Face Reveal

 

@R.Cross 2 minutes ago
Awesome video, thank you for your hard work!
I really want to stop a minute and say I love how you’re evolving your format and tone these past few weeks.  You’ve been so much more expressive and lively, it’s like a switch’s been turned on and you can’t stop smiling; I can hear it in your voice.  And there’s nothing that makes me happier than that.
Keep up the good work, Screw.  Your video made my day.

 

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My Ghast was flabbered.

See, to avoid all kinds of silly misunderstandings, confusions, and outright bigotry, my parent — who I could definitely not call my dad anymore but wasn’t sure she would like to be called my mother yet — had previously, on occasion, called herself Celia. I didn't remember exactly where that name came from, but it had become synonymous with her whenever she put on a dress, once or twice a month, to go to conventions — or to prepare herself before participating in one of them, a day in advance. And no one in the household questioned it. It was a pragmatic choice derived from real experiences of annoying men being appalled by the idea of ‘another man’ in a dress. When I was little, I’d thought of it as no more than a story. It was fiction. Even recently, I didn’t even pay it any attention. It didn’t jump me as a particularly trans thing to do, because I was trans, and that wasn’t a thing I remembered doing

“Wh—”

Noticing my confusion, she explained, “Yeah, I may or may not have been listening at the door; sorry about that…” Her voice didn’t sound trained, but it was definitely feminine. “So, turns out I have a daughter? Am I correct in my assumption?” my parent asked.

“I…”

She put a hand on the armchair my mum was sitting on. “Don’t worry,” she added with a smile. “If that’s the case, it would be wonderful. I have no reason to be mad at you or anything. I’m trans too, after all.”

That wasn’t what I was worried about anymore, but it felt good to hear nonetheless. “Yes,” I finally managed to let out. The words were a bit easier to say than the first time, especially with Zee holding my hand to help me get through that part. “I— You have a daughter. I’m your daughter. Hi.”

“Alright,” my parent said, grinning at me. “This was definitely not expected. Not at all. But I can work with that.” She went for a drawer where she kept her hair supplies, mumbling something about ‘comments’ and ‘YouTube’ to herself. “But before doing anything else…” She turned to me with a powerful, ancient, frightening spark in her eyes. And I knew that look. All my worst fears were proven founded. “We have to fix your hair, dear.”

 

✦ ▶ ✦

 

And that was why I’d wanted to come out to Mum first. My other parent was weird, mainly because she loved playing dress up. So of course, upon learning she finally had a daughter, she had wrapped my neck in a towel, made me face a tabletop mirror, and taken out her favourite pair of scissors. Which, in a vacuum, wasn’t something I minded too much; I accepted her offer, after all. The mirror in particular was a surprisingly great addition, for once.

Had my left cheek always been so smooth? I traced its curve from the back of my jaw to my nose with my index finger, gliding across the skin. There was still some hair, but it felt thinner, lighter, gentler. On the right cheek too. I poked at it slowly, my finger carving a small valley.

Woaw. Soft.

I started kicking my feet on the floor, smiling. It was real. It worked.

So fucking cool.

“Celia, can you please stop moving and look forward?” I heard my parent say with a hint of frustration.

I pouted and rolled my eyes. If you don’t want me to move, why don’t you fix my hair at a more opportune moment? There was a time and place for a haircut…

“I’m not Celia, you’re Celia,” I grumbled, repositioning my head straight.

“Stop saying nonsense.”

…And maybe this wasn’t it.

Zee sighed deeply. “Girls, girls, girls,” she said. “Let’s calm down and concentrate. Is this really rocket surgery? One of you could go with Celia, and the other with Ceh-lia, or Célia, or whatever. No?”

“Erm, I don’t think we should do that,” my parent said as she cut a stubborn strand of hair from my head. “Honestly Celia, you’ve done a pretty good job. I’m almost finished,” she added in a proud whisper. From the chair I was sitting on, I could see her through the mirror. Her dress had been replaced by a pair of overalls with a black and white striped long-sleeved sweater underneath. She had left her wig in her room, leaving only her bushy, curled black hair. “And don’t worry about the name, I’ll find something else.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Zee,” I said with a laugh. I wasn’t sure I should entrust this issue to someone who named people 'Investment’ and ‘Lake’. And I’d only been Celia for a week, there was no particular attachment to the name. But someone in this room had been using it for much longer than that. She had a rightful claim to it, and I wouldn’t let her give it up that easily. “And I will find something else.”

