Sapphic fiction

My Best Plan

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The details…

  • Title: My Best Plan
  • Author: Cris Ascunce
  • Publisher: Bella Books
  • Editor: Heather Flournoy
  • Publication date: March 14, 2024
  • ISBN: 9781642475111e
  • Available formats: ebook, paperback
  • Print Length: 278 pages
  • Genre: romance
  • Themes: women loving women, lgbtq rights, lgbtq history, family, culture, marriage, children, parenting, careers, relationships

The blurb from the publisher…

Architect Gene López-Pérez has everything she’s ever wanted: her daughter Susana, a flourishing career, and Isa—the love of her life and Susana’s biological mother. But when Gene is denied entry to a hospital emergency room because Susana is not biologically hers, the harsh reality of her situation begins to sink in.

Meanwhile, Isa, a trailblazing biomedical engineer, juggles her hidden family life and a career threatened by homophobia in a male-dominated field. She doesn’t dare risk losing the funding for the important medical research that she’s doing.

When Spain legalizes same-sex marriage, Gene proposes a bold solution—move to Spain, marry, and secure the parental rights she’s never known. But Isa’s refusal sparks a rift, pushing Gene to a daring decision for her family’s future.

As Gene contemplates a groundbreaking legal battle for parental rights in Florida, and Isa’s career teeters on the edge, their love faces the ultimate test. Can they bridge the divide between them, or will their dreams and duties force them apart?

My thoughts…

This book blew me away. Cris Ascunce’s narrative dives deep into the relationships people build and the connections they share with one another. Through her poignantly scripted prose, she relates the importance of family and how it not only shapes one’s life, but their romantic relationships as well. Both Isa and Gene’s family members have a strong presence in their lives. This is especially true of Martha, Isa’s mother. Martha provides a strong support system for the women as they find their way back to one another, and it’s touchingly beautiful to see. The compassion she shows towards Gene is especially heartwarming; their interactions are inspiring as well as comforting. Their bond is undeniably close and adds an emotional depth that’s real and meaningful.

It’s apparent that Ascunce has done her homework before sitting down to write this one. It comes through clearly in the text. She intricately threads culture, tradition and history into the storytelling, making it absorbing as well as compelling. Furthermore, she neatly ties it into the setting to push the narrative, honoring the LGBTQ history in honest and emotional ways. Ascunce’s approach quietly draws readers in, inspiring them to care about the characters and their families. She’s a smart storyteller, too; she provides readers with a story within a story, as this isn’t just about Gene and Isa’s journey. It is a reflection of something bigger. Through it, one might say she tells a grand love story, a tribute to all the real-life Genes and Isas that have traveled the same path and triumphed. 

Final remarks…

This is a fantastic debut. It’s intelligent and insightful. Ascunce lets readers get to know these characters on a deep and visceral level. Readers understand them and care about them. And because they do, they appreciate their joy as well as their pain as they grow and change. Gene and Isa’s backstory—as well as relevant lgbtq historical markers—is neatly woven into the narrative, making their journey compelling as well as page turning. Ascunce tells this tale with gracious compassion and respect, squeezing readers’ hearts at times. In many ways, this story represents many queer couple’s. Narratives like these are so important and need to be more present in the world. I can’t recommend My Best Plan enough. I am excited to see what Ascunce writes next. 

Strengths…

  • Intelligently written
  • Compelling narrative
  • Well-developed characters
  • Soundly constructed plot
  • Enticing writing style

A peek inside…

Gene

“Pampa pampa pampa!” Tito Horacio yells incoherently in my ear. He tries to sing—poorly, but God love him, enthusiastically—over the phone. In the background, Kool & The Gang belts out a cacophonous rumble of the cheesy song from the last millennium as people sing along and glasses clink. My uncle’s explosive laughter rolls through the phone, and I hold my BlackBerry away from my ear a few seconds until it dies down. Delightful as it is to hear, I wonder if he’s drunk-dialing from a party.

“¿Qué está pasando, Tito?” I yell through the phone, hoping he can hear me. Glancing at the digital clock on my computer screen, it’s after midnight in Barcelona and he’s carrying on like a college student during spring break.

“Gene. You haven’t heard? Parliament passed same-sex marriage this morning.” His voice cracks. “Can you believe it?”

“Today?” I say. “No way, not today. I knew it was coming, but I had no idea it’d be today.”

While Tito’s party guests seem to distract him, I open a tab in Safari and type Spain, same-sex marriage in the Google search box. A moment and about a thousand results later, I click on the first link. It’s a New York Times article by Renwick McLean, and right there, the bold headline with an image of the rainbow flag reads, “Spain Legalizes Gay Marriage; Law Is Among the Most Liberal.”

