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  Without further adieu, here's this week's chapter.

  Rose

  Waking up next to Kyle Duggan, wrapped up in his arms, that manly smell of his filling my nose, feeling his heart beat in time with mine, was the second best feeling in the whole damn world (the first best being getting fucked by him, obviously). He was still asleep when I woke up, clinging to me tightly, his muscur chest moving up and down. I id my palm ft on him, and truth washed over me with the morning light creeping in through the blinds.

  I was a woman. I’d finally fucking admitted it. I’d… What did they call it? Hatched? Yeah, that’s it. I’d hatched. Just the concept, the idea that I’d been something else, some unborn state, yet to become my truest self, and now I was finally there… It filled me with a warmth and energy I’d never known before. Like I was finally, truly ALIVE. Yeah, I wasn’t completely complete yet- I still had to get rid of certain abominations between my legs- but I knew who I was. I wasn’t stumbling around the darkened hallways of the Labyrinth anymore, I was glowing in the warm light of the truth. And that truth had come with other upsides, such as a giant hunk of white meat currently spooning me.

  “My own personal prince charming,” I murmured.

  “Hm?” Kyle intoned, his eyes slowly opening, sparkling in the morning light. His hair looked blonder than usual in the warm glow, his face like some kind of marble statue of peak masculinity. God, he was glorious. And he was all mine!

  Better make sure he liked being all mine.

  “Shhh,” I said, putting a finger over his lips.

  “No, I should wake up,” he muttered, “Make us some breakfast-”

  “Lemme handle that,” I said, kissing his cheek, loving the way his morning stubble tickled my lips. I wonder what he looks like with a beard? I thought. Some kind of sexy mountain-man, probably. Yum!

  His eyes were half-hooded. His eyeshes were surprisingly long. I didn’t usually notice that; lots of times when I’d been up close enough to discern that kind of detail, it was either dark or I was trying to avoid looking him in the eyes. Now, though, I was noticing things. I was seeing everything. And I loved everything I saw. “You sure?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a moment, only for a rushing river of images to carry me away: me in my house dress and my makeup, my hair in a cute little up-do, cooking for my man so he could wake up to both his gluttony and lust satisfied. It just made me feel so damn pretty and girly and housewife-y, all of which were things that made the warm buzzing of bliss vibrate through my every atom. “I’m sure,” I said, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “You just rest up; I know I worked you wicked hard st night, and I’m gonna need you at your full strength.”

  “Is that right?” he said.

  “Oh yes, I’m pnning on putting that body of yours to good use going forward, Mr. Duggan.”

  “And I’ll happily oblige, Ms. O’Neil,” he said before closing his eyes once more.

  I slipped out of bed with a smile, then made my way to the bathroom. A quick shave, a basic skincare regimen, and a simple face of makeup ter, I pulled on one of the dresses I’d bought in Los Angeles: a white sundress with blue flowers, fring out at my hips and stopping just shy of my knees. My legs were nice and smooth, and all the physical activity the past month had gotten them toned and strong. It was strange: for the first time, I actually kinda-sorta-almost liked how I looked. I didn’t even know that was possible for me. It was an entirely alien sensation, one I’d never pictured myself as being worthy of. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself beautiful, though if other people (one other person especially) wanted to say it, I wouldn’t put up a fight either.

  The only major impediment to it was my hair. It was at colr length now, but it was shapeless and shaggy. I brushed it out, parted it to the side, but it still looked like a teenage boy’s haphazard mophead look. I needed to do something about this, possibly something that would involve calling on my hairdresser sister. I trusted Ruth. She was probably the only person in my family I fully trusted. Well, okay, Juniper was cool, but she was also a crazy person and a bbber-mouth. Mia and Veronica were… Well, they could go either way. Sarah, though… Yeah, not telling her. Never telling her. She wouldn’t just tell Mom, she’d actively plot with Mom in order to ruin my life as punishment for my ‘transgression.’

  I sighed as I attempted to put my hair up. It was just barely long enough for a ponytail, though it wasn’t as pretty as I’d like it. Brg. I’d get there. For now, I should probably leave it up, anyway: I didn’t want my hair to get into the food.

