Fifteen minutes before Liam had to be at his swim lesson and twelve hours after he, Dan, and his sister Fiona had painted their nails a matching cherry pink, he knocked on Dan’s door asking for the nail polish remover.

Dan sighed and opened it. “Liam? Where are your swimming trunks?”

Liam ignored him. “I need the nail polish remover.”

Phil appeared from behind him. “Liam. That wasn’t a very nice way to ask your dad for something.”

Liam scowled, but asked, more politely, “Dad, can I borrow your nail polish remover, please?”

Dan looked at Phil. “I don’t know if you have time to take your nail polish off, Liam. Don’t you need to go to your swim lesson soon?”

Phil nodded. “Sorry, Liam, we’re already late.”

Liam pouted. “I don’t want to swim with nail polish.”

Dan put on his best patient parent voice. “Why not?”

If Liam stuck his bottom lip out any further he would be stuck looking like a Kardashian for the rest of his life, Dan thought. “I don’t want to,” Liam said stubbornly.

“But why?” asked Phil, who was infinitely better at faking patience than Dan was.

“I don’t want to!” Liam said in a voice dangerously close to a wail.

“Okay, okay,” Phil said, recognizing the danger he was in. “How about you get your swim trunks on and go to your swim lessons and then we’ll take it off when you get home? How does that sound?”

Liam shook his head. “No,” he said, “I want it off now.”

“I know, but we’re going to be late if you don’t get ready right now,” Phil tried to reason.

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Liam’s face screwed up and he broke into tears. “I don’t want to,” he sobbed, “I want to take it off.”

“Liam, it’s just nail polish.” Dan couldn’t help the irritation forcing its way into his voice.

“No,” said Liam, his voice almost frantic, “Don’t make me wear it, Daddy, I don’t want-”

“Hey, hey,” said Phil soothingly. He knelt next to Liam and glanced at Dan. “No one’s making you do anything.”

Liam just kept sobbing.

“Liam-” Dan reached for his son, but Liam twisted from Dan’s grasp and threw himself on the floor.

Dan felt a headache building.

Phil crouched by Liam’s body. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “Liam, honey, it’s okay, if it’s that important to you-”

“Phil, can we speak for a moment, please?” Dan interrupted. He winced. He knew his voice had come out harsher than intended.

“Sure.” Phil stepped over Liam’s dramatically thrown body into Dan’s room and closed the door.

“What are you doing?” Dan hissed. “He needs to get to his swim lesson. Just because he’s throwing a fit about it doesn’t mean-”

“Dan.” Phil interrupted him, but looked reluctant to speak.

“What, Phil? What am I missing? Tell me, because I really don’t know why you’re giving him what he wants just because he’s upset about it.”

Phil hesitated.

“What?” Dan asked again.

“Dan,” Phil said softly, “Do you really think he doesn’t want to wear nail polish to his swim lesson just to make your life difficult?”

It hit him in a rush, like a kick to the stomach, like the names the other boys had called him in the schoolyard, like the anger and the self hatred and the shame that hit him when he realized the names were right.

If he said anything to Liam, or even Phil, he didn’t remember it later. The only thing he remembered was getting the nail polish remover wipes from his bathroom and swiping at his son’s tiny fingers until the wipes were cherry red and his son’s nails were as clean as snow. By the time he was done, Liam was going to be ten minutes late to his swim lesson. Phil herded Liam out of Dan’s room and down the hall towards the car, and Dan threw the wipes in the bin. He stared at the slightly clumpy, brightly colored paint on his nails that suddenly felt jarringly out of place. He reached for the wipes again, but hesitated.

He let his hands fall back to his sides. He listened to the familiar noises of the house he shared with his husband and children, the weird old house noises and the light footsteps coming from his daughter’s room down the hall. Now that Phil and her younger brother were gone, she was emerging from her pseudo-teenage shell to eat breakfast.

Fiona had already poured herself a bowl of cereal by the time Dan got to the kitchen. “What was Liam’s deal this morning?” she asked through a mouthful of cereal.

“He didn’t want to wear his nail polish to his swim lessons,” Dan said, searching the cabinets for breakfast of his own.

“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed that her younger brother wasn’t in any trouble. “Why?”

Dan shrugged, pulling down his own box of cereal. “He didn’t say.”

Her eyes flickered downward. She ate another spoonful of cereal. “Well, we’re still matching, aren’t we?”

She lifted her hand to Dan’s. Her entire hand, outstretched fingers and all, fit inside Dan’s palm.

He smiled, an unexpected wave of tenderness flowing through him. “We’re still matching.”

As soon as her hand was there it was gone again, dropped to her side. “Little brothers are stupid,” she said.

Dan happened to be quite fond of his younger brother, but he didn’t say so. “They can be annoying sometimes.”

“What’s his problem with nail polish anyway?” Fiona asked, her face pulled into a righteous scowl. “Just because some people think it’s girly-” Her scowl tightened.

Not that there would be anything wrong with it if it was, Dan wanted to add. Not that there was anything wrong with being a boy and being girly, with being a girl and being girly, with being a queer formless blob and being girly, with being anyone and being girly. The words stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s silly.”