I flip my desk calendar to today’s date. Thursday, June 30, 2005. Well, damn. Who’da thought Spain would beat the US at legalizing same-sex marriage? Spain—the country of my parents’ birth—a Catholic country, no less.

But it’s not until I skim through the article that a few words in the second paragraph catch my eye and momentarily stop my heart from beating. “The bill, passed 187 to 147, says couples will have the same rights, including the freedom to marry and to adopt children, regardless of gender.”

I hang up with Tito and begin daydreaming, of course, because that’s what I do. If Isa and I got married in Spain, I could petition the courts there to legally adopt Susana as her second parent, and we can finally be a family. Legally! Being a Spanish citizen has its privileges: I can sponsor my wife and daughter, so they can become Spanish citizens, too. If we do all that now, by the time it’s legal in the United States, our marriage and my parental rights would be legal everywhere else, including Florida. But how much longer until that happens? It’d be easier if we did it in Spain, now. Then, I wouldn’t constantly feel marginalized when it comes to raising my five-year-old daughter. Big dreams, Gene.

The more I think of marriage as the traditional next step for couples wanting to enrich their lives and start a family, the more I think of my own precarious situation in Susana’s life, who’s my daughter in name only because we have no biological connection. Love is the only thing binding us.

In less than a month, Susana will be five years old. She’ll start kindergarten in the fall, but I shuttle her back and forth to a pre-K program now. With a notarized signature, Isa authorized me to drop Susana off and pick her up from that school. Martha, Isa’s mom, has the same privilege, sans the notarized authorization. And since I’m mostly the one who takes her to see her pediatrician, Isa signed consent forms there, too. It’s ridiculous. A puñetero authorization form is needed everywhere I go where Susana is concerned.

With all the focus on marriage, the end to my workday has arrived. I shut down my AutoCAD, sign out of my company’s network, lock the door to my suite, and walk the twenty paces it takes to get to my house for dinner.

[When I] slide open the glass door and walk into the kitchen, Isa is bent over the open oven, two juicy chicken breasts (one of them pierced with a thermometer) are laid out in a deep-dish oven pan, sitting on the center rack, and she’s poking at the birds, testing their doneness, I suppose. Meanwhile, Susana sits happily in her booster seat, hands, mouth, and dimpled chin covered in chicken juice, kicking her legs to and fro as she chomps down on a drumstick.

“Hey, G,” Isa says, peeking up at me, and I’m suddenly pulled out of this Norman Rockwell-ian portrait that’s labeled M A R R I A G E. The only thing Isa is missing is a white apron with a ruffled edge.“I made rice, and the chicken just needs to rest for a couple more minutes. You hungry? I was just about to call you.” Isa meticulously places the two breasts on a slab of butcher block, kicks the oven door closed, then saunters to the sink to fill the pan with soapy water. Routine. It’s the only thing in our lives that doesn’t change. She lives for it…

Without a word, Susana hops off her booster, walks over to me, gives me the greasiest hug, and smudges a kiss on both my cheeks. [She heads to her room and I make] a mental note to wipe down the banister, railing, and walls when I go back upstairs.

“Did you hear that Spain passed same-sex marriage today?” I ask, standing a few feet behind Isa…
“You know,” I say as I walk over to the sink and wash my hands. “Since I’m a Spanish citizen, we could, for the sake of argument, get married in Jerez, or if that’s too provincial, we can do it in Sevilla.” I pause… “We can live on the vineyard in Jerez with Don Rigoberto while we establish my parental rights over Susana.” I rush my words, so I can get them all out…What I’m thinking of doing might seem far-fetched to her, but it’s an excellent plan, if only she’d listen. “By the time same-sex marriage is legal in the States, we could either move back here or stay there, in case Florida is the last state in the union to recognize same-sex marriages and adoptions by gay people.” This might be the Sunshine State, but it’s been putting a damper on my life since I was born.

Isa fixes her eyes on me but remains silent as my hopes seem to evaporate.

“[We could] live in Spain. [We could] get married there, the law will protect us. We’d have all the rights afforded to all other married couples in Spain, including adoption. And I would be somebody in your life and in our daughter’s life over there. I’d be her recognized parent if something were to happen to you. And if something happens to me, you’d both inherit my stake in the vineyard.”

“G, my work is here. You know I’m in the middle of important research at the hospital, growing human tissue to replace mechanical heart valves. We’re building real heart valves with human tissue…in a lab! It takes time.” She folds up the towel and places it on the counter, seemingly putting an end to my daydreaming. “I won’t leave my research now. Besides I can’t. I still have another two years to fulfill my obligation. Remember, they paid my student debt. And anyway, you’re a successful architect. Your career is booming. Why would we move from here?” she asks, dramatically raising her hands in the air as she turns in a circle. “And, if something does happen to me here, I signed palimony papers making you Susana’s guardian, or have you forgotten? So, for all practical purposes, you’ll be her parent.”