  I started humming an El Fitzgerald song as I walked out into the kitchen and mixed pancake batter with eggs and milk. Soon, I was singing it quietly, watching crepes cook in the skillet while coffee brewed in the percotor, drinking in the wonderful aromas of hotcakes and caffeine. Oh, that was heavenly. So many scents I’d barely registered before now were more vibrant than ever with this hormone regimen. Was this how women felt all the time? I knew it was how I wanted to feel all the time. Girly and domestic and wifely. It was a good feeling, that made me more secure in myself and what I wanted and who I wanted than I ever had.

  I beat some more eggs in a bowl, sprinkled in a fistful of shredded cheese, and started sauteeing some chicken apple sausage with peppers and onions in the free skillet. Soon, savory, fatty, meaty-scents joined the menagerie, and I was so wonderfully alive. Oh, a girl could indeed get used to this.

  A few thoughts ran through my head while I cooked and sang: I liked my job. I did. It was exhausting, and I hated being away from home as often as I was (in fact, looking back, that was probably one of the many reasons I was so depressed), but it was a good job for a good company that paid very well and came with the best boss in the whole damn universe. There was a part of me that wanted to quit, to just throw myself into this new feeling that came with this new role that I already loved, but another part of me, the pragmatic part, knew that it wasn’t that simple. Besides, it wasn’t like Kyle and I were married or anything. Maybe if there was a ring on my finger and we had kids who needed rearing, that would be something I could seriously consider, but even then, Boston was an expensive city, and raising even one kid cost an astronomical amount of money. And I was pretty sure I wanted more than one.

  Kyle would make a great dad. And I wanted to give him as many children as possible, even though I couldn’t… Even though I could never…

  I put a palm over my ft stomach and sighed. Barring some rapid advancements in genetic engineering (and even then, I probably couldn’t afford that shit; I was rich, but I wasn’t THAT rich), there were some things I was never going to get to experience. I’d never know the feeling of a life growing inside of me. I’d never be able to breastfeed a baby. I’d frozen away some sperm before I’d started the hormones; at least in theory, if we could find a surrogate, I could potentially have a kid who looked like me, and Kyle could have a kid who looked like him.

  But we’d never be able to have a kid who looked like both of us.

  And… God, I don’t know if I would be able to take it, watching some other woman carry my baby or my lover’s baby. Panicked images of him doting on some heavily pregnant woman, her stealing him away from me, tore me apart, and I shook my head and forced the thoughts away. I was getting ahead of myself. Those thoughts were useless right now. And besides, we could always adopt. Plenty of kids out there who needed a home.

  I added a portion of the cheesy eggs and sausage to the thin batter cooking on the skillet, using a spatu to bring half of it around to cover it. Delicious, delicious crepes were incoming. I wafted the scent. Oh, how I loved smells. Sweet, savory, marvelous. It brought a smile to my face that I needed. This was a happy day. I wanted to be happy. I deserved to be happy.

  But as I struggled to keep the crepe intact in the skillet, the thought occurred that I had a lot of work to do now. Oh Dear Lord, I had work to do. Getting my name and gender legally changed would be a good pce to start, though given how slow bureaucracy moved, that could take a while; electrolysis was necessary at some point- I wasn’t that hairy, but having to shave my face wasn’t exactly something I enjoyed; I’d have to come out at work- Violetta wouldn’t be a problem, obviously, but it would still be awkward just showing up en femme once I got back to the office and hoping everyone would just roll with it; and I’d have to come out to everyone at ch…

  At chur…

  I removed the first completed crepe from the skillet and then proceeded to stare at the wall in front of me with undue focus. My hands gripped the edge of the counter as I gulped and fought back tears. I wasn’t gonna be able to go to church anymore. Or at least, not to my church. Not to a Catholic church. The odds of the parishioners being okay with me were slim, and the clergy nonexistent. A cold streak of sorrow froze inside my chest, biting and bitter, and I tried to breathe into it, but it persisted nonetheless.

  Behind me, a familiar, lumbering set of footsteps approached. “That smells delicious,” Kyle said as he came up to me, putting his hands on my hips and kissing my cheek.

  In spite of the cold feeling in my torso, I managed to giggle. He felt so good. So warm and strong and gentle. “Breakfast crepes,” I said. “Savory.”

  He sniffed my neck and said, “Delicious.”

  “You already-”

  “I meant you, gremlin.”

  “Oh. Right,” I smiled. I grabbed the pte with the finished crepe off the counter, then pivoted around to hand it to him. “Here you go, lunkhead.”

  He took the pte, but his brow was furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hm? Nothing-”

  “Rose.”

