Grief is everlasting, but you learn to move forward. You learn to find the beauty in the world again, even if the person you once experienced the world with is gone. That was my lesson, one I never wanted to learn at 21 years old.

“Hi love,” I whispered, lowering myself carefully onto the ground and setting the fake blue roses I was carrying into the metal vase at the base of the headstone, “It’s been seven months,” smiling, I gently rubbed my swollen stomach, feeling my daughter kick a few times when I did, “Fern is getting so big. Today, I'm nine months pregnant. She’s doing flips in here, I swear. I miss you, Eddie. You’re the only love I’ve ever known… How do I raise our little girl without you? You didn’t even get to hear the news that I was carrying her. She’ll never know her Daddy. What do I do?”

“Ren,” My best friend Dara called, and I nodded, never lifting my head as I cleaned the headstone with my sleeves, “The sun is setting. They’ll close the cemetery soon.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, I let Dara help me from the ground, and we said our goodbyes to Edward before heading to Dara’s car to go to his parents' house.

I met both Edward and Dara when I moved to Sandy Springs, Georgia, from Bakewell, England. The three of us were best friends, growing up together from the age of six until we lost Edward nearly a year ago, just before my 21st birthday. Edward was my first and only boyfriend, having dated from the age of 16 until he was killed in the line of duty. Edward had been a police officer, something he was immensely proud of, as it meant he could take care of me for the rest of our lives. We were living together in a small apartment, Dara coming over daily to see us as he was a pivotal part of our lives.

When I came out to them at 14 that I was transgender, both of them started treating me like the boy I was meant to be. There was no more being cautious and safe because I was their friend, Sasha. Rather, they started roughhousing with me, teaching me how to play football and how to fight. Dara gave me my first haircut, transforming my waist-length warm brown curls to a modern mullet to match him, the curls tight on my forehead and the nape of my neck, the rest nearly shaved to the skin. I’d never changed my hair after that, loving how it made me look, and they had helped me raise the funds for top surgery when I was 18. However, as soon as I started my transition, open and proud of it, my mother, Eliza, kicked me out of the house after beating me with anything she could find, leaving a nasty scar down the side of my face. I was only 16 and had nowhere to go. Dara’s parents, Clara and Rian, immediately took me in, giving me a spare room, and I lived with them until I was 18 and Edward was able to rent us an apartment.

Edward was a gentle and caring man who loved me from the first day we met. I missed him terribly, knowing he would never get to hold our daughter, and the fact that I never had the chance to tell him I was pregnant destroyed me a bit inside. When Edward was killed, Dara helped me move back in with his parents and returned himself, wanting to help take care of me as we were both raw from losing Edward. I knew that they were closer to brothers than friends, and when I started dating Edward, Dara was our biggest supporter. That was who Dara was: someone who wanted everyone around him to be happy. He was now a trained barber, working for his older brother Kipling at a barber shop downtown. I had been working towards my own career as a hairstylist, wanting to work with both of them, when I discovered I was pregnant, and then Edward died, halting my life. I now had to focus on Fern, waiting for her to make her way into the world.

“Mom said she’s making colcannon and apple cake tonight,” Dara smiled, opening the door for me.

“Really? She never has time to cook! I wonder why?” I climbed in carefully, cradling my stomach, and Dara ran around, his soft auburn hair bouncing before he climbed in, fixed his glasses, and started his car.

“It’s Eddie’s birthday; that’s why we came here. So she’s making his favorite food,” Dara cleared his throat, and I turned to look at my lap, avoiding the golden hazel of his eyes as they pulled at my heart, “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t like to bring it up.”

“It’s okay,” I shook my head as he started the car and headed toward his parents' farmhouse, “You lost him, too. He’d be mad if he knew we were still in mourning. We’re young, Day. He would tell us both to move on.”

“It’s been seven months, you’re nearly due with Fern, I don’t think we’re supposed to do that yet,” he snorted, fluffing my hair, “How are you feeling today anyway?”

“Crampy,” I shifted uncomfortably, “I wasn’t feeling her move much yesterday, and then today she’s in a weird spot. My stomach dropped.”

“She’s getting into position,” Dara smiled at me as we reached a red light, “That’s what Mom told me would happen. I was trying to get as much information as I could to be here for you.”

“Are you sure you want to be in the room with me?”

“Who else will?”

“Your Mom. Kip already offered,” I shrugged, tilting my head back as I felt another cramp, “Ugh.”

“Ren?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” I waved him off as we reached the house, pulling into the driveway, “I’m sure this is normal.”

“Let me know if we need to head to Northside. I’ll take you immediately.”

“I know, Day.”