“Yes but ‘for all practical purposes’ isn’t enough for me anymore. You’re forgetting that a judge for Children and Family Services has to rule in my favor for me to be her guardian. And that’s if something happens to you, but what about now? I want it to be known that I’m her mother, too.” My voice cracks. I clasp my hands together behind my back to hide their trembling.

“And,” I say calmer, centered. “If something does happen to you and I wanted to adopt her, I would have to lie about my sexual orientation.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” she asks. “Wouldn’t you do that for your daughter’s sake?”

“Isa,” I reply, tamping down the sudden tension headache. The pressure between my eyebrows is digging into my brain. My hands aloft, I grasp my index finger. “First of all, it’s illegal to lie on official documents, and you’d better believe that officials for the state of Florida will investigate, but regardless, I don’t think I should have to lie to adopt the daughter I helped bring into this world. That’s if something happens to you.”

I grasp my middle finger. “Second, you are required to be present to give consent for medical care. Remember what happened the first time we rushed Susana to the emergency room?”

I take a breath, trying to wipe the memory away and grasp my ring finger. “Third, I can’t sign any kind of legal document for her because I’m not her legal parent.”

Pulling at my pinky, sending pins and needles up my arm, I continue, “And fourth, I pay a tax on the benefit I receive from the firm to have both of you on my health insurance. You know, it’s a real shame my company is more liberal than this country.”

With my chest heaving, head throbbing, and stomach spinning, I give her my final point. “Isa, marriage is about more than just the bond between you and me. There are laws in place that protect the family unit. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Gene, we can’t move to another country to get married,” she says with cutting finality.

“Isa, we’ve been together for fifteen years! Living together since college, officially, like most straight married couples. We’ve created a family. You won’t move to Spain so that I may feel secure in my role as one of Susana’s mothers?” I keep my voice low, so Susana doesn’t hear us argue. A bit clearer than a whisper, but my throat might as well be bleeding from forcing my words through my esophagus without involving any vocal cords.

“Gene…Where is the urgency? Why can’t you wait until Florida follows suit and legalizes adoptions for gays and lesbians?” she asks.

“Because I know what it’s like to lose both my parents and to be unprepared to live without them!” I bellow with a sob. This time, a little louder than before, and the words seem to gush out of me just as the tears sting at my eyes. “But the difference is the state knew who both my parents were. If I die right now, there’s no record of whom I loved or by whom I’m survived. Don’t you see? I have a birth certificate that says who my parents were. It doesn’t say ‘unknown’ under the word father.”

“So, you want your name on Susana’s birth certificate under the word father?” she asks, brows furrowed. “I don’t understand how that’s going to change anything.”

“Because you have no idea what it means to have a child you love, who loves you just as hard, and have zero legal connection to her. You gave birth to Susana, that is undeniable. Your name is on her birth certificate. Mother: Isabel Susana Acosta,” I say, making gestures in the air as if Isa’s name and title were top billing on a theater marquee.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I hear myself say, the words leaving my mouth in slow motion and in a deep wistful tone. I drop my arms to my sides and lower my gaze to my Reeboks. The back of my neck is stiff as tears swell in my eyes. “I’ve given this everything I have, and if you can’t at least understand where I’m coming from, then you and I have no business being together at all…”

“Ay,Wait, what?” She rounds the peninsula and steps right behind me. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I turn to face her, shrugging it off in the process. “You’re leaving? Leaving us?”

“No, Isa.” I point a trembling finger at her. My voice is quivering. “I’m leaving you.” Never in a million years did I think I would ever utter those words to Isa. “I will still be in Susana’s life, provide for her, and co-parent her with you, the way it states in our palimony papers. I just…I can’t live here with you anymore.” Shaking my head, I turn back around and make my way to the stairs.

“Gene!”

I turn to face her.

“Be reasonable,” she says. Stomach acid churns, melting my insides. “You won’t stay here with me if I don’t move to another country where we can get married?”

I shove my fists in the pockets of my Bermuda shorts. My head thrashing as if I’ve just come back from a Mötley Crüe concert. This isn’t an impossible task. My own parents moved to the States when the future of their family became untenable in Franco’s fascist Spain in 1969. Both sets of Isa’s grandparents did the same when they fled Castro’s communist Cuba in the early sixties. “Isa,” I say to her, after a few deep breaths. “We both knew this day was coming, let’s be honest with ourselves. I’ve loved you since I was thirteen years old, but while you’ve been playing make-believe, I’ve been building a family, a home, and a life with you.” I pound my chest again, and it’s as if my heart has stopped beating. “We’ve been lovers from the get-go, sharing a house, the chores, the expenses, and a bed. For all practical purposes, as you say, you’re my wife.”

