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This is stupid. I could be at home on my new mattress, but instead I'm waiting outside Teagan's room, sitting awkwardly in a small plastic kiddie chair. I never imagined that I would have to do this, but then again, I never imagined that I would be dealing with talking cartoons. I still don't know what they are. When it comes to anything other than fundamental crap, Arthur and Delilah sure love being overly cryptic.
I've started a personal journal to kill time. According to my therapist, drawing is my easiest method to unwind. I don't understand the cause. Growing up, I had no interest in drawing. Binge-watching Bob Ross recordings on tapes was the most “artistic” experience I had. The way he spoke appealed to kid me.
I turn the pages. Some are crude sketches of lakes, while others are scribbles that pass for artwork and a lot of wasted ink. Five pages total have been used for actual journaling.
A brightly colored blur creeps into my periphery. It takes me a while to recognize that my mind wasn't deceiving me.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
I dug my fingers into the journal's covers. There's nothing I can do about it, yet it sucks every time. I close the journal and use the customer service voice: “Hello! May I ask how your first Gardenview experience has been?”
“It’s been going good! Great! I can’t thank you enough for inviting me here. Me and my troupe have heard about Gardenview, and again, it’s such an honor to be here. Even though it is weird to be without them.”
The toon's name slipped my mind. He is a balloon toon with green limbs and a yellow head, torso, tail, and puller. His turtleneck is cropped in white. The name hasn't been committed to memory yet because the toon just arrived. Then again, handling new toons is not my responsibility. Since Sprout nearly set the kitchen on fire, I'm already not feeling well. I've wondered why the toons can't be skilled at what they do. Make Sprout proficient in the kitchen so I may do my job easier.
I stuffed my journal away and then fiddled with my bangs, making it harder to see my eyes from the outside. Like Dandy, the toon had a big smile, but he was far less self-assured and had lanky, unsteady limbs. I tap another kiddie chair to give him a seat. After giving it a quick glance, the toon slowly moves to take a seat.
We didn't speak for a while after he sat down. Perfect for me. I'm not looking for extended conversations. But, just as I was about to take out my journal again, I noticed the toon staring at me.
“I am so sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to stare. I just… You’re the first person I’ve seen with orange hair.”
Hm. This may be the first time my ginger hair was pointed out without a following look of judgment. Neat.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for someone.”
Looey panics when he picks up on my annoyed tone. “Sorry for asking so many questions; I’m still getting a feel for the place. Can’t put on a good show without getting in tune with your surroundings!”
“Sure.”
The toon’s legs angle inward, his posture seeming to collapse into itself. His arms fold tightly across his chest. The staring never lasts long; his eyes keep darting away, latching onto anything in the room except the person he’s speaking to.
“Again, I am super-duper sorry if I’m bothering you, Miss. Gardenview is just so—“
“Y’know, you can stop calling me 'Miss.'” I immediately regret cutting him off. It was the tone, not the fact that I stopped all the Miss nonsense. Too emotional. Too much venom. “Call me Sam.”
“Oh, uh, Looey. Looey the Balloon,” Looey extends a hand in greeting. I met him midway. It's unnerving how well the gesture stayed together. What bothers me the most is its coherence: the familiar rhythm of a handshake executed flawlessly in form, even as the latex pulls at my flesh with an intermittent squeak.
We pull apart just as the door beside us swings open and Teagan the Teacup walks in. She looks delighted to see I kept my promise, until she notices Looey. Her eyes flick between us, painted-black lips tightening while her fingers tap absently against the wooden frame. A tiny squeak comes from behind me. I turn to find Looey’s head slowly deflating. I tap his shoulder to snap him back to himself, and he hurriedly grabs where his nose should be and blows, his head swelling back to its normal size.
Teagan welcomes us in. I rise and stretch, shuddering at the chorus of cracks from my spine, while Looey trails behind like a kindergartener seeing the world for the first time. She closes the door behind us. Her room glows with soft yellow walls and the muted light of a tiny chandelier. A massive dresser stands beside the doorway, crowded with makeup and a swiveling mirror, directly across from her queen-sized bed (at least by toon standards) tucked into the furthest corner. But the true centerpiece is the tea party: a small table atop a carpet, arranged with bright plastic teacups, plates, and teapots, ringed by mismatched chairs in perfect childish ceremony. Two toons wait there already: Dandy seated calmly between Razzle’s and Dazzle’s heads while their bodies linger behind him, likely interrupted mid-conversation by our arrival. Dandy waves; we return it. I guide Looey toward the table, lingering beside Teagan as he wanders forward, but before he can claim a seat, she gently redirects him to join the others, then returns to my side.
“I thought Dandy was getting on your nerves,” I say.