My parent and I looked at each other through the mirror, frowned, then ultimately cracked up and snorted.

The couch creaked as Zee imprinted her form in its back, pursed her lips, and crossed her arms. “But why?” she whined cutely. “It’s the best option; you both get the name. And if you chose to call yourself Celia, without any of that accent gibberish, I wouldn’t even have to learn its French pronunciation.”

That was not true. If I were to marry her, she would have to know my parents’ names. And with her solution, my parent would still be called Célia. She should have been a bit more serious about this and thought it through. It’s you who should concentrate, Zee!

Heat rose to my cheeks. What the hell was I thinking?

I shook my head.

“Stop moving, young lady,” my parent hissed.

Right, back on track. “I— I chose Celia because it sounded cool, but—” careful not to pivot my head in any direction, I looked at her through the mirror again; time to use my secret weapon, “—that was the name you asked people to use when you were cosplaying, right? And it stuck.” That was probably why I ended up liking it. Reminded me of her.

She stopped her frequent snipping and opened her mouth only to close it right after. Of course, she couldn’t deny this.

“But,” I continued, looking at the faded red and green rug under my feet; there was just one thing we never took into account, one thing that would throw off all of this, “all this time, you weren't cosplaying, were you?”

My parent sighed, and her wife came into view and squeezed her hand. She took some time before answering, “No. I was cosplaying.” She straightened her overalls. Her gaze was lost to the side, on one of the many shelves in the room, her posture rigid, and her every move slow and calculated. Oh. My secret weapon was hitting harder than expected. “I didn't think beyond that. That was just cosplay.”

Since she seemed finished with correcting my haircut, I turned to face her. “But now that you know about, well, being trans, doesn't it feel different? It had to be some kind of sign. It makes so much sense.” I had trouble saying the right thing. My words came out like rocks rolling down a hill, stumbling on obstacles, with no care to the context of their fall. It felt so glaringly obvious. She was Celia. Why was she refusing that?

She blinked repeatedly, switching from a point of attention to another. “It does,” she stammered. “But I don’t want to retcon those memories. A lot of them were with you; they’re precious to me. I don’t want you to lose your Dad… You’re more important than this. Priorities.”

“What do you mean ‘retcon’?” My voice quivered, struggling on the last word. “Would it be so bad to think of them as mother-daughter bonding time?"

She finally looked at me, tears in her eyes. “Maybe n—” She sobbed. “Maybe not…”

I jumped up from the chair and splayed my arms. My mom — and nothing else ever again — discarded the scissors on the small table, got closer, with streaks of eyeliner and tears mixed together rolling down her cheeks, and accepted the embrace. She was a bit taller and heavier than me, but she knew it, proceeding carefully to not squeeze me too hard. “I think you should be Celia, Mom.” I used the American pronunciation. It suited her. She had ‘a quarter and a half of Californian blood,’ which she regularly emphasised when justifying her cooking style. “It’s your name. It’s always been your name.”

“No. That— That’s not true.” She parted from the hug, looking sorry.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t—” she sniffled, the inhale making her chop her words, “—remember?”

“Remember what, Mom?” I could see a light getting brighter in her eyes each time I called her that.

“I guess it makes sense. I thought the same as you at first, that I just came up with that name one day, and that’s it. But then I…” She sobbed again, shaking her head, as if to make the tears evaporate quicker. Her wife started rubbing her back, making her sit down for a moment, and asked her something in a whisper, to which she nodded.

“Then we read your comments,” my (allegedly) cis mum said. She was more collected than her wife. “Especially the ones talking about eggs. Someone said you were eggs? Or something like that? And then — as she always does on every video — your mom posted a comment saying it was not true; that you weren’t eggs. But I was next to her, doing her hair, and thinking about, like, the possibility of you being eggs.” 