“But, G, we’ve been best friends,” she insists, and she’s being serious, which is what’s most astonishing.

“¿Qué?” As my blood blisters, my eyes strain under the sudden pressure, I’m befuddled by her words. “No. Don’t you dare say that!” Spittle springs off my bottom lip. “Don’t you dare call me your best friend. We are a couple! Best friends don’t plan the life we’ve planned for fifteen years, they don’t sleep together, and they certainly don’t have children together. Friends don’t miss each other so much they practically starve themselves, waiting to be reunited with the other in college! You and I have never been friends, and because you only think of me as such reassures me that I am nothing to you.” I stop to give my rapid pulse a chance to ease.

“I wanted more from this relationship,” I continue. “From the life we diligently pieced together. The life you planned for us doesn’t fit me anymore! But you still don’t realize that aside from all the papers we signed, Susana is legally only your daughter. Do you get that? I can write it a hundred times in the air, and it’ll still be air and not a legal document.” I stop speaking abruptly, turn, and climb the stairs. I need to leave for my own sanity and figure out how I’m going to adopt my daughter.

“Wait. Fuck, Gene, you know I would never take her away from you, if that’s what you’re worried about!” She’s right behind me.

I wait until we’re inside our bedroom to turn around. “Really? You won’t even marry me; how can I expect you to think of me as her other parent?” As I blurt out those last words, I know I’ve gone too far and immediately regret them. But I carry on because an apology won’t help matters. “Is it really because you don’t want to move to Spain that you won’t marry me, or is it because I’m a woman?”

“I don’t see you like that,” she says. “You’re just Gene to me.”

“Well,” I say. “Gene has a pair of tits and a vagina.” I grab my breasts and then cup my crotch.

“Gene!” Isa says in a hard whisper. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t you get it? Susana came out of your body, she shares your DNA. She looks exactly like you.” I point out our door toward her bedroom. “I need it to say somewhere that she’s my daughter, too.”

I turn and walk away, quietly making my way across the hall, leaving Isa to wonder what just happened…Ambling into the dressing room, I grab my suitcase from my side of the closet and open it over the ottoman that sits in the center of the room. I can’t stay here one more minute.

“You’re leaving now?” Isa asks, closing the door gently behind her.

“I can’t stay here with you.”


Isa

Fuck me! She’s gone.

When she left, Gene closed the side door so gently, it barely made a sound on her way out. I felt my insides spill all over [the floor].

Mother of fucking pearl!

When that breaking news alert about Spain passing marriage equality came through, I should have known Gene was going to start this up again. But she doesn’t get it. She never has. At the research hospital, I’m at the end of an infinite tug-of-war, and the rope is slipping away on my side. 

Frustrated and needing some motherly advice, I pick up the kitchen phone, swiftly dialing Mami’s number. 

“Hola mi niña ¿cómo estas?” Mami says after picking up on the first ring. Her voice is warm and familiar, and it’s hard to remember how contentious our relationship was once. She’s probably sitting in her plush butaca with her TV table covering her thighs, eating one of her healthier concoctions she bulk-cooked earlier in the week. She did her best cooking wholesome food after the cardiologist diagnosed my dad with a calcified heart valve. But after receiving a bio-prosthetic valve implant, he died four years later. And now that he’s gone, she probably has more vegetables on her plate than anything else. I clear my throat before answering to keep my voice from collapsing.

“Ay, Mami,” I reply with a quivering lip. “I think Gene just left me.” 

“¿Qué?” she asks, incredulous. “Pero, Isabel Susana Acosta, what have you done?” 

I somehow calm my frenzied weeping and answer, “She…Spain…same-sex marriage…” Okay, maybe that wasn’t calm at all. 

“Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”

This book is available from…

A bit about the author…

A Miami native, Cris Ascunce was born to Cuban immigrants. Author of the novel My Best Plan, Cris is a voracious LGBTQ rights advocate and hopes to enlighten her readers on the struggles, advancements, and setbacks the community has endured and still faces, as well as what the long road ahead has in store to reach full equity with her writing. A graphic designer by trade, she once designed collateral with catchy headlines to lure visitors to Miami; now, she writes about it in her prose. A lover of travel, reading, and animals, Cris divides her time between Miami and Spain with her wife and their canine and feline daughters.

Follow the links below to learn more about Cris…

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