In the face of my bombshell, Aubrey pulled up a chair across from me at the kitchen table. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” she said.

And we did, for two full hours. My nighttime self-questioning had allowed me to put my thoughts in order pretty well, but it was still helpful to have someone to bounce things off of. Throughout, Aubrey was nothing but kind and sympathetic, repeatedly assuring me that she accepted me for who I was, no matter what.

I repeatedly told her I didn’t deserve her, and that set us off into rounds of mutual praise and vows of undying and eternal friendship.

By the end of the conversation, I was still not sure what I was, but I was at least more comfortable with not having a clear label for it. Aubrey advised me to think less about nouns and more about verbs; that is, more about what I wanted to do, and less about what I wanted to be.

“You can stay here as long as you want, of course,” Aubrey said. “And I’ll stay with you too, if you want.”

“You’ve got school starting up soon. As for me....”. My eyes widened. “Oh man, I’m late for work. Janice is going to kill me. My boss,” I clarified at Aubrey’s questioning look.

“Go ahead, go,” she said. “I can hang out here.”

And so I threw on clothes in record time and was out the door, pelting down the driveway, and squealing out onto the road. Traffic was light — too light, but pretty standard for as late as I was. Somehow, I didn’t think that Janice would accept an acute attack of gender dysphoria as a valid excuse to be late.

Why did I care about what she thought anyway? Was my future really in that job? After all, if I decided to fully transition to female — a scary thought, but a possibility — I wouldn’t be able to keep the same job. That place wouldn’t be friendly to your standard, garden-variety hormones and surgery approach, much less a magical necklace. Janice would probably find a clause in the dress code banning mystical jewelry anyway.

By the time I hit the expressway, I had a plan in mind, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I made up my mind.

I swiped my badge, climbed to our floor, and bypassed my desk, heading straight to Janice’s office.

Her eyes gleamed, and she opened her mouth to berate me. But I beat her to it. “I quit,” I told her, handing over my laptop.

“Well don’t expect a reference,” she told me, once she had recovered her composure. “And with your work ethic, you’ll be hard pressed to find another job this good, I can tell you that.”

“I’m not looking for a job,” I told her. “I’m going to focus on my art.”

“Ha!” she laughed, and a sickeningly sweet smile spread across her lips. “You still think you’re a special snowflake, even after no one came to your little ‘art show’?”

“The world needs more snowflakes,” I said, and then paused. “Wait, how did you know that no one came? I never told you that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her tone was spiteful in the extreme. “Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I told everyone here not to come? Or maybe it was because I gave you the wrong address to put on the flyer. You needed to learn to cut out the fantasy and pay attention to your job.” She leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped. “Now, get back to your desk and work some tickets, or I swear to fucking god you’ll never find work on this island again.”

A variety of colorful epithets came to mind, but I bit them back. In that moment, I could see the doors to my future closing. I had a good job, with career possibilities. In five, ten, fifteen years I could rise through the ranks, maybe be a manager myself some day. I’d contribute a bit to my 401k, just enough to hit the company match rate. In a few years time, I’d get an extra week of vacation time, though I would have a hard time finding time to take off. I’d be busy, busy, busy.

One after another, these doors to my future closed. Once they had, my true path was clear.

I smiled. Genuinely smiled. I felt lighter than I had in years. “Goodbye, Janice. I hope one day you escape the cage you’ve built for yourself.” And I turned on my heel and left.

She followed me out of the building, haranguing me and my work ethic and everything else about me. My coworkers — former coworkers — turned in their cubicles to watch the spectacle.

It didn’t matter. She could talk all she wanted. I had still gotten the last word.

“That was fast,” said Aubrey when I entered the apartment.

“On the contrary,” I told her. “That took way longer to do than it should have.” I walked past her into the kitchen, scooped up the necklace, and threw it over my neck. The waves of transformation draped over me and I stretched, feeling my body strain against my suddenly-tighter clothes. I threw my hair back over my shoulders and put my hands on my hips. “Let’s go home.”