Dara’s family owned a four-bedroom tan stucco townhouse just outside of the city in a gated community. It was three stories, the first floor entirely open except for a full bathroom so that you could always see each other in the kitchen, dining room, or living area. I hated the interior, I had since I was a child, since all of it was gray and white, but it was my home, and I adored my adoptive family. The second floor held three of the bedrooms and a single bathroom. This is where Dara and I stayed, his parents happily transforming their home gym into a nursery for my daughter. They were thrilled to be grandparents, something that made me cry whenever I thought about it, as I never thought I’d be part of a family. My bedroom door faced Dara’s, and our rooms were entirely different from each other. My room seemed to be light and airy, all of my furniture grey, the platform bed made of fabric and covered in a baby blue comforter that matched my sheets. I was the lucky one to have a balcony that faced the woods behind the home and sat above the small outdoor deck where we had barbecues every weekend since Kipling came by to see me. Dara would join me for coffee and breakfast on my balcony every morning since we moved back, talking about nothing important but spending that time together. Dara’s bedroom was essentially the inside of a pumpkin. Nearly everything was orange, from the curtains to his bedspread and rug. If it wasn’t orange, it was black. We had taken the time to hang tulle curtains around his bed as it had a black frame around the top, and when we would sleep, I would stream whatever I was watching to his TV so that we could watch it together before I crashed. The bedrooms were the most expressive part of the home; his parents liked their furniture to be gray, but they added yellow where they wanted color.

Fern’s nursery was designed to resemble a forest. Clara and Rian had allowed me to paint it how I wanted, and Kipling stepped in to do it, telling me paint fumes weren’t good for me. We only painted one wall forest green, and then he hung a baby pink canopy above her light wooden crib. I had found a rocking chair that matched the canopy and a footstool shaped like a mushroom with a pink top. We added a fluffy white rug to the floor near her crib, and I had Kipling paint her dresser pink as well before putting the changing pad and basket of baby supplies on top of it. We filled the closet with clothes from newborn to one year, found tiny socks and baby shoes, and slowly the room came together, finished by fairy lights along the ceiling and a banner that read “Fern” above her crib.

“Mom,” Dara called as we came inside, my steps more of a waddle than anything, “We’re back.”

“Hey, you two,” Clara waved from the kitchen, her blonde waves pinned up as she stirred something in a pot, “How was Eddie?”

“His headstone was filthy. We’re the only people that go out there,” I sighed, taking a careful seat at the dining table, “I don’t think Nora and Nate ever visit their son.”

“They made it clear when you started dating that if Eddie stayed with you, he was no longer their child. It pisses me off that even in death they stick to that,” Rian came down the stairs cleaning his glasses.

Rian and Dara were spitting images of each other, something that always made me laugh. Dara had the same soft auburn waves and bright green eyes as his father, and I always teased him over this, saying that their Irish blood was too strong, as Rian moved to Georgia from somewhere outside of Galway when he was 20, meeting Clara during medical school. They were both doctors, Clara a pediatrician and Rian a cardiologist. I was worried that as Kipling and Dara grew, they would be pushed to follow their parents' footsteps, until I noticed that they only ever wanted their children to grow into men who could provide for themselves. I was now included in this. Clara was more than happy to help me with my transition, and I was never required to move out. The two of them were talking about how excited they were to be grandparents daily.

“How’s our princess doing today?” Clara smiled, coming over to kiss the top of my head.

“Active. Look,” I stood up to show them how low my stomach suddenly was.

“She’ll be here tonight,” Rian called, pulling a bottle of ale from the fridge and taking a long drink, “If not tomorrow morning.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I rolled my eyes before the cramping came back, and I gripped the table, “She will not, I refuse.”

“Ren,” Clara gripped my back, and I took a deep breath, “You’re in labor, babe.”

“She’s not allowed to come today.”

“I actually think the biggest blessing in the world is if she does,” Dara whispered, coming over and running a hand through my hair, “It’ll mean she shares a birthday with Edward.”

“I-I…” I mumbled, “I can’t do this, Day. I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right there with you. Just like always,” he whispered, rubbing my lower back.

“Okay.”

Clara raced upstairs to get the hospital bags we had packed two weeks ago, as Rian and Dara helped me to the family van. I climbed into the backseat, Dara next to me, and as soon as Clara threw the bags in the trunk, the four of us headed to the hospital. Dara called Kipling on the way, letting him know I was in labor, and he said he’d come see us as soon as Fern was here. Kipling had always acted like my older brother, and I was forever grateful to him, knowing that Fern would have another uncle who loved her.

“Ugh,” I groaned, gripping Dara’s hand, “stupid, giant, baby!”

“Be nice to her,” Dara snorted, “You’re gonna be fine, Ren. I’m here.”

“I know.”

We reached the hospital a bit later, and I was taken to the maternity wing, Dara and Clara coming with, as Rian stayed behind to do paperwork for my admittance.

“Let’s see,” A doctor we all knew came in as she was my OBGYN, “Oh! Hi, kiddo.”

“Hi, Dr. Shea,” I laughed breathlessly.

“I know we’re familiar, but I just have to confirm. Full name?”

“Ren Asa Bell.”

“Place of birth?”

“Bakewell, England. I’m 21.”

“Perfect. Do you think Fern is coming?”

“I know she is,” I panted, closing my eyes when Dara gently wiped sweat from my forehead, “Day, you don’t have to be here for this.”

“I made you and Eddie a promise,” he whispered, taking my left hand and gently squeezing it, “Long before Fern was even an idea in anyone’s mind. What was that promise?”

“I-If Eddie were to die, because the idiot decided to be a cop, you would be here to take care of me and any children we had. Kip said the same thing, but you cut him off.”

“I like you more than him. But exactly. It means more now since that came true. So I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here for you, and I want to hold Fern.”

“You’re the best,” I smiled, and Dara gently patted the top of my head.

“Anything for you, Renny.”