Chapter 11

Caitlyn

She was used to the lake house in Iowa being her hideaway, a home away from home that reminded her of childhood without necessarily subjecting her to family. Now, though?

Sure, the air was fresh. Sure, the food was fresh. What she got to enjoy of both!

"What do you mean I can't use lard?" Christine followed Izzy out of the kitchen, hunting down the pageant coach in the backyard, where Caitlyn was attempting to meditate before the sun went down. "You can't fry chicken without lard!"

Izzy gasped, making it halfway to Caitlyn before coming down on the woman who had traveled from Des Moines to help her daughter.

"You are not making fried chicken for dinner." Izzy slammed her hands on her hips before wagging a finger in Christine's direction. "I swear to God, if I see anything fried in this house before we head off to New York, I will personally kick you into that lake!"

Christine huffed as if this were the first time anyone ever pushed back on her cooking. "What the hell am I supposed to do with all this chicken I got at the market? Do you know how cheap it is out here? My God, you're the one who told me to cook with white meats this month!"

"I thought it was pretty obvious I meant we were having cooked chicken breast for dinner. Especially Caitlyn. Lean proteins." Izzy smacked one hand into the other. "Fresh vegetables with low oil and the only carbs on that plate will be brown rice and quinoa. Can you do that for me, Christine, hm? Can you boil a chicken breast?"

"Can I boil a chicken breast?" Christine puffed out her breast as if that would further her point. "Yes, I can, but I'd rather drown myself in the lake than lower myself to boiling a chicken breast! You will get it grilled, and you will take it!" She turned around and marched back into the kitchen. "I hope some spices are okay, Miss Keto! Because I will be damned if any of my food gets posted on the internet and everyone makes fun of a Midwestern cook!"

Izzy clicked her tongue when she was finally left alone with Caitlyn. "What does being Midwestern have to do with anything? Non-fried chicken breast is the healthiest thing alongside fresh fish to get your protein before the show." She kicked some of the dirt while looking at her phone. "She was your mother during all your other pageants. Doesn't she know that?"

Caitlyn refused to let this diminish the low-stress environment she had cultivated for herself that evening. "You came for her chicken. Chicken is more sacred than a Thanksgiving turkey dinner or the meatloaf recipe she created from scratch when I was nine. Do you know what the secret ingredient is? Mustard seed."

"Remind me to remind her that meatloaf is also banned until the pageant is over."

"Iz." Caitlyn motioned for her coach to sit with her at the patio table separating the deck from the lakefront. "My mom means well. Without her, we'd be going crazy trying to do everything and eat well. She doesn't understand things like no fried foods unless you give her a viable alternative. Just so we're clear?" Caitlyn poked Izzy in the shoulder. "I am not eating boiled chicken. I am also not letting my mom become an internet meme when she has a come to Jesus moment over whether she should post it to her Instagram like everything else she cooks."

A sigh rippled along the lake's surface. "How did you not weigh an extra fifty pounds when you last did the circuit? If I caught any of my other girls eating fried chicken a month before a competition, I would die."

"I was in my twenties when I last did a pageant," Caitlyn reminded her. "You're right that I can't get away with it now." Caitlyn was on a mission to lose a total of fifteen pounds in two months. It's a lot harder than it used to be… Usually, half of that would be water weight melting off in the first two weeks. So far? She was halfway to her goal, but not without hating half of the things she ate. I did not miss this part of pageantry. "Besides, I've always been overweight. I've been blessed with a body type that distributes the fat in a way society has deemed fine. Now, the stretch marks and cellulite from daring to get older over the years? That's a different story."

"Those products from Korea will be here tomorrow." Izzy was all smiles again. "Also, I haven't forgotten your favorite tricks to cover up blemishes on your thighs. Your skin tone hasn't changed much, right? Great. I'll put in an order to make your root vegetable paste."

"We can get all of that at the farmer's market."

Izzy put her phone down. "Right. I forgot you have those out here."

