The Question

A super-short story about Aqui, Zee, and Pulse. Content Warning: References to sexual violence and emotional abuse

I almost cried when you came home from Pulse and Lirpa’s house and signed your name for me. It was such a simple sign, just the letter Z, but it was the first time in your 5 years of life that you’d said your own name. I recognized it right away, despite my rather rudimentary knowledge of sign language. “That’s right!” I exclaimed, scooping you into a tight hug, “That’s you! Zee is you!”

Pulse shrugged it off, “Early Hannukah present. I had a great conversation in ASL with an autistic lady on the bus a few months back, and it gave me an idea. I started signing at Zee whenever Lirpa babysits. Guess he’s starting to pick up on it.”

I silently pulled Pulse into a hug, too.

“You better not start crying and get snot on my outfit,” she said.

“Can you teach me to sign, too?” I hiccupped. 

“What do I look like, a private ASL tutor?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I murmured.

Pulse pushed me upright and looked me in the eyes, “First of all, I have no effing clue what you’re mumbling about because your face is buried in my sweater. Second of all, I was kidding. Of course I’ll teach you. I need more friends I can talk to with my hearing aids out. Can you believe Raine still hasn’t even learned the alphabet? We’ve been together for over 2 years.”

I gave Pulse another hug before pulling away and kissing your forehead, “Did you hear that, Zee? We’re gonna learn sign language from Auntie Pulse!” You responded by grinning and signing your name again.

A part of me was afraid, though. You’ve always been such an inquisitive kid. What will I do when you have enough words to ask the question I’ve been dreading since the day you were born? The dad question. Suddenly it felt like the day was approaching faster than ever, and I still don’t know how I’ll answer.

Will I tell you how charming he was? How he picked me up from ballet recitals with a bouquet of flowers? How he listened to my poetry when my parents didn’t care?

Will I tell you how he lied? How he made me believe my feelings were imaginary and he knew me better than I knew myself?

Will I tell you how he wanted you to die, before he even met you? How he tried to drag me to the abortion clinic by my hair? How he tried to throw me down the stairs so you would never have the chance to be born?

Will I tell you he was a mistake from my past, or will you think that means you’re a mistake as well? I couldn’t bear for you to think that you’re anything less than perfect to me. 

Maybe I’ll just tell you how not everyone has a dad and that’s alright. Maybe I’ll tell you how the people who bring you into the world aren’t always the ones who you call family. I’ll remind you of how Auntie Pulse taught you sign language or how Uncle Sebastián rocks with you in the hammock, even though they don’t share any of your genetics. They’re more family than he’ll ever be, and I want you to grow up knowing that.

Author's Note

*Any suggestions for a better title?