“He is. But he is still my friend. I am holding out hope that I can continue being comfortable bringing him here,” she says.
I have no idea what's happening between them. I'm not aware of the current standings or the beef. Additionally, it's not my responsibility to know; therefore, it will remain that way. Sprout is a pain in and of itself. I don't need to deal with any more drama. I approach and choose a seat at random. I would have chosen a seat at random until I noticed a small piece of paper. The name "Sam" is scrawled on tape to one of the seats. The seat is the most remote, located on the other side of the table from where the other toons sat. Another advantage is that it is closest to the entryway. I must admit that a sense of relief washed over me as I realized I had a reason to sit there. However, I noted that none of the other chairs were labeled.
Teagan approaches the tea table, holding a teapot. She fills teacups one by one and places them in front of the chairs. She sits on her assigned chair, dividing the table in half. The toons are all on one side, and I'm the only one on the other, with Teagan sitting as the head.
She then presents me as the honorary guest, since this is the first time a toon handler has personally invited me to a tea party. It doesn't take long because everyone else is already aware of me. Looey is introduced to the other toons by her. Since he is the mascot and must be privy to operational details, Dandy was already familiar with him. Razzle & Dazzle, on the other hand, are unfamiliar with him. Razzle brings his head closer and untangles the "scarf" appearance on their ribbon necks. It takes Dazzle physically moving their conjoined body in the opposite direction to stop Razzle. Looey reels back his horror, but as he looks more closely at the twins, I can detect a spark of intrigue.
I swirl my drink, watching the liquid spiral along the cup’s edges. The growing whirlpool feels strangely familiar, like a reflection of my own eyes studying themselves, both of us trying to make sense of what we see. I press my lips to the rim and tilt the cup just enough for the warmth to slip past and settle in my stomach. Chamomile blooms across my tongue first, startling me. I’d assumed Teagan only stocked the most basic teas. Then again, I’m not even sure what qualifies as non-basic tea.
New conversations spark around the table. Looey and Razzle quickly fall into discussion, though it always circles back to Looey’s circus and the troupe he came from. Dazzle spends the meantime quietly enjoying the tea, listening more than speaking. Teagan moves constantly between conversations, feeding old ones and starting new ones whenever the energy begins to dip, carefully keeping the scene alive. Dandy drifts between groups too, though his efforts seem less social and more strategic, each comment subtly angled toward making Teagan look good enough not to ban him from future parties.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Teagan says to me. “So, I picked three and hoped for the best.”
I finished drinking the current teacup. “Ehh, thanks, I guess. You could’ve… uh. Asked, or whatever.”
Teagan pushes her lips together, breaking eye contact for a moment. “I didn’t want to bother you. You did not have a pleasant look on your face, so I assumed a bad day.”
Oh.
I didn’t realize my resting bitch face was that bad. When I do hear about it, it’s usually some guy I’ve never talked to saying how I’d look prettier with a smile. Hearing from a toon hits different, like hearing a child point out a vice you thought you had under control. I mumble an apology and raise another teacup to my lips.
Tastes like lavender. Similar to chamomile, it soothes my throat.
“I like it, you know. The tea. You did good.” Hearing myself makes me want to throw myself out a window. It is so obvious I’m trying to be amicable and not make her time feel wasted. I get a pity laugh and a thank you.
Wow, so worth doing. Now I feel stupid.
Embarrass, I take a sip from my third cup. It’s lemon balm. Teagan is talking to Looey, so she doesn't notice my reaction or my intense gaze. To be sure I wasn't insane, I took both cups and drinks. Nope. The flavors were chamomile, lavender, and then lemon balm.
How convenient.
My mind drifts to whom she could have sought for information on my rotation. Definitely not your average toon. Maybe a main, although I am not sure who would know. A toon handler? I could have made an offhand statement about it in front of them. Delilah and Arthur are undoubtedly aware, as it is practically prescribed by my therapist to ensure I do not experience another 'episode,' along with an actual prescription, although that is totally discreet.
“Do you not like those ones?” Teagan asks.
“No, I do; it’s… comfortable. You must have pretty good intuition, huh?”
“I try.”
Dandy speaks up, unprompted, if I may add. “It’s Gardenview’s goal to bring smiles to everyone’s faces; that includes the workers!”
He continues. “If something’s the matter, talking about it is the first step to handling it. Teagan must’ve noticed and been trying to help you!” I get he’s the mascot, the everyman, written to be the perfect mentor for kids. I get that. But hearing him spout advice is excruciating. Everything he says is technically right, yet he delivers it like I’m five years old and somehow haven’t heard the same recycled reassurance a thousand times before. It circles past helpful and straight into patronizing. So watching Teagan glare at him like he’s singlehandedly dismantling her entire plan is almost cathartic.