Mum, please, stop saying ‘eggs’.

“At that point,” she forged on, “we were already experimenting with the name. I was already calling her like that. And that’s when I remembered where it really came from.”

She was cut by a hand on her shoulder, and my new mom continued from there, “It’s your name. It’s yours, Celia.”

I felt a knot tie in my throat. The sound of Dell’s voice calling me by the name echoed in my mind. I did like it. It sounded right when she used it. It sounded right when my mom used it. Which was unfair. Parents can call their children by their first names, but it’s less common the other way around. She was cheating.

She got up again. “That’s the name we chose for you. Were you born a girl— No. Would we have noticed you were one, that’s the name we would have given you.” My breath hitched. Fuck. Why couldn’t my grandma come out from under the table and say that Celia was actually the name she wanted my mom to have? “It’s yours. I— Since I thought the name was available, I used it when I went to conventions, but it’s yours. It just is. You’re my daughter. And you’re Celia.”

“How’s that relevant? I don’t care where it came from. You’re the one who used it all this time.” I made a step towards her. “You’re the one using it the most now.” As strong the revelation was, I stayed determined. What mattered was the usage, nothing else, and in that regard, she was winning.

She dug her nails into her palms. “The name doesn’t fit me as well as you. I won’t be able to enjoy it as long as you will.” No. That was not right. “I shouldn’t matter in—”

“That’s enough,” Mum said.

From there, things happened really fast. We heard groans and huffs, and before we could turn our heads towards the origin of those noises, Zee and my mum had coordinated themselves to grab our hands and bring us down to a setting position again. Then, both of them leaned forward, looking at themselves conspiratorially. This was an intervention.

“Girls, girls, girls,” Mum started with a sigh. “I think we might have gone a bit too far. No need to fight for this. I agree with Zee, and the solution she gave was going in the right direction, but…”

“...It was incomplete, yes,” Zee continued, nodding vigorously. “See, you can both be called Celia. It’s no biggie! No need for an extensive family lore deep dive iceberg, or I don’t know. But…”

“...You don’t have to choose only one name,” Mum concluded. My new mom and I looked at each other, mouths slightly agape. We had not thought this through. We should have concentrated. “You can both be called Celia and choose another name besides; to distinguish yourself. That way, honey,” she turned to her wife, who blushed a bit, “I can keep calling you Celia, like we’ve been doing for a while. You don’t have to give it up.”

“And I can do the same with you,” Zee said, also turning to me and not making me blush, shush. “Well, this isn’t totally analogous, since I’m not your girlfriend — let alone your wife.” I swore to Glob, she wouldn’t get away with this kind of nonsense much longer. “But you’ve got the gist! By the way, looking really cute with your hair like that.” She flashed me a thumbs up, and I blushed just a bit, nothing excessive, shush.

Offering me a distraction from the pretty girl at my side, my mum spoke again. “Now, we just have to find other names suitable for each of you. So!” she got up and clapped her hands, “how’s that for a solution? No undying need to sacrifice your name on the altar of familial love left?”

My new mom and I looked at each other, nodded, then said, “No... we’re good,” in a flat tone of voice.

It was an acceptable compromise. I was still not convinced whether I had the right to be called Celia. Assigned names aren’t that important; they should know that. But at least my new mom could have it, that was the most important.

Looking satisfied, Mum went to the kitchen to gather more tea, which she served to each of us, bringing another mug to her partner — on which I could briefly glance the words ‘Célia is the best wife ever’ written on it, before it was turned just right for Zee and I not to see the text. The name was scribbled crudely over another one, which I could guess was ‘Amélie’, my Mum’s. With everyone settled, our emotions more manageable, and our brains high on caffeine, we set about discussing name ideas. Adèle, Olivia, Vinciane, and Hannah were thrown around without a single one sticking. My new mom did not participate a lot in the search, seemingly lost in her own world, her gaze fixed on some kind of figurine in the background. Then, after a dozen minutes of name hunting, she took out her laptop, typed and clicked a bunch, and with her cheeks a bit red, she said, “I have an idea for a second name. For me. It’s— It’s a bit embarrassing, but…” She turned the screen towards us, showing us a dragon girl with pink hair. “She’s a character from Final Fantasy. Though it’s not canon per se, she is implied to have a really cool girlfriend. So, if that’s not too much to ask, I’d like to try using… Cirina. As a test. For a while. Maybe?” She had let her head tilt downwards with each word, leaving her directly studying the floor.

