Sadie & Alexis

Hmm. 

The form sits forebodingly on the Thrive clipboard, waiting to be filled. 

It should be simple. A quick, painless routine.  

It was as routine as breathing... for most people.

But for Sadie, the questions are harder. Much, much harder.

Emergency contact.
Next of kin.
In case of emergency, notify... 

She stares at the blank line, pen hovering.

Her parents live in Mousehole, 559 miles away, and still use her deadname on Christmas cards. Her brother tries but stumbles over pronouns—at least he tries. She appreciates that. 

Ah, the biological family. Blood family. Such weird, antiquated sentiments that scream remnants from another century. 

Instead, she writes Alexis Baudelaire in careful letters, then their phone number. Under "relationship," she pauses again, unsure what to put.

Friend feels too small.

Family? Family? Can she put family? She wants to. Alexis has been more of a family member than her own parents have been. But the form demands specifics. NHS. Official. Clinical. Written by someone with rigid assumptions about what family looks like.

Fuck it. She writes Family.

For that is what she is.

It was Alexis who drove her to her first endocrinologist appointment.

Alexis, who shows up with ice cream after difficult days. Who never asks questions she's not ready to answer.

Alexis, who introduced her to the others— Terry, Charlie, Oscar, Lyta, Rosie, Tilly, and Adam. 

To Sadie, that is what family is.