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Sophie asks her parents, once, “Do you ever wish I was different?” She regrets it instantly. She has a feeling she knows the answer already, and even if they try to reassure her, she’ll always be able to hear what they really think. And Sophie isn’t sure she’s ready to know the truth.
But she asked. It’s out there, now.
“Different how?” her mom asks carefully.
Sophie knows that her mom knows perfectly well what she means. But she swallows and clarifies. “You know. Normal. Like Amy.”
God, she wishes she could be like Amy. And she knows Amy wishes the same. She doesn’t even have to read her sister’s thoughts for that; Amy makes her feelings perfectly clear. She doesn’t like how she stands out, the younger sister of that weirdo , or of the genius whose shadow she lives in.
I never asked to have a brother like you! Amy said once. (Sophie isn’t her brother, of course, but Amy doesn’t know that they’re sisters. She might resent Sophie even more, to know that Sophie’s even weirder, that her “older brother” is secretly a girl.)
I never asked to be like this either, Sophie told her.
And her parents clearly never asked for this either. When they decided to have kids, there was no way they could have predicted that their oldest would be a junior in high school at eleven years old.
But they don’t say no, we wish we could trade you in for a regular kid. They don’t think it, either, and for that, Sophie is truly grateful. It’s one of the few times she’s glad she can read minds. If she couldn’t, she’d always wonder whether her parents secretly hated her, the doubt always creeping into the back of her head. But she has proof that they don’t. For all the stress and confusion Sophie brings her parents, they’ve never hated her.
“Of course not,” her dad says. “We love you exactly as you are.”
“It’s not a bad thing, that you’re… unique,” her mom adds. “If you were ‘normal,’ you wouldn’t be you.”
They’re telling the truth, if not the full truth. Sophie is loved for who she is (who they think she is).
But they both think, we love you as you are, but it would certainly be easier sometimes, if you were more like your sister.
Sophie wants to believe this is some giant prank. Some stupidly handsome guy named Fitz just showed up to tell her she’s an elf? There’s no way this is real. This is a ridiculous cosmic joke that the universe is pulling.
But as ridiculous as it all sounds, it makes a strange amount of sense. She’s never fit in with others, never had any other explanations for why she could read minds. And if Fitz is telling the truth, he’s the only person she’s ever met who’s even a little bit like her. An elf. A telepath.
She doesn’t want to admit it to herself, but she’s excited to see Fitz again tomorrow. And not just because he’s cute (though maybe that’s a factor), but because it’s a strange, wonderful feeling, to not be the only person like her. To not be alone. She barely knows Fitz, but being around him feels strangely like coming home.
Guilt twists in her chest. Her home shouldn’t be with Fitz, shouldn’t be in the elf world. She has a home, here, with her family. She loves her family, truly, but she doesn’t belong with them.
Sophie doesn’t know how to tell them she doesn’t belong. How to tell them she’s not their son.
She barely speaks that evening, caught in her spiraling thoughts, until her mom eventually asks if she’s okay. “You’ve been really quiet. And you didn’t eat much dinner. Do you feel sick?” She raises her hand to Sophie’s forehead to check her temperature.
I’m fine, Sophie tries to say, but what comes out is “Would you still love me if I wasn’t who you thought I was?”
If she wasn’t a boy. If she wasn’t human.
She can hear her mom wondering if she’s about to come out as gay, and she has to force down a laugh. Yes, she likes boys, which she knows her parents suspect already, but she’s not quite sure how to come out as a straight girl. Or to come out as an elf, for that matter.
“I love you no matter what, honey,” her mom promises, and Sophie thought that would make her feel relieved, but instead the guilt feels sharper. Her parents love her. She shouldn’t want to leave, but she’s excited for Fitz to take her to the elf world tomorrow. Excited to finally be somewhere she belongs.
Sophie wishes she didn’t have to leave her family to finally be herself.
Sophie’s parents remember her.
They’ll forget her again soon– the washer is already on his way– but for now, they remember her. They’re a family again, however briefly.
“I’m a girl now,” Sophie says in a rush. “My name is Sophie.”
Her mom reaches out and cups her cheek. “We love you, Sophie.”
“Thank you for telling us,” her dad adds, and he wraps her in a hug. Her mom quickly joins in, and Sophie has to fight back tears. She’s with her parents, and she’s their daughter, and they know she’s their daughter and they know she’s an elf and they still love her. She’ll have to leave them again soon, but right now, they’re together.
“I’m something called the Moonlark,” Sophie tells them, tripping over her words but determined to keep talking. As hard as it is, she wants to explain this to them. She’s been hiding things from her parents for a very, very long time. For once, she’s ready to be honest. “I’m an elf, but I was raised with humans so I could have a new perspective and change the elf world. And it’s hard being the Moonlark, a lot of the time, but I’m glad I grew up with humans. With you. I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense. My new life is weird and confusing, and you don’t– you can’t– fully understand. But it’s who I am, and I-I’m glad you get to know the truth.”
“Are you happy here?” her dad asks.
Well, she could do without the Neverseen trying to kill her all the time, but it would probably just upset her parents if she mentioned that. So she says, “Yeah. Mostly. I have some really great friends. And a new family. But they’ll never replace you. I still miss you every day.”
Her mom hugs her tighter. “We’ll miss you too, Sophie.”
Sophie has to bite back the impulse to say, but you won’t. You’ll forget me. But that’s not entirely true. Yes, their memories of her will be wiped away again. She knows they’re about to forget. But she also knows that even when memories are erased, feelings aren’t. Her parents may not remember her, but Sophie knows they will always love her.