Happy Families Read Online Free PDF

of people who are seriously into the whole thing—dresses, wigs, and women’s shoes. They don’t just want to put on a wig for a party or something. They want to live like this, full-time.
    Full-time
. Like the other person they were never even existed.
    I’ve done the research. I know some people feel like they were born with the wrong gender, in the wrong body. The GLAAD Web site says not to say Dad’s a “transvestite” or a “she-male” because those words are prejudiced and derogatory and not accurate—
duh
. When he’s in drag, people aren’t supposed to keep calling him Christopher, but Christine, like he prefers. If he decides he wants to get surgery to change into a girl, then we say he’s a transgender person, not a cross-dresser. Blah, blah, blah, thank you, Internets.
    I know all the vocabulary and all the rules about what we’re supposed to do to make my dad comfortable, but has anyone asked what would make Ysabel and me comfortable? No. Did anyone ask us if we even wanted this? No.
    Dad told Poppy that he knew Poppy would have to tell Mom, and he thought it would be best if he didn’t come back home. After Poppy came home and told us everything, I spent hours—days—praying that please, God, this wasn’t happening. I read on a Web site that Ys and I are just two of thousands of kids around the world dealing with this right now, but funny thing—that just doesn’t make me feel any better. No matter how many people’s stories I read online, it isn’t the same. It’s
my
family crashing; it’s
my
dad. It’s
me
.
    I look at the church people in the parking lot, smiling and talking to each other, and I almost want to yell out the window, “How well do you really know your friends? Nobody is who you think they are. Christopher Nicholas wants to be a woman.”
    My father is cross-dressing, and my sister and I are spending spring break with him.
    Mom thinks we should. I just can’t get my mind around why.
    “Grandmama and Poppy got him from the airport. That’s where he’s staying.” Ysabel has closed the door to my room behind her and is filling me in, almost whispering.
    “Wait, they picked him up?” I spin around on my desk chair. “I thought—”
I thought Poppy and Grandmama were on our side
. I don’t finish the sentence. I know my mother would say that “in a family, there are no ‘sides.’ ”
    Yeah, like
that’s
even remotely true. There are always sides. Always.
    “This is such bull. They planned all of this, behind our backs.”
    Ysabel shrugs. “Probably. But, you know how Poppy is—he always tries to be on neutral ground when there’s a problem.”
    “Well, I wish he’d warned us.”
    Ysabel blows out a sigh, leaning in my doorway. “He came up for a work meeting on Friday, so he would have been here anyway. He said it was just as easy to fly back with us.”
    Just as easy for whom?
I want to ask, but I don’t bother. “So, where is he, then?”
    Ysabel opens my door. “He went to get takeout from Piatti’s.” She makes a face. “As if anyone is even hungry.” Rolling her eyes, she heads down the hall.
    I turn back to my laptop, hitting the space bar to disrupt my screen saver. Since Mom caters all week long, there’s leftovers galore. We rarely eat takeout from anywhere, much less somewhere fancy like Piatti’s. It’s a little strange that Mom’s not cooking tonight—but part of me is glad she’s not. Maybe Mom’s not as cool with everything as she pretends.
    Ysabel has left my door open a crack. I hear her boots thudding against the floor. “Mom? Are we doing anything after we eat?”
    Mom’s voice is closer now. “We’re just having family time. Did you want to suggest an activity?”
    I snort. Yeah, we have suggestions, but I’m sure Mom doesn’t want to hear them.
    “Do we have to have family time?”
    My mother makes a little “hmph” noise, and doesn’t answer. Ysabel sighs.
    “I just … I was going to The Crucible tonight.