“Cirina…” Mum rolled the name in her mouth. “Cirina! Celia Cirina Peeters. Or the other way round? Cirinaaa~ Not a very conventional spelling, but it’s not that far from Serena; S-E-R-E-N-A. And it is cute, and it does fit you. Okay, you have my quality seal of approval, Cirina.”

My new mom had already buried her head in her hands for a solid minute. The name had claimed her.

“I want to try that, yeah,” she finally said, meekly. “And,” she looked at me again, confidence growing in her voice, “I want a clean break, Celia. Testing a new name now is important to me. It’s like you said, I used the other one for so long, and now I want to try something new. So, don’t worry about me, okay? You like the name; use it. Don’t think further than that.”

I groaned. That was actually… agreeable. If she had another name she liked, I supposed it wouldn’t hurt if I called myself Celia. “Okay, you win,” I said with a sigh, relaxing back into the softness of the couch.

Zee scooted next to me, patted my shoulder, and whispered, “Good… job, Celia”

Oh god, save me.

 

✦ ▶ ✦

 

Dell _{Today at 15:29}
Hows it going?
Are you okay?
Did they eat you?
Did your dad find out and not get it, thinking it’s like cosplay or smth?
No wait
Did your dad find out and realise he’s not a he??
(sorry not really doing speculation on your dad, just figured it would be v funny as a fictional scenario)
Are you okaaayyyyyyyy Celiaaaaaa plsss
How’s Zee doing? Is she still absolutely clueless? Did you make progress?
Did you kiss?
I’d like to kiss her first but you do you
OMG CELIA MY CHEST HURTS
IT’S STARTING
Fuck I’ve never felt such a mix of stress and happiness at the same time
Goddess this song slaps
Doesn’t relieve my anxiety tho
Maybe I should listen to those playlist that claim to help with stress
You’re the expert on anxiety, how does one go about destroying it? You have tips, right?
Do you think I’ll have big boobs? Because I want big boobs
Women in my families are well equipped
I’m hopeful
ARE THEY TREATING YOU WELL??
I’ll obliterate them if they ruffle JUST A HAIR of your pretty face
I’ll become your mommy in their stead
Nvm you’re better at that
Ask Zee

Screw _{Today at 15:31}
I’m fine!
But wow, you’re typing fast

Dell _{Today at 15:31}
THANK THE GODDESS
I’m fast when anxious and gay

_{┌── Dell I’ll obliterate them if they ruffle…}
Screw _{Today at 15:32}
So about that
My mom fixed my hair. She did a great job, she has way more experience with this. Please don’t kill her she has already enough on her plate
My mum took it well, but we ran into a technical difficulty
Celia was already taken. By my mom. But we sorted it out!
I have two mums, babe
Congrats on the boobs!

Dell _{Today at 15:36}
WH

 

✦ ▶ ✦

 

At first, I’d been a bit apprehensive about Zee meeting my family. She was energetic and scatterbrained, which I’d feared would make for a devilish mix with the woman I used to think of as my father — my worst nightmares portraying them both with a bunch of make-up and a sublime, glittering dress, forcing me to wear it. Oh, shivers! But those fears were easily allayed. Strangely enough, Zee had formed a strong bond with my other mother, of all people. She, who until recently had been rather sour and worried, had now become almost as full of life as Zee — a shift that coincided with her wife’s coming out. Their shared, passionate interest in the art of streaming set them on track to be best friends in a week or so. With mum having years of experience, granting her intimate knowledge of the evolution of the craft, and Zee having met great success recently, their perspectives tended to compliment each other very well.

So, while they argued about the pros and cons of streaming on Twitch versus YouTube, my new mom and I tacitly decided to go up to her office. She had something to show me.

“Amélie has been pestering me about it for days, so let me explain my… other name,” she said as she turned on her computer — her username was ‘Little Sun’ — clicked on a folder, then two, and three before arriving at one containing three files.