“Wait, there’s something wrong?” Razzle says.
“Oh no, is it our fault?” Dazzle frowns.
“Oh, don’t be a downer. It can’t be! … Right?” Razzle looks at me.
Looey looks at me.
Everyone looks at me.
Teagan puts her face into her palms, groaning.
“No, it’s not your fault,” I say.
“Was it me? I’m sorry for not talking more," Dazzle says. I shoot down that worry.
“Was it because I interrupted your journal time?” Looey says. Shot it down.
“Well, if Ms. Sam would tell us, we can solve it,” Dandy suggests.
I give a small huff.
“But she hasn’t so far! It’s really confusing,” Razzle says.
My fingers dig into my pants.
“With enough patience, I am sure she can." Dandy keeps smiling. My nails almost tear off my jeans’s material.
“She doesn’t have to; she can just enjoy tea.” Teagan talks in a mixture of annoyance and defeat. “Ms. McLaughlin, I am so sorry. If I can—“
“STOP TALKING!”
My hands struggle to not tear clumps of my hair out. I don’t know whether to curl up and scream or toss something and leave.
“Stop talking! Stop calling me that! Just shut up for two seconds. My GOD, you are so...!"
My hands grip the table as I lean into it, trying to anchor myself somewhere stable. One wrong word around them and I’d probably be terminated on the spot. My mind keeps cycling through the same desperate mantra: my job, think about it, a job, money, normalcy, security. I can’t lose all of that over some ridiculous tea party. This position was a Hail Mary from the start. The application details had been suspiciously vague, but back then it looked like an easy score. Somehow, it paid off. Now people apply for the role I have constantly.
Do the exercise. What the therapist taught me.
In. Out. In. Out.
What can I see? A table, bed, teacup, chair, and Teagan poster.
Feel? My clothes, hair, gloves, and teacup’s plastic handle.
Hear? The toons, the room’s humming, and my own breathing.
Smell? Tea, a mint I had earlier.
Taste? Lemon balm.
And take a breath. I lift my head, making adjustments to avoid giving the toons the wrong idea. My body adjusts as I scoot my chair in and take another sip.
"If I may," I say, drawing attention to me while shushing them with my index fingers. I can't believe I'm about to try to explain this to walking cartoons. In essence, it is teaching middle schoolers simplistic college math.
“What I say does not leave this room. Do I make myself clear?”
They accept.
“Okay, so…” I think about my wording. “You know what you guys were calling me?”
They exchange glances, like the answer was hidden in one of their eyes.
“Toon handler?” Razzle suggests. I shake my head.
“Ms. Sam?” Dandy guesses.
“Half right,” I say.
“You don’t like your name?” Dandy says.
“What? No. My name is fine.”
Dandy is perplexed. They scan their surroundings as though the solution were inscribed on the walls. I could see their minds reeling over what I was talking about. Have to admit, it’s pretty funny.
Teagan’s eyes light up. “Does calling you ‘Miss’ make you feel old? I’m truly sorry; we simply wish to be respectful to you since we know how much you do for us.”
“It’s not that either.” I clear my throat. “Thanks though. Appreciate the thought.”
“Wait, are we completely off?” Looey says.
“No no, it’s the mist thing. But, like, it’s the entirety of it? Like Miss, Ma’am… she.”
They hold off till I'm done, until it dawns on them that that was the stopping point. My issue was given, but it's not as clear-cut as I had thought it would be. Once more, we've reached the point where the toons are puzzled and I don't know or want to fully explain the issue to them.
“Remember the episode about grammar? The pronoun section?”
Dandy springs up, speaking in a sing-song voice. “I always remember the lessons. The songs are so catchy.”
“Dandicus, please, let her speak,” Teagan says.
“That. That right there,” I point out.
Teagan and I look at each other. She gestures to herself. I recognize that I became overly enthusiastic and now appear strange for seemingly pointing out nothing.
I drink my tea. “So, you know how when we refer to Razzle & Dazzle, we say something like ‘where are they?’” Dazzle awkwardly drinks his drink, probably because I randomly included him in the example. Razzle is locked in on my analogy, nodding away as if taking mental notes. Sweat begins to form on my frigid skin. Again, I take the tea, alternating the flavors so it doesn’t become ineffective. “But when we’re referring to one or the other, we use ‘he.’”
Everyone nods.
“Well, I guess when people talk about me, whenever I hear people call me ‘she’ and ‘Miss’ and all that other junk, it… it sucks, a lot.”