  “... Just… Dealing with some apprehensions.”

  “About…?”

  “Not about us!” I said, waving my hands in front of him, then putting on his giant bicep. “This, this is good. You and me-”

  “You and I.”

  “Damn you,” I rolled my eyes. “You and I are so good, and I am fucking thrilled that we’re finally dropping the pretense. Like, I love you. I fucking love you.”

  “But…?”

  I gulped. Huh. Had he always looked at my throat when I gulped? I wonder why he… Oh right. Oral sex. “But I have a lot of things I’m going to need to handle now that I’m doing this. The transition thing, I mean. And there is the part of me that… Is a little sad about a couple things I’m gonna be losing.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can’t go to church anymore,” I sighed.

  His face instantly shifted from one kind of concern to another entirely. He put the pte down, then wrapped me in his arms and stroked my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I croaked. “I just… There has to be a trans friendly church out there, right?”

  “Um… I mean, I know a trans friendly synagogue,” Kyle said.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, Lisa converted when she and Rachel got engaged,” Kyle said. “But… Hm. Okay, this could be a challenge. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

  “Together?” I said, looking up at him, eyes wide and full of hope and despair.

  “Together,” he said, cupping my chin. “We’ll look around, find a pce for you. I can go with you to a few of them, in case you need backup.”

  “You… You’d do that for me?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Rose, if the past few months have proven anything, it’s that the real question is ‘what won’t I do for you?’”

  I swooned. Don’t judge me. I couldn’t help myself. I fucking swooned for this man. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just kissed me. I stood on my tip-toes to close the gap. That was how it was for us, I suppose: I reached up for him, and he was always willing to carry me.

  He took his pte off the counter and said, “Just so you know, I’m gonna need more than one of these.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I made enough for four of them,” I said.

  “Two apiece?” he said, eyebrows raised.

  “Oh please. It’s three for you and one for me,” I chuckled.

  “Woman after my own heart,” he smiled.

  “That’s the idea, lunkhead,” I said as I turned back around to prepare a second crepe.

  Kyle helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat down with it and his food, gripping the crepe in his enormous hands and taking a small, careful bite. He chewed and swallowed, and I watched with bated breath.

  “Well?” I asked, stepping away from the stove, leaning over the table, giving him a look at my modest cleavage. “How is it?”

  “Fucking perfect,” he said.

  “Eeeee! Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes!” I said, running in pce and fidgeting about.

  Kyle made moon-eyes at me, looking at me like I was the precious thing in the entire world. Hmmm. I liked that. I liked that a lot. I wanted to stand there and bask in it, to dance around for him, to live in the light of his gaze. Unfortunately, I caught a whiff of the chicken sausage starting to overcook, so I yelped and dashed back over to the stove to finish the second crepe. “Sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Kyle said. “I, uh, I really like watching you cook.”

  The singing, shining, sparkling euphoria overtook me again. So girly, so domestic. When he said things like that, I could really envision the future I wanted with him. I could really picture myself as the woman in his life, who took care of him and made him happy. And that made me happy. “Thank you,” I said once again. Because I was so fucking thankful to him, thankful for him. Part of me knew I didn’t deserve him, but another part of me didn’t care. That part of me just wanted to make him as happy as he made me.

  I started singing again while I finished the crepe and brought it over to my boyfriend (boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend OMG!), then got to work on the st two. Finally, when I was done, I took my pce at the table with my food and my coffee, then decided to say a quick Grace. This would be my first prayer since I officially hatched. It felt significant, like I was really acknowledging what God made me to be. I crossed myself, and Kyle csped my hand while I said the words.

  I looked over at him one more time when it was over, giving him moon-eyes of my own.

  After that… We just ate together. Talked. Laughed. Enjoyed each other. I think part of me was worried about how things would change when I got back, how the energy of our home would be permanently altered by us making our retionship really, truly official. But absolutely nothing did. If anything, all the best parts of it- his company, his presence, his love- were multiplied exponentially now that everything was out in the open. We could just be together. We could make a home together.

  And I loved that. And I loved him.

  ***

  “You sure you’ll be okay?” Kyle said as he sat behind the wheel of the car, parked outside of my sister’s salon. He had to go into work for baseball coaching that afternoon; his school had a home game against another local private school, one to close out the regur season before they took two weeks off for Spring Break and then came back for pyoffs and final exams. I had every intention of being there that night to cheer him and his boys on, but I had some business to take care of before the game started at 4 PM.

