changed position and hunched awkwardly over their notebook, hoping to hide their face without looking suspicious. A grueling series of minutes passed. James listened to Tricia thank the barista, footsteps tapped across the floor, and the door opened and closed. Slowly, James lifted their gaze. Their eyes were met by Tricia’s. Apparently it had been someone else who’d left the building; James cursed their ears for misleading them.

Oh, I knew I would recognize that backpack anywhere! Tricia exclaimed, and quickened her pace toward James.

Amid all of the changes to James’ routine, this bag had been their talisman of stability, but with the rate of run-ins they’d been having lately, they should have known better than to indulge their needs in such a visible way. If only they’d simply turned it backward against the chair, but no, the bright-green material stuck out like a beacon in the gray-toned space. There was nothing James wanted to do more than burst out the front door in their fastest sprint. But Tricia was already blocking their path, and, as much as they despised her presence, they weren’t quite willing to knock an old woman down in order to escape.

Hi, Tricia, they answered in a hesitant voice.

Oh, no need to be shy, Na— Tricia cut herself off in the middle of James’ old name. They wondered if she knew about their new one, though it wasn’t exactly new since they’d been using it for seven years now.

James, they finally corrected when Tricia remained frozen for a strange amount of time. But then they realized her pause was for another reason entirely. Tricia was staring at their face, their eyes scanning up and down and back and forth to take in its entire surface.

I thought your voice was gruff because you had a cold, but no, you’ve done something to yourself, haven’t you? I know your mother couldn’t have supported this. Tricia continued staring and shook her head.

Good thing she doesn’t know, then, James countered, reaching to shove their notebook into their backpack. Except their mom had known about their intention to transition; just not that they had followed through. Her refusal to recognize their newfound identity had been the final straw in the strained relationship, and James had finally decided to cut her off. That break had taken place more than five years ago now. In his silent passivity, their dad had sided with their mom. Their unity made unfortunate sense, considering James was the singular child they’d raised together, the little person they’d imagined would someday fulfill all of their vicarious dreams.

James had now reached the point when they were more than willing to give Tricia a little shove if it meant leaving this conversation. She doesn’t really know anything about me anymore, James added as they stood. Surprised by the sudden move, Tricia took a step back. Locking eyes with Tricia for one final moment, James found only confusion. They then understood what had been happening and they couldn’t help but try to confirm their theory. She didn’t tell you we’re not talking anymore, did she? James failed to keep their voice from shaking.

Tricia shook her head. No. She paused and her eyes flashed away before returning to James’ face with the same searching intensity. So I’m guessing you’re not really in physical-therapy school?

James fumed. Their mom had actually had the audacity to pretend to her friend that James was living out their mom’s dreams. Hell, maybe with the passage of years, she had even gotten herself to believe her own lies. No, I’m not. James angled their shoulders sideways and slid past Tricia. They were out the door before she could speak another word.

It happened again. James’ fingers flew across the keys on their phone after they’d found a seat on the bus. In a totally new café, they added. I don’t know what to do anymore.

It was still early on the US West Coast, meaning that Mina would be awake where she now lived on the north coast of France. Sure enough, her reply came, across an ocean and a continent, less than a minute later. No!!! Who was it this time?

An old friend of my mom’s, James typed back, then explained how she’d revealed the lies their mom had been telling about their life.

Wtf! Mina answered, her words followed by a long train of angry emojis. Despite their mood, James couldn’t help but laugh at the few creative inclusions — after the typical emotive faces, Mina had included a zombie, a bomb, a boxing glove, a meteor, and a squirt gun.

Lol. I know, James typed, then hesitated before sending. They wanted to share an idea that had come to them during their speed-walk to the bus stop, but they weren’t sure they were ready for Mina’s voice of reason to shoot it down. The boiling frustration inside them forced the thought out anyway. I’m thinking of making a temporary move outside the city, they added, then let the message go.

This time Mina didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was busy, or maybe she was thinking of the right words to say.