Looey’s head deflates again, eyes widening as if remembering something. “I—I didn't mean to make you mad or sad or… I thought you were a girl when we met!” Looey scrambles to make amends, not wanting to blow this whole visit, since this is his first visit, and he probably wants to make the best first impression possible.
Silent processing from all, including me. Actually putting whatever’s-wrong-with-me into words has me in a chokehold. This is more than anything I told my therapist; I’d rather not give a person another reason to sneer at me. But, since these toons are practically babies, talking to them feels safer. Like shouting into the void, knowing it can’t come back to haunt you.
Dandy rubs his shoulder. “I mean, I don’t know if this is the same, but I remember when people came to Gardenview for the first time, people called me ‘it’ for weeks. That didn’t feel good. Though, I did accept it fine after a while.”
“Wait, so are you not a girl? You’re a boy? Is this a Glisten situation?” Razzle says.
I grimace. “That’s the thing, by all accounts, I’m a girl. I have girl parts, was born a girl, and all of it. But it sucks being called one, but I’m 100% not a boy, that’s for sure.”
I sigh. “New word for you guys. I dress androgynously, meaning a style or person that blends masculine and feminine traits. I do it so maybe some will think twice because calling me ‘she.’”
Teagan grabs my hand as a message of assurance. Teagan's face is wrinkling from trying to wrap her brain around everything, but I can give it just out of courtesy. She undoubtedly received more than she bargained for at her tea party. “That’s alright, sweetie, it’s okay to have bad feelings. We all have it. Is there a way we can… calm these worries?”
A finger absentmindedly taps against the table. I blew a raspberry. “Unless you want me to get more weird looks from everybody, not much.”
Usually there’s always a solution to be had or a way to help a friend out. So, I can’t fault them for not fully grasping how basically unsalvageable this is. “You can’t call me something not girl-adjacent because people are going to question, and it’s going to spread and…” I swallow. “If I get called a ‘them’ in public, which is something that would technically calm my worries, I would be associating with a group of people who the general public aren’t particularly fond of.”
Teagan goes in to speak, but I cut her off. “Friendship is nice and all; accepting each other is nice, but sometimes that just won’t happen for some.”
“Ooooh, like Shrimpo?” Dandy says.
“Sure, like Shrimpo,” I simplified.
The room becomes uneasy after that. Because there is no simple, straightforward solution to today's situation, the toons are unlikely to feel particularly useful. The fact that they can't receive outside assistance makes matters worse, since I hope collaboration is also a huge deal. I finished one cup, which left me with another. Without much more to say, I promptly began sipping the last cup. The final cup calms the nerves after the nauseous anxiousness of the whole thing. The table vibrates against my forearm. I look up to see Dazzle looking back at me. Dazzle struggles to maintain said eye contact, but it was enough to know he was speaking to me.
“I know you said there’s no fixing this, and how the issue can’t leave this room… I don’t know if this idea is any good at all, but I don’t like feeling alone on issues and… Maybe we all form a club? Group? Anything like that?”
Razzle’s head perks up. Mine tilts.
Dazzle shrivels up. “You know, that’s a bad idea. Sorry I even bothered.”
“No, no, no, keep going, bro! I can tell you’ve been thinking about this!” Razzle says.
After a couple seconds, Dazzle resumes the idea. “Between us 5, er, 6—sorry, Looey—could it be an ‘us’ thing where we all accept the 'they' pronoun? As a sign of silent support for Sam?”
“Like a secret code!” Razzle bounces.
Dandy thinks about it, then gives a big thumbs up. “That sounds great, Dazzle! We should do it!”
Looey scratches his balloon ear. “I didn’t think I’d join a group on my first day. Could be nice to have while my troupe isn’t here.”
Teagan casts me a brief look that asks if something I’d want. For disclosure, this is stupid. I know it is. This is adorably stupid, something a little nephew slapped together to make an adult happy. I find myself smiling, even chuckling at this concept. When I nod, Teagan nods back and advocates for the group too. We officiate the group by clinking our cups at the center of the table.
Now, the chats feel warmer somehow, lighter in a way that makes everything easier to breathe through. Laughter spills naturally into every conversation, jokes bounce back and forth without hesitation, and the silence that once lingered between messages has been replaced with genuine excitement and comfort. Conversations flow so freely now, like everyone has finally settled into a space where they can simply be themselves, and seeing Looey participate more often makes it all feel even more special. Every new message sends this quiet rush of happiness through me, and I catch myself grinning far more than I’d like to admit. The thought of the group being based off something as dumb as a pronoun makes it all the more special. The idea makes my heart ache in the softest way possible.
Outside, it's probably becoming late. I could have been rolling on my new mattress at my place.
I'm not sure, but I kind of like this. Almost glad I stayed for this long.
I may linger a few extra minutes.