"And they'll all be organic."

"You know what's best in that regard, Cait."

Yes, I do. Caitlyn had made multiple things clear when she accepted the invitation to represent Iowa on a national stage and to have Izzy back as her coach for the occasion. There would be no dwelling on her weight, for one thing. The weigh-ins of her past were gone, outside of one at the beginning of her month-long focus and one at the end so she could report it to the pageant. The fact I still have to… Her asshole doctor would probably like to hear the news! Let him eat cake while watching my numbers show up on his television screen.

Caitlyn was old enough now that she knew her boundaries. She also knew that the pageant needed her more than she needed it, despite the stroke to her ego knowing that she was still considered beautiful enough to strut out on a stage in front of all of America. So, she wouldn't let anyone, least of all Izzy, bully her about her appearance. Caitlyn was competing against other married women over the age of thirty-five, many of them mothers. It was a level enough playing field, even if most of those same women were rich or privileged enough to have nannies and au pairs.

She also made it clear to the pageant that while she was fine with them using her lesbian marriage as an angle to market her to the judges and audience, she was not fine with them bringing up Rebecca or the fact that it was a polyamorous marriage. Most audiences will not understand. Izzy eventually came around to that boundary, and Christine agreed that it would not be treated tastefully.

Ah, and Christine being part of the team was a must as well. If Caitlyn was doing this, she wanted her number one cheerleader in her back pocket. The fact that Christine knew how to dress up plain chicken and quinoa without breaking the calorie banks was a plus.

"Gunnar will be here tomorrow with the dress samples," Izzy said over their dinner of spicy grilled chicken, brown rice, and steamed vegetables drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette. "Now, I've told him that your best colors are the demure solids like soft blue, wine red, etc., etc., but I do think we should lean into the prints. This pageant is more about your personality than how you represent your home state, so we don't have to be like other Iowan gals of the past few years who kept dressing in corn gold and…" Izzy dropped her fork to remember it. "That one who dressed like the woman from American Gothic, but sexy."

"Ooh, I loved her!" Christine covered her mouth with a napkin before she accidentally spat out her dinner in exclamation. "She was the talk of my women's club all that month. It was a crime she didn't make it into the top ten." She reached over and shook her daughter's arm. "Cait will make it though, surely."

"But it's okay if I don't."

"Oh, yes, of course. It's about the adventure, not the ending."

"Wasn't there also the lady who talked about pork for the entirety of her interview?" Caitlyn asked Izzy. While Cait still watched most of the big competitions when her partners weren't looking – and sometimes when Rebecca was feeling particularly patient – she was fuzzy on some of the details. She always rooted for Iowa, but Iowa rarely made it far into competitions, no matter how much Jane waxed poetic about corn-fed girls, much to Caitlyn's chagrin. "Like she kept bringing everything back to pork?"

"We'll be tackling your interview questions next week," Izzy assured her. "There will be no mentions of corn, pork, or hawkeyes, you hear me?"

"I'd rather die, so no problem."

This was how every day had gone so far, and Caitlyn knew it would be more of the same with the occasional visitor from out of town until she finally made her way to New York for the competition. Then I'll yearn for the tranquility of this place. The prima donna personalities alongside long days would probably do Caitlyn in, but it would be over before she knew it.

Some lucky woman would be crowned Mrs. United Sates of America and spend the next year of her life traveling the country attending banquets, cutting ribbons, and modeling in catalogs. Caitlyn did not ask for that. While her mother kept reassuring her that it was fine if she didn't win, honestly, Caitlyn didn't want to win. She had other things to do than be at the beck and call of the Mrs. United States of America pageant.

And she had to keep saying the whole thing in her head, so she didn't get other people's hopes up that it was Mrs. America or Mrs. USA. Those were the two everyone else had heard of, so it wasn't like this was the biggest honor of her life already.