Her other name? How many did she have? I could hardly complain, though, what with Screw, Lake, Celia, and the dead one; I had a collection.

She double clicked on the first file, a photo of her in a dragon-girl outfit, mimicking her character in one of the games she played actively. It was one of her favourite cosplay. Especially because of the big, white horns.

I recognised the place where the photo had been taken. Every year, at the start of January, the Cold PlayFest, a winter convention for fans of video games, anime, and YouTubers took place in our town at the local exhibition building — an enormous block of white concrete with about five windows dotted across each wall, for good measure. Their sandwiches tasted like sewage, the markers they provided to sign autographs always ended up being dry after an hour, and there were at least twenty fans of British pop rock who lost themselves in the halls each year, waiting for a secret concert to start. I never accepted their invitations to have a stand there. But Zee did, repeatedly; that’s why I was aware of the terrible effect their sandwiches had on one's health. She had told me, in excruciating detail, why I shouldn’t ever, in any circumstance, go. Ever. It was Nether on earth.

“So that’s you at the latest PlayFest?” I asked.

She sighed. “Yes. Not the best convention experience, I admit. But that’s the day I realised I didn’t want to be a man.”

It still baffled me to hear her say that. If I had a time machine, went to see my past self, and told her, well, first of all, that she was a woman, then that her ‘boyfriend’ was one too, as was her ‘dad’. And that funny CovenCraft streamer ‘guy’ everyone talked about? She was very cute and hot. Oh yeah, you’re on CovenCraft now. She would probably be ecstatic, giddy, and good for her. But she would at least question it. It was all going fast, so, so fast.

But at least, I clung to a thought, if my future self came to visit me today, she would say that the worst had come to pass and that I could rest easy. Sometimes real life gets a little hectic, but it settles. This was the aftermath of a small avalanche of realisations in my entourage, nothing more. Right?

My mom explained how the rest of that day went for her. After hours of having been called Celia by strangers and friends alike, she was riding on a wave of euphoria — even if she hadn’t had the word for it yet. But when she’d come back home with sore feet and a really unsavoury sandwich aftertaste, she felt sad. When she’d had to take off her horns and store her wig, she felt empty.

“Then your mum—” Mom cut herself off. “Ah, this is becoming a bit complicated. Then Amélie asked me ‘why should I take it off? Couldn’t I just keep it a bit longer?’ And at the moment, it wasn’t really doable. After a day like that, I still had to take a shower; no need to give you the details. Sickness must be purged!” she added in a lower tone without being able to stop herself from giggling — another one of her obscure references. “But she was onto something…”

She opened a second photo, a selfie of mum and her together on the couch, with make-up done on my new mom’s face and her wife sticking a tongue out, brandishing an eyeliner crayon like it was a sword. There was a light coming from the side, indicating they were watching something on the TV or the laptop.

“She redid my make-up after showering, so I could keep it for the rest of the day. It was really fun.”

Then, she continued explaining, they had watched my stream, during which I had left unannounced, and during which Craftees, one of my moderators, had come out as a woman in my chat.

“Oh, dear,” she said as she opened a screenshot stored next to the photos. “Your stream put every piece of the puzzle together. With the long day before, it really piled up — like my sweat, ha! I couldn’t really stop myself from asking questions. Fortunately, Craftees was absolutely lovely. Here, take a look. That’s what she sent me.”

She tapped her finger on the table repeatedly. “Apparently I wasn’t very clear with one of my online names…” she said, rolling her eyes and interrupting my reading.

“And how would I know?” She flailed her arms around. “You always replied. I thought it would be obvious! I thought you’d already figured it was me. It’s the name I use on the gaming newsletter we receive every month. You read them when you were young. It’s even the name I leave reviews on Google Maps with. You’ve seen my reviews, no?”

“Mom,” I said with a laugh. “I’m trying to read!”

“Oh, sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You’re…”

“Yes.”

I looked at the screenshot again. “First subscriber. Commenting on every video. Mm-hmm, that makes sense.”

“It sure does.”

I gave her a side hug. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, dear.”