“I want to tell you, ” I say into the phone. “Everything.”

It’s Friday night and I’ve been going back and forth over this all week. Monday I was so ready to spill it all, but the mood wasn’t right. The episode with my hot pink panties still puts a smile on my face, but it was definitely not the appropriate segue to learning all about the Flanders Flock.

Now, there’s only one day left until…it. I don’t want this coming between us.

“Okay,” Rhys says slowly on the other end. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before we go out tomorrow. I think you should know.”

“Okay,” he says again, now sounding worried.

I have no idea what he must be thinking on the other end, but the breathlessness I hear in my voice no doubt has him on edge, thinking the worst. A hundred different versions of the worst run through my head, all of them far worse than what I’m about to reveal. So why is this so hard?

It’s probably because I’ve kept the secret for so long. I’ve always thought some random person, or more likely, someone I work or live with on a daily basis would figure it out. The first few months as Prynne Dawson were almost torture. Then I realized that context was everything. I wasn’t one of fourteen Flanders Flockers with brown hair and eyes in Rutherford, Missouri. I was Prynne Dawson.

When I got to New York, it wasn’t a pretense anymore. I’d finally transformed. I’d been out of touch with my family for so long by then, the Flanders Flock seemed like a distant memory. I didn’t feel the need to tell anyone, even those closest to me, who wouldn’t give a damn, like Shiloh.

I get up off the bed and walk to the mirror hanging on the back of my door to stare at myself. If one looks closely—ignoring the brunette hair dyed blonde and the brown irises hidden by hazel—you can easily see the slightly up-turned Flanders nose, the tiny spray of freckles that all of us seemed to inherit, the mouth which is slightly more plump on the bottom than the top, a gift from my mother. Then, of course, there is an exact replica of me back in Rutherford, still with her brown hair and eyes, just in case one wanted a side-by-side comparison.

But now I’m Prynne Dawson.

And I’m finally going to reveal everything that makes me, me.

“You still there?” Rhys asks on the other end.

“I’m just figuring out where to begin,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“The beginning is always a good place to start,” he replies with a slightly nervous chuckle of his own.

“Okay…okay, okay.” Good grief, I’m going to hyperventilate before I even get it out. What will he think when he finds out? Will he think I’m some kind of weirdo or freak, like so many online message board jerks felt free to label the Flanders Family? Would he still find me attractive without these “pretty hazel eyes” and curtains that “match the carpet?”

“Prynne.” The firm tone in his voice snaps me out of these self-defeating thoughts. “Just relax.”

It’s a command, strong and demanding. With his voice, it works better than any cooing or babying could. I feel my heartbeat slow down. I take two deep breaths.

Start at the beginning.

“I was born in Missouri. A small town called Rutherford.” I pause, waiting to see if that rings a bell at all. Any die-hard fan of the show—and I know better than anyone that there are plenty—would instantly recognize the name of the town.

“Well, Prynne, that is shocking news, but I’m glad you had the strength to trust me with it,” he says in a teasing voice, that tells me the name means nothing to him.

“Rhys!” I say, exhaling in frustration.

He just laughs again, then brings back that firm, commanding tone. “Prynne, just relax. Breathe.”

I inhale, taking deep breaths and blowing them out slowly.

“Okay, now go on.”

“My real name, I mean my birth name is Faith. Faith Flanders.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. I don’t know if it’s a reaction to the fact that I changed my name or the recognition of the name I once had. Maybe both.

“How do I know that name?” he finally asks in a reflective tone, as though his brain is still trying to work it out.

“The Flanders Flock. I have eleven brothers and sisters, three sets of twins. The Christian Broadcasting Corporation?”

“You’re shitting me,” he mutters on the other end. I’m not sure if it’s disappointment, surprise, or if he thinks I’m just pulling his leg.

The rest comes out in a stream of consciousness information dump, my midwestern accent—something else I thought I’d left behind—roaring back to life along with it. “I dye my hair blonde and I have colored contacts. Mine aren’t really hazel and, well, you know about the hair. I changed my name, obviously. Prynne, like from the book The Scarlet Letter? I thought it was kinda tongue in cheek at the time. Lookin’ back on it, that was silly. But I was eighteen, so maybe that explains it. Now, I wish I’d chosen somethin’ else. I just didn’t want to be a part of the show anymore. I was sick of just being one of the Flanders Flock, instead of Faith. When I turned eighteen, I refused to sign any release or contract to be on the show, so they couldn’t film me anymore. When I decided to go to college, I didn’t want it followin’ me. I just…I wanted to be my own person. It was hard at first, I was so used to bein’ part of this big family, but it got easier and easier and then when I moved to New York—”

“Prynne…Prynne.” It takes me a moment to register his voice breaking through all that rambling, mostly because my voice has been getting higher and higher. “Just relax.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a sigh. “I just need a moment to wrap my head around this.”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad?” he laughs. “Why would I be mad? I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is not what I was expecting, so kudos for actually surprising me.”

I feel my body relax a little and I fall back on the bed, waiting for him to continue. “So what do you think about it?”

“I think it’s….interesting. Fascinating actually.”

“I know, it’s weird.”

“Not weird just—Jesus, I have a million questions. Flanders Flock, huh?” He starts laughing.

It’s contagious. First I smile up at the ceiling, then I’m laughing as well.

“So, do you still want to go out tomorrow?”

“Are you kidding? Of course,” He says as though the question is absurd. “In fact, why don’t you save the rest for then. Now that you’ve got it out, you can take tonight to figure out everything you actually want to tell me about it. By then, hopefully you’ll be less anxious.”

I nod, thinking that makes total sense. I’m sure my rambling did nothing to clear much up for him. The worst part is over, the band-aid off, the tooth yanked, the curtain pulled back. The rest should be a piece of cake.

“In fact,” he continues, his voice getting more serious than ever, “I have something I want to tell you as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’m saving mine for when we meet in person.”

“Okay.” I’m curious but wary now. There’s something in his voice, something that tells me it may be as big a deal to him as the stuff that happened when he was in college.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow at eight then,” he says. “And Prynne?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for trusting me.”

I smile, feeling a warmth begin to spread through me. I finally relax into the bed. “No, thank you, Rhys.”