Before she had the chance to turn in for the night and finally have some quality time texting or video chatting with one of her partners, Izzy knocked on the bedroom door and entered without being invited. She had her laptop in her arm, so this was probably great and not at all anxiety-inducing news.

"We're at the deadline for you to submit your representative charity of choice." Izzy sat on the bed while Caitlyn was in the en suite bathroom, applying her charcoal mask to her face and moisturizer to the rest of her body. "Now, most of the other contestants submitted theirs long ago and they're in the portal I can access. I really suggest you pick anything not related to pets and children because that's like twenty-five people right there. You need to stand out, Cait. Oh, and nothing overly political. The gays are fine, but let's not focus on any messy scenarios going on elsewhere in the world."

Caitlyn washed her hands once she was done. "The gays, huh?"

"You know what I mean. If you have a legitimate LGBT charity you want to represent, go ahead. Only Utah seems to care about that right now, ironically enough."

"I don't think I should advocate for a charity that directly represents my identity," Caitlyn said as she dried off her hands. "Too on the nose."

"Good point. There's conservation, but I'll warn you that Florida is expected to hit the top ten and she's all over conservation."

"Wonder why."

"Honey, I don't know, I haven't been to Florida since my ex tried to win back my love at Disneyworld."

That was a sarcastic question, Iz. Caitlyn didn't bother saying that out loud. Izzy was on a tear, and Caitlyn had long learned that it was impossible to get her mind off anything else once it was latched onto something.

"Are the homeless still glutted?" Caitlyn felt so odd asking it like that. "What about addiction treatment?"

Izzy snapped her fingers. "Addiction treatment! Oh, that's perfect. I don't see anything like that on here, and Iowa is hemorrhaging pain medications! Oh, it really is perfect!"

Caitlyn dropped her hand towel on the sink and groaned. "Please don't ever say that out loud on TV. I will pretend I do not know you."

Izzy still wasn't listening. "I'll start researching any regional and national charities. You know, make sure there isn't anything funny going on in their boards or where their money goes. After I narrow it down to two or three I'll let you decide which one you want me to contact about putting your face to their name."

"Sounds like a blast."

Squealing in excitement, Izzy danced out of the room, her laptop always precariously balanced on her arm. "I have a good feeling about this, Cait," she said from the doorway. "Thanks so much for doing this. Ooh, it's great to be working together again, isn't it?"

Something about her tone was girlishly earnest. Right. I actually do like her, don't I? Izzy may still be deep in the pageant sauce like Caitlyn once was, but deep down, she was fairly rational. Or, at least, Caitlyn thought she was…

"Yeah." Caitlyn removed the towel holding up her towel and got her pajamas out of her laundry bag. "Thanks for reminding me how fun this can be, Iz."

The door shut. Finally, Caitlyn had the chance to simply breathe.

And fart. Because the last thing she wanted Izzy to think was that Christine's cooking was responsible for that.

"Red is huge this year," said Gunnar Darling, one of the most called-upon dress designers in the pageant world. It had been fifteen years since Caitlyn was last dressed by Gunnar, and that hadn't even been for a pageant. "Which means we don't want to go directly red, but we don't want to stray too far from it either. It's too bad burnt orange doesn't go with your complexion, Cait. I've been dying to use it this year."

"Yes, I have a feeling that orange is the last thing we want with my hair color. I'd apologize, but let's be real, I'd reject it anyway."

He pretended he didn't hear her as he perused his fabric swatches and laid out dress pieces that he could easily put together while observing Caitlyn during their interview. Izzy had told her to wear something "sparse and delicate" so Gunnar could get her whole picture, curves and all, and the best Caitlyn had on hand was a light sweater over her slip. Christine was slightly scandalized until she realized Gunnar had been gay the whole time Caitlyn knew him. Then it didn't matter what the hell Caitlyn wore around him.