  I’d already taken the first step of admitting I was trans, and the second one of getting on hormones. That made the third step my social transition, and within that step were a rge number of sub-steps. The first of which was fixing my hair, and also coming out to Ruth.

  I was sure it would be fine. She didn’t get that many appointments at this time of day, so there was no reason I couldn’t just walk in, give her the good news that she’d probably been expecting to get anyway, and get my hair prettied up. It would be fine.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I smiled, my bright red lipstick accenting it. “Honestly, I’m kinda looking forward to finally letting Ruth see the real me.”

  “Hasn’t she already?”

  “Not like this,” I said. “I think this will be good. And I trust her. I know you said you’ve been talking to her about me-”

  “Yeah, I’m, uh, sorry about-”

  “It’s fine, you were just worried about me, which is, like, entirely understandable,” I chuckled. “So. This will probably take a half an hour, hour tops. After that, I’ll hop in an uber to get to you, wish you luck before the game starts, then find a pce in the stands.”

  “Then after the game, we meet up with Lisa and Rachel at Bar Here, get apocalyptically drunk, and ring in our much needed vacation,” Kyle smiled.

  I gave him a quick kiss, then said, “Exactly. Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I have important girly things to do.”

  “Cool,” Kyle said as I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of the car. I watched him drive away with a longing look, then pivoted on my heel and skipped into the salon. “Hey, sis!” I said. “Guess what? I’m your sister!”

  Ruth stood alone in an empty salon, sweeping up piles of hair from the floor, and gave me a deer in headlights expression. “Oh, God, no.”

  Shame and fear impaled me like a pike. “W-what? I-I thought y-you’d be happy I-”

  “No, not that,” Ruth said, rushing over to me, waving her palms in front of me. “Trust me, Rose, I am so happy to see you and so happy you’re you- that is what this is, right? You’re out now? You’re gonna be a girl full-time?”

  I nodded. “Yes indeed. Just to be clear, you’re not upset-”

  “Of course not,” she said gently, looking me up and down. “God, you look so beautiful, it’s amazing.”

  “I mean… I mostly just look like you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” she deadpanned.

  “Modest as I always, I see,” I said in my own deadpan (but still high and breathy, thank God for Violetta’s speech therapist) tone.

  She chuckled a little. “Oh, of course.”

  “So, uh, what’s the problem, then?” I asked. “I was just gonna come in and talk to you and hopefully get my hair fixed- I was thinking maybe a colr-length bob, side swept bangs.”

  “And that will look adorable on you, yes,” Ruth said. “The problem is that Sarah is coming here for an appointment in ten minutes.”

  My eyes shot open wide, my jaw dropped, my heart froze with inertia. “What?”

  “Can you come back ter?” she said.

  I expined what my pns had been for the night, and why coming back ter wouldn’t really work. “So yeah,” I said.

  “Crap,” Ruth said, raking a hand through her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. “Okay, uh… I can tell her I have a personal emergency that I have attend to-”

  “She’ll see me here when she arrives- she’s gonna think you’re snubbing her for another client,” I said. “And knowing her, she’ll get real salty about it.”

  “Dammit, you’re right, she takes everything fucking personally,” Ruth said, pacing back and forth. I started to follow her, pacing in time with her. Hadn’t done this in a while, but when we were kids, it was a habit I’d fallen into pretty quickly and readily. And I fell back into it just as quickly. Huh. Wondered if there was anything to that.

  “I have an idea,” I said after we’d both paced in silence for a good thirty-ish seconds.

  “Is it insane?”

  “I mean, I came up with it-”

  “Right, how could I forget who I was talking to,” Ruth said. “Lay it on me, home skillet.”

  “Do you have any newspapers?”

  “Newsp- no, Rose, I don’t have newspapers! They’re a dying medium! Who the hell even gets a physical newspaper anymore?”

  “... My boyfriend does,” I said.

  She blinked. Then she grinned. “OMG. You guys are-”

  “Yeah,” I nodded eagerly.

  “And you’re putting bels on it?”

  “As of st night, yeah,” I said, adding a little spring into my step while we paced. “He’s so great.”

  “Honestly, yeah, he seems like a good fit for you, from the times I’ve met him,” Ruth said. “But we’re getting off-topic. I think I see what you’re getting at. I have some fashion magazines here- you could sit at the opposite end of the salon from Sarah, keep your face covered up. Would that work?”

