Chapter 1
A doll... It all began with a doll. Who would have thought that something so simple, so plastic, could unravel my world in ways I never expected?
I sit in the corner of my bedroom, the doll lying there, its glassy eyes fixed on me, as if it’s waiting for me to do something—anything. But, if I’m being honest, this whole experiment felt doomed from the start. Especially when I got paired with Brodie. Apparently, there was an uneven number, and everyone else got a boy-girl pair, except for me and him.
I crawl over to the doll, its tiny form cradled against the cold floor. With a sigh, I gently cup it in my hands. It feels almost too real—like a newborn, its weight solid and comforting, the skin soft and warm to the touch. I pull it closer, cradling it in my arms. For a moment, I let myself believe.
I’ve always wanted to be a dad. The idea of it—being the one to care, to protect, to raise a child—has always been a quiet dream in my heart.
But…
I can’t.
My chest tightens as the thought rises within me. I have a narrow urethra. I’m not sure how much of a problem it is, but it feels like a wall between me and the life I thought I might someday have. And even if I could get past that, there’s the truth I’ve been hiding from myself for far too long.
I’m gay.
I could never have what I want, not in the way I imagined it. The dream of fatherhood feels like a distant star—beautiful, untouchable, just beyond reach.
The door to my bedroom creaks open, and before I can react, the doll slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. I snap my head up to see Brodie standing in the doorway, his phone in hand. Our parents insisted we spend as much time together as possible—after all, *we’re raising a child together*, in their words.
He pauses, his eyes flicking from the doll to me, an eyebrow raised.
“Tristan?”
“Hm?” I murmur, absentmindedly.
“Why is my kid on the floor?” he asks, amusement flickering in his voice.
I can’t help but crack a smile. At least he’s playing along. I scoop the doll up, holding it close, a little more carefully this time.
“I was kidding,” Brodie snorts, his gaze already drifting back to his phone.
Right.
I stare down at the doll in my hands. Should I name him? Or is it a girl? There’s nothing to tell me either way—no sign, no distinguishing feature. I let my thoughts wander, trying to decide.
“So… what would you want? A girl or a boy?” I ask, looking up at Brodie, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, my head tilted.
Brodie doesn’t look up from his phone, but I catch a glimpse of his snakebite piercings glistening, his shaggy black hair falling over his eyes. “It, um… doesn’t really matter. It’s a doll.”
I nod absently, my eyes falling back to the doll. God, I’m not going to make it out of this alive.
Suddenly, the door to my bedroom bursts open, and Dad struggles inside, lugging an old crib behind him. My jaw drops as he angles the crib sideways, trying to squeeze it through the door frame.
“Sorry—ugh,” he grunts. “Your mom said you were going to need this, Tristan.” He finally sets the crib down with a loud thud, placing it next to the wall across from my bed. “She said the baby’s gonna need somewhere to sleep.”
I stare at Dad in disbelief, and before I can respond, Mom steps in behind him, looking equally serious. This is insane.
“I already have a place for the baby,” I protest, gesturing to the homemade bed in the corner, a worn blanket shoved into a makeshift nest.
Mom shakes her head firmly. “Absolutely not! No plastic grandchild of mine is sleeping on the floor. He’s a baby, and he must be treated like one, Tristan.”
I blink at her, stunned. She’s acting like I’m about to raise a real child, not a doll.
“This is to remind you kids to use a condom,” she continues, crossing her arms. “Now, there are rules. You will treat this baby like it’s real. You’ll feed him, change him, take him places. And,” she adds, her tone growing stern, “Dad and I won’t be coming in here every hour to turn the key.”
“Haha, sucks for you,” Brodie snorts, shaking his head before looking back down at his phone.
“Oh no, mister, you knocked up my son—” Mom starts, her tone dripping with mock indignation, but Dad quickly interrupts.
“Uh, honey… let’s just remember that our son is *playing house*. It’s not real. And even so… you know.” He clears his throat awkwardly, glancing at me.
Mom waves him off. “Right! Anyways, Brodie, your parents said you can stay with us for a few nights. It wouldn’t be fair to have Tristan doing all the work alone. And when you go home? Tristan and the baby are going with you.”
“What?!” Brodie and I shout in unison, jumping to our feet.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Mom says firmly, her hands on her hips. “I really think this will help! I don’t want to be a grandma at a young age, and Brodie’s mom agrees. Now, you two start putting the baby’s things together.”
“What things—”
Before I can finish, Mom turns and grabs a stack of bags from the hallway, dumping them onto the floor with a satisfied grin.
“There! These are all your baby’s things, Tristan. You can set up the nursery here, make a spare drawer in your dresser for his clothes, and if you really want,” she adds, clearly warming to her plan, “we can even sign you boys up for a mommy-and-me class—”
“Alright, honey, let’s go,” Dad interrupts, steering her out of the room. “We are *not* spending real money on a doll.”
The door closes behind them, leaving Brodie and me standing there, surrounded by baby supplies, utterly mortified and embarrassed.
"Looks like I'm staying the night," Brodie says, glancing over at me. "Wanna help me grab the baby's stuff so we can chill after?"
I hesitate for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, okay."
We sit on the floor together, sorting through the pile of baby things my mom dug out of storage. I steal a glance at him, trying to figure him out. "You seem... really okay with pretending," I say, clearing my throat.
Brodie pauses, then shrugs casually. "Yeah, I guess. Me and my sister Elena used to play stuff like this all the time when we were kids. She’s two years older, so I ended up being the baby a lot. Didn’t bother me, though."
"Really?" I blink, caught off guard. "That’s... actually really cool." I nod toward the pile of old onesies and blankets. "As you can see, I’m an only child. My mom kept all this stuff—probably because she didn’t have anyone else to use it for."