"Tell me where you are in your womanhood right now." When Caitlyn looked at him as if nuts were falling out of his ears, Gunnar explained, "There are so many potential dress designs that would be an absolute knock-out on a figure like yours." Oh, you flatter me, Gunnar. How could Caitlyn not smile as someone with a keen eye for beauty gushed over her? "But if we want to wow the judges and the audience at home, we'll focus on what makes you stand out as a woman who is confident in her own body. Gone are the days of showing as much skin as you could get away with while your grandma is watching, honey. Unless you want to. I hear that Colorado is going sheer this year."

"He knows that because his husband is the one dressing her," Izzy said.

Gunnar rolled his eyes. "The only time Frank and I don't see eye to eye on style is when he has a size two ingenue that's over 5'9. He can't help himself. God knows why."

Caitlyn put some of the fashion puzzle pieces together while her team talked. Christine brought out flavored water for her daughter and coffee with cream for everyone else. "Oh, I like that," Christine said while looking over Caitlyn's shoulder. "A svelte body-hugging dress like the one you wore at the holiday fundraiser a few years ago! I still have that picture of you in my bedroom. White is truly your color."

Caitlyn didn't disagree, but she worried that long sleeves would be too demure for a married women's pageant. Even when she was competing in the single women's pageants, the idea had moved away from covering up married women to make them more morally acceptable to the public palate. And Caitlyn knew what her best assets were.

"Strapless." She pointed to a heart-shaped bodice that would accentuate her cleavage while still covering up the most important part of her goods. "Gold fabric, with something to cover it. Perhaps a gauzy overlay. Blackish, maybe? Or…"

She and Gunnar said the same thing at the same time. "Beads."

"Ah, excellent," Gunnar agreed with her. "Beaded gowns are all the rage now. Yes. I can work with this."

"Someone remind me." Christine took the dirty dishes from lunch back to the kitchen. "Is there a swimsuit portion anymore? I know they got rid of it for Miss America, but this isn't that."

"Mrs. United States of America does not have a swimsuit portion, per se," Izzy answered. "It never has. Would have been considered tasteless at its inauguration." She cleared her throat. "Instead, it's an athletics portion where you show off how healthy and fit you are. Ahem."

"That's right, Mom. Only your court-ordained lesbian wife can see you in a bathing suit in this country."

Everyone but Izzy laughed. "This gown will be the centerpiece for everything but the talent portion, assuming you need to change. Are you still doing a monologue?"

"Gosh, I haven't done that in years! If it's all right, I'll perform something original."

"Do you have it finished already? I'd love to take a look at it."

Caitlyn shrugged. "I'll work on something while I'm here. I haven't had the chance to properly write anything in years. Ooh, maybe I should perform it in Cantonese. That's new since I last competed."

"Sooo much has changed," Gunnar said. "Have you heard that ratings are atrocious these days? They were already waning in your heyday, Cait, but you'll be lucky if one million people across America are watching you next month."

"Fine with me."

So the days went by with Cait being measured, fitted, and committed to keeping her health in tip-top shape as she prepared for November's competition. Izzy went through potential interview questions with her, honed Caitlyn's walk, and continuously reminded her that even though she might not care about winning and was doing this as a favor, she was qualified to be there. Even if women could hardly make money from doing pageants anymore. Not without investing more money than they won back in either cash prizes or school scholarships.

"That's how I paid for most of my college, you know," she reminded Rebecca on the phone one night while Nairing her legs. "It was my part-time job, the whole pageant thing. If I focused on single women's pageants for college-aged girls, I often got enough scholarships to get by. Wore a rotation of the same five gowns I got on clearance from a dress outlet and my mom's best friend did most of my hair and makeup because she was a former employee at a news station who did exactly that every day. They took makeup seriously in Chicago."

Rebecca yawned on the other end. "I can't wait to see what you've been working on when I get there next week."

"Oh, that reminds me, my mom will be the one picking you up at the airport. Bring stories from New England with you, because it will be the two of you in the car."

"Good thing she loves me."

"My mom loves anyone who loves me too. It's kinda sweet when you think about it."

"You should write your poem about your mom. She would die."