  “It’ll have to do,” I nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll get you started at the washing station. Hopefully we can keep the streams from crossing,” Ruth said.

  And with that, she had me sitting down and ying my head back into the washing station, thering up my hair with shampoo and hot water and scrubbing it out after a few minutes of washing. God, it was just the most rexing feeling ever. And so gender! I’d always been mesmerized by the sight of women in hair salons growing up, getting fussed over and doted on and prettied up. It filled me with warm and fuzzy feelings I’d never been able to pin down, or rather, that I’d been scared to interrogate. Like I’d been dreading what I’d find.

  “You know, I think on some level, I always knew,” I said.

  “That you were a girl?” Ruth said as she started working the conditioner into my hair. “I mean, there were a shit-fuck ton of signs.”

  Forgot how much she curses when the kids aren’t around, I thought. “Yeah, for sure. I used to get so jealous of you and the other girls, like I was constantly seeing things I couldn’t have. And I tried to bury the way it made me feel, the yearning. Like it was some kind of siren call of femininity I had to resist. With, uh, diminishing returns, as you can see.”

  “Heh, yeah,” Ruth said. Then, after another moment, she added, “It wasn’t right. What Mom did to you.”

  “Ruth-”

  “I know, she made it feel like it was your choice, to start denying yourself,” Ruth said. “But come the fuck on: you were a child, and you were in mourning.”

  I breathed in through my nose as she started rinsing the conditioner from my hair. “I know. And part of me, right now, is thinking, ‘what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped?’ Would I have started transitioning when I was still in high school? Or at least when I got to college, and could get on hormones in secret? Would I look different? Would I be different?”

  “And? What do you think?” Ruth said as she led me to a salon chair in the back corner of the room, sitting me on a soft swivel chair in front of a mirror.

  “I think if I had, I might not have met Kyle,” I said with a small smile. “And no matter what else happened, no matter what else does happen… He’s worth it.”

  She picked up a hair dryer but didn’t start it. “You really love him, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I said with a dreamy sigh. “And he loves me too. We just… Work.”

  “Another development for which there was a shit-fuck-ton of signs,” Ruth smirked.

  “You think so?” I asked.

  “Girl. He was all you talked about. Whenever we saw each other the st seven years, he was the first thing you’d tell me about, and the one you’d spent the most time telling me about. And the way you talked about him… I kinda always thought there was something going on, I just wasn’t sure if anything would ever really come of it,” Ruth said, turning on the hair dryer, letting the warm air wash over my damp locks. Oh goodness, that was heavenly.

  “Hmmm,” I sighed. “Like I said, he’s worth it.”

  “I’m gd,” Ruth said. She finished drying my hair, then went over to the magazine wrack by the front door and selected the biggest, chunkiest magazine she had and brought it over to me.

  “Influencers Monthly?” I said.

  “You got a problem with influencers?”

  “No, just… It’s ironic, is all.”

  “Why?”

  The bells attached to the front door rang. “I’ll expin ter,” I whispered, then opened the magazine and held it between my face and the mirror.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw my eldest sister enter. Sarah O’Neil-Vasquez traipsed inside wearing modest heels and a burgundy overcoat, her short, dishwater-blonde hair framing her angur, almost elfin face, her makeup on point as ever. She was tall, like Mom- nearly six feet, in fact- with brown eyes and sharp cheekbones and a delicate, slender frame. At forty, she had a few more lines on her face than I was used to seeing, but she wore them well, with grace and elegance. Such was always the way with her.

  “Ruth,” Sarah said primly, taking off her overcoat and revealing a well-tailored bck pantsuit and a crisp burgundy shirt with a ruffled chest.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Ruth said, offering a hug seemingly on reflex but then putting her arms down when Sarah shot her a disapproving look. That just saddened me- Sarah used to be so affectionate, so warm. But when Dad died…

  “Who’s that?” Sarah, gesturing at me.

  “Oh, just a st minute client,” Ruth said, waving her hand and ughing it off. “She pays the big bucks, so I wanted to fit her in before you came. Running a little behind schedule, though.”

  “Yes, I imagine a dye job like that takes a while,” Sarah said dully.

  Oh, fuck you! I thought, gripping the edges of the magazine tight.

  “So, your usual cut and color today?” Ruth said.