Brodie grins as he pulls a tiny onesie out of the bag, holding it up like he’s struck gold. "Oh my god, look at this!" He presses it against my chest with a laugh. "You used to fit in this? Now look at you—so grown up!"
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
He folds the onesie neatly, setting it aside, while I pick up a lone bib from the pile. It’s the only one that’s managed to survive all these years.
“As the baby, I got all my sister’s hand-me-downs,” Brodie says with a grin. “My mom has this photo of a baby in a black-and-white dress, and she can’t figure out if it’s me or Elena because she forgot to write on the back.”
I burst out laughing, the image of a confused mother squinting at an old photo too funny to ignore. “That’s priceless,” I say, shaking my head.
For a moment, I think about how different life might have been if I’d had a sibling. I guess I’m glad I didn’t end up with one… No, scratch that. I’d want a sibling. I just like the idea of being the eldest—the one who's not wearing a dress.
"By the way, thanks," I say, glancing at him. "I feel like anyone else in your position would be complaining about this."
Brodie nods, his black hair falling over his eyes. "Nah, you're good, Tristan," he says, brushing it aside. "It’s better to have fun than to sit around and be miserable. Besides, I’d much rather be here with you than with some girl."
He grins, leaning back slightly. "I can just imagine her dad, all like, *‘You need to stay away from my daughter and her fake baby before you end up giving her a real one!’* Or some crap like that." He laughs, the sound easy and light.
I chuckle along with him, shaking my head. "Yeah, I guess I can see that."
We go back to folding more baby clothes, the quiet between us surprisingly comfortable. I pick up a small, worn toy bear. For a moment, I stare at it, turning it over in my hands. I don’t remember playing with it, but I’ve seen it in a hundred old photos. It’s strange how something so small can hold so much history.
I stand up and walk over to the baby. He lies in the makeshift bed I’d cobbled together, and for a moment, I feel a small sense of accomplishment. I place the little bear beside him, but no sooner do I set it down than the baby bursts into loud, shrill crying, startling me so badly I stumble backward onto the floor.
“Crap! I forgot he did that,” I mutter, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Here… I got him,” Brodie says, pushing himself up and walking over. He lowers himself beside me, effortlessly scooping up the baby with a practiced ease.
“Hey, what’s wrong, little dude?” he coos, mimicking the motions of feeding the doll. He turns the key at the doll’s back and gently lays it back into the homemade bed. The crying stops instantly.
I stare at him, more impressed than I want to admit. *Maybe having someone to pretend with is more useful than I thought.* Brodie handled that with such ease, as if it were second nature.
“Can you show me how you… how you did that?” I ask hesitantly, feeling a little ridiculous.
He glances at me, one brow raised. “Did what?”
“It’s hard to explain.” I fidget, struggling to find the right words. “You made it look so easy. Like it was real. I don’t know how to… *pretend* like that.” My voice drops to a whisper, almost embarrassed to admit it.
Brodie stares at me for a moment, his expression softening. “Yeah, sure. So, if you hold the baby like this…” He picks up the doll again, carefully cradling it. “And just pretend it’s real—like you’re actually taking care of it. That’s all there is to it.”
He shifts closer to me, holding the baby out. “Here, your turn.”
Reluctantly, I take the doll from him, but before I can do anything, Brodie leans in and lets out an exaggerated, high-pitched wail. “Whaaaaaa! The baby’s crying! What do we do? Whaaaa!”
Panic sets in as I glance around, completely at a loss. In desperation, I tug my shirt up and press the doll’s face to my chest.
There’s a beat of silence before Brodie clears his throat awkwardly. “Oh.”
My face burns. “W-was that not right?!” I stammer, my voice high with alarm.
Brodie tries to hold back a laugh, but his grin betrays him. “Well, you *could’ve* just pretended to feed him with an object—like, pretending it’s a bottle or something,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “But, hey, I like it. Definitely… a different kind of imagination.”
He flashes me a teasing smile, and I groan, burying my face in my hands.
I feel his fingers wrap gently around my wrist, pulling my hands away from my burning face. My cheeks are undoubtedly bright red—I can feel the heat radiating from them.
“You’re okay, Tristan,” Brodie says, his voice calm and reassuring. “If you’ve never done pretend play before, it can be tough. It’s like landing a cool skateboard trick or writing a book. It takes practice. You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”
I stare at him, his words sinking in, before giving a slow nod.
“Come on!” He springs to his feet, his energy infectious. “Let’s get this kid’s stuff ready so I can go back to TikTok.”
Standing up, I follow him back to the pile of baby things. We sit down together on the floor, sorting and folding, cleaning up the mess Mom had made earlier.
_____________
"Whaaaaaaa!"
I jolt upright in bed, my heart pounding as I scan the dark room. My eyes dart to the crib, and the wailing baby doll echoes louder in the silence.
"I—I'm coming!" I stammer, stumbling out of bed. My foot lands on something soft, and I freeze, realizing with horror that I’ve just stepped on Brodie.
A low groan escapes him, and I jump to the side. "I’m so sorry!" I whisper-shout, crouching down. "The baby is crying!"
"It’s okay," he groans, his voice muffled. "You just rearranged my guts, but please… for the love of everything, get the baby."
Nodding quickly, I race over to the crib, fumbling with the doll to soothe it.
---
**One hour later...**
"Whaaaaaaa!"
I jolt awake again, disoriented, only to see Brodie already standing at the crib. He twists the key at the doll’s back with a weary expression.
"I was saving myself," he mutters, glancing over at me, his tone dry.
I flop back onto the bed with a groan.
---
**One hour later...**
"Whaaaaaaa!"
I sit bolt upright, my patience hanging by a thread. Before I can even move, I shout at the top of my lungs, "Moooooooooom!"