"Kinda the last thing I want, really, Becca."

"I'm not sure if you're thinking of that literally or not…"

Neither was Caitlyn, who merely knew that she wasn't interested in monologuing about her mother on a national stage. She preferred to acknowledge the woman who raised and supported her in private, through sappy greeting cards and floral arrangements delivered straight to her door. Christine appreciated those things more than large declarations anyway.

She asked how things were going with Jane and Cecelia, having already heard about the homecoming dance and Mr. Merryweather scoping out the new foreign kid in his school. Caitlyn regretted having to miss the dress shopping, but not the drama that probably erupted when Jane faced a boy coming to their door. She doesn't like men on "her" turf. The office was fine. That was a neutral space where the topic was almost always work and not much else. In her home? Jane was either smiling through her teeth or outright hostile, assuming she ever came out of her room. Rebecca learned that the hard way when she made a couple of guy friends at a hobby shop and invited them over to watch the extended edition of Lord of the Rings while they painted models of elves and hobbits. Jane, Jane, Jane. The woman who holed herself up in her office and pouted until Caitlyn told her to get over herself and go say hi.

Damn. Caitlyn missed her.

"She's going crazy without you," Rebecca said. "Keeps taking it out on me. I swear, you being gone makes her hornier than you being here."

"Of course. Jane's the type to feel secure when what she wants is in her peripheral. When she could sleep with me whenever she wanted, she was content. Now that I'm gone… waterworks."

"Ha! If only she cried because she missed you."

"I guarantee she has some when you're not around."

"What's she going to do when I join you for a week? Hire an escort? Maybe we should arrange one in advance, someone we vet."

Caitlyn knew her partner was joking but played along. "Now, there's an idea. She's always making eyes with that one hostess at The Dark Hour. I know for a fact that fake blond is an escort for the right price."

"You do?"

"I mean, most of them are, but I've seen her having dinner with members outside of the club. Pretty sure she was Denise Sauvignon's sugar baby for a while."

"Do you think Jane could handle one of Denise's exes?"

"Yes, but not without whining about it."

Rebecca laughed. "I can't wait to come join you guys soon. So I can whine about missing Jane after you and I get this separation out of our systems."

Caitlyn made herself comfortable on the bed she picked out when she purchased this place and decided that this was her realm whenever they visited. I bought a three-bedroom so the three of us could still have our own spaces if we all visited at once. Jane did not care for "living in the sticks," however, and Rebecca liked to sleep with one of her partners when they were away from home, so she was a staple in Caitlyn's bed. Just like she would be when she finally came over from New England because right now the other bedrooms were occupied by Izzy and Christine. Still, Caitlyn had thought ahead, because wherever they went, she was the one who took the dynamic seriously enough to plan.

Which reminded her of something.

"No, I haven't heard from Chara," Rebecca said in response to Caitlyn's inquiry. "She knows you're out of town, and the market is pretty stagnant at the moment, according to the last conversation I had with her."

"If she has something you and Jane can tour before I get back, jump on it. Take pictures so I can have a look. I'm paying her extra to give us first dibs before things go public."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rebecca said that with a humorous lilt, but Caitlyn was still inspired to say, "Yes, I see Jane has rubbed off on you since I've been gone. I bet she has you saying that every night now that she's the real queen of the castle."

Was it possible to hear someone's eyes roll over a phone? Because Caitlyn swore she did. "You're silly. I should go before you start telling mom jokes."

"Do you think my mom is rubbing off on me already?"

"Have them locked and loaded for when I get out of her car."

Caitlyn and Rebecca hung up a minute later, after confirmations that they loved one another and that Rebecca would pass along her news to Jane. In truth, Caitlyn missed them both equally. Especially the way they bickered whenever the three of them went out to dinner, Jane taking it too seriously while Rebecca always had a smile on her face.

The notes app opened on Caitlyn's phone. She jotted down a few musings, holding no intention to do anything with them.