  “Yes, and make it snappy. I have a date tonight,” Sarah said.

  “Oh? You and Sam having a date night?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be naive. We can’t all have marriages like yours, Ruth. Some of us have more important things to worry about,” Sarah said.

  I blinked, desperately attempting not to turn myself around. I’m sorry, what? I thought. Sarah is… Sarah is cheating on her husband. Holy fucking shit!

  “Right, of course,” Ruth grimaced as she led Sarah over to the wash basin.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Sarah said.

  “I didn’t… I didn’t make a look,” Ruth said.

  “You made a face,” Sarah said. “Honestly, have you always been so judgy? It’s horribly unattractive.”

  “Right, of course,” Ruth said.

  I breathed in and out through my nose, staring directly ahead as I heard what were presumably the sounds of dirty blonde hair dye being applied to Sarah’s roots.

  “So, have you heard from our brother tely?” Sarah asked. I stifled a gulp.

  “No? Why?” Ruth replied. Oh, thank God.

  “Because he’s broken his vow.” Oh, FUCK!

  “Um… I’m sorry, what?”

  “He’s regressed into his previous state of transvestitism,” Sarah spat. Fuck fuck fuck-

  “Did he tell you this?” Ruth said. I could hear the wince in her voice at misgendering me, a wince I barely managed to keep a lid on.

  “Of course not, he never talks to us,” Sarah said.

  “Then how do you know-”

  “I saw a newspaper article of our dear little brother strutting down the runway at fashion week in the gaudiest dress I’ve ever seen,” Sarah said. I wondered if she was doing that thing she always used to do where she dug her nails into the arm of whatever chair she was in. “And I saw a social media post of him wearing an equally tacky outfit and doing karaoke in a Denver nightclub.” Oh fuck you! That outfit was fabulous! Nadia said so herself!

  “How do you know it was him?” Ruth asked.

  “I used to dress that stupid little faggot up personally, I know what he looks like in drag.”

  I really wish her words didn’t feel like a knife to the kidneys, but… Well, they did. They really fucking did. God, I used to love Sarah. I used to run to her room after school every day so she could pick out a dress for me, used to spend hours watching girly cartoons and sitcoms and reality shows with her, used to help her cook dinner and clean up afterwards and just… I fucking admired her. I wanted to be like her. She was the perfect daughter- Mom said as much- and I wanted to be just like her.

  But then she…

  And now she…

  It fucking hurt.

  “I’ll be paying him a visit,” Sarah said. “I need to have a word with him before he embarasses our family again with his… Sin.”

  She thought I was… She was an adulterer, and she thought I was the sinner? Are you fucking kidding me?!

  I was just about ready to march over there and give her a piece of my mind when Ruth, saint that she was, said, “Right. So, we’ll let the dye set for a few minutes while I finish up my other client.”

  “Very well,” Sarah said bndly.

  I breathed in deep as Ruth walked over and grabbed a pair of scissors and a brush. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” I whispered back.

  She started trimming my hair, and to my relief and mercy, the warmth of gender euphoria slowly returned to me. I was in a hair salon, getting my hair done as a woman, and nothing, nobody, not even my bitchy, phindering transphobe of a sister could take that away from me.

  Finally, it was over, and Ruth spun my chair to face away from Sarah and towards the door while she showed me a hand-mirror reflection. It was exactly what I’d asked for: a colr-length bob with side-swept bangs. It framed my face perfectly, showing off my girlier features and complimenting my (completely natural, thank you very much) auburn hair. Sarah gave me the thumbs up, and I smiled and nodded and gave a thumbs up right back.

  Slowly, carefully, I rose from my seat and, without turning back at any point, began to make my way from the salon.

  “Wait a moment,” Sarah’s voice called after me. “Brian?!”

  I didn’t answer. Part of me wanted to stay and fight, stand my ground, tell her off, maybe spit in her face, but… No, no I had other pces to be. More important pces to be. Someone much more important to see.

  I raced out of the salon and cleared three blocks before I slowed down, my heart nearly bursting out of my chest.

  As I called a rideshare and waited on the street corner, looking and feeling girlier than ever and scared for my life in part because of that, I breathed, slowly and steadily.

  This was a problem, but… One step at a time. That was how this transition was going to have to work. And by God, I would make it work, no matter who tried to stop me.

  Still, this wouldn’t make it easy. But then again, nothing about this was ever going to be easy, now was it?