In the end, we didn't do much that was too out-there. Makeup was out, nails were out, skin-care/spa stuff was out, and there was no point in her dragging me to get my ears pierced when the earlobes were only felt to begin with. She did insist on buying a pair of stud earrings set with amethyst (the same color as my eyes) which she had me wear; I didn't feel a thing when she jabbed the pins through, other than mild embarrassment.

She did take me to a hairstylist, though; the two of them debated for a while over what could be done without actually cutting anything. They settled on just doing it up a bit wavy with hairspray and stuff to, I didn't know, add volume or whatever. The result looked more "'90s news anchor" than "fashion plate" to me, but Emma seemed pleased; whether with the look or pushing me out of my comfort zone, I didn't know.

She had her hair done, too; they discussed options for a shorter cut and settled on a similarly wavy updo, a retro look that kept her hair out of the way when she carried herself. I had to admit, it was a clever way to combine form and function. The stylist handled it admirably; she was new to working on disembodied heads,^* but she got Emma cozy in a little "nest" of towels that kept her stable on the counter, and didn't let the weirdness get to her.

^* (Real ones, anyway.)

There was still more to go on Emma's list, and she found more things that she insisted I try, but only a pair of stockings that were longer and...sheerer? than the socks I was wearing stuck; they came almost up to my knees, and she loved how this and the skirt emphasized the joints, with a band of exposed "skin" and opposite colors of fabric on either side of the enameled metal. I kinda saw what she was getting at, but it didn't mean as much to me as it did to her.

"Mm, really though, we need to get you in something where opera gloves wouldn't be out of place," she said a little later, holding her head up to take a sip of her latte. "Then we can highlight the elbows and the knees. Yeah, do that with a backless dress, and-"

"I told you it wasn't going to be 'this once,'" I interjected, glowering into my teacup.

We were in an enchanted-forest café in a quiet corner of the mall; I suspected that it'd started as a Rainforest Cafe years ago, and the new owners had recycled a lot of the décor. They'd stopped short of putting fairies in it, but the ring of mushrooms around the fake tree trunk in one corner was near enough. A stuffed fox peeked out from behind a log; goldfish milled around in a pool fed by an artificial waterfall. A medley of soothing New Age-y relaxation music played softly in the background.

"I said I'd stop bugging you about it after this," Emma replied. "But you can't deny a girl her dreams."

"You can dream whatever you want," I said, "as long as I stay out of it."

She smirked. "Y'know, Stu, you haven't exactly spontaneously combusted since you put that outfit on. Just sayin'."

"I already told you," I said; "I don't hate this on its own merits, it's just not me."

"And I still don't get why you tell yourself that," she said. "I mean, did you think you had to be able to fly to put on a cape as a kid? If you don't dislike a thing, why insist that it's not for you?"

I sighed, taking a long sip off my tea and trying to formulate a response; a bell chimed as someone entered the café. "That's different," I said. "A costume isn't the same as clothing; it's what you wear to pretend to be something you're not, not what defines your normal style."

Emma shook her head. "Normal clothing doesn't define you either. It can express you, if you want, or it can disguise you, if you choose. But it doesn't change you; you're not a different person when you put on a tie, for God's sake."

"It defines how people see you," I said, feeling slightly exasperated. "That's not the same thing, but it still matters, unless you can get by without ever interacting with them."

She sighed. "You really do let other people rule your life, don't you?"

"N-no, I don't," I stammered; we both knew it was a lie. "I just don't care that much about this stuff, okay?"

"See, I don't believe that," she said. "I think you didn't care much, before this; which, okay, I don't get, but fine, that's your business. But ever since this happened, I think it's been a way for you to hide from it; you're disguising yourself as the old you and using rejection of 'that stuff' as a reassurance that nothing's changed, so you can pretend you're not different now, in spite of all available evidence."

"I-I'm not...!" I sputtered. I felt tension coiling up in my chest, heated whirring in my head. I didn't want to talk about this, either, but Emma was hardly Ms. Tact, and Tammy wasn't here to keep her in line...

"No?" she said, a devilish half-smile creeping across her face. "Then why put up so much of a fight? If you just didn't care, you could've rolled with it when I found that outfit for you, and it'd make no difference in the grand scheme of things. The way you fought it says you do care - because you're afraid of admitting something to yourself, and you're worried that any little thing might break the illusion."

Something inside me ground hard against something else; it sounded like I needed new brake shoes. "Emma," I said, "I don't want to talk ab-"

"Tell me, Stu," she interrupted, talking over me, "why does it matter whether you're a girl or not?"

An actual braking mechanism squealed, my systems lurching back down into low gear. "I do not want to talk about it," I said coldly, putting as much force into the words as I could muster. "You said yourself that it was none of your business."

"No, I said that I shouldn't have said what I did - which I shouldn'tve." She gave me an apologetic look, but her voice remained firm. "But I'm seriously asking - 'cause I keep seeing you push back on anything that even vaguely resembles acceptance, even for the moment, even if it causes you unnecessary stress. And there doesn't seem to be a reason besides your own preconceptions." She shrugged. "I dunno, maybe I'm missing something; but the way I see it, you're stressing yourself for no good reason - and as your friend, I can't just stand by and watch without saying anything."

I was getting off-kilter; I tried to focus and calm myself. I felt indignant at her lecturing me when she didn't have to deal with anything remotely comparable, but she seemed sincere, and I couldn't get resolutely mad the way I'd been able to as a human. And honestly, part of me wanted to know the answer, too; ever since our argument, it'd been nagging at the back of my mind...

I took a deep breath, out of habit. "I mean, I don't know where to begin with that. It's like the single most basic dividing line in human history, and now I have to deal with people seeing me as suddenly being on the other side. And, sure, it's not as rigid now as it was even twenty years ago, but it's still a thing. Not even, like, prejudice-wise, but just how people perceive and relate to you on a basic, subconscious level. I dunno if it's instinct or cultural, but you can't escape it in any case."

Emma took a madeleine from the packet she'd gotten with her coffee and bit into it. "And is it being perceived as a woman specifically that bothers you, or being put in a group you feel you don't belong in?"

I sighed, staring into my cup. "I already told you, Emma. It's not like there's anything wrong with womanhood, in the abstract - but that doesn't mean I want to upend my whole identity."

"But I'm just not seeing how this is 'your whole identity,'" she said, taking another bite of her teacake. "Or even a major part of it. Like, what do you think defines you, personally, that you couldn't be or do as a girl?"

"It's not about what I can do..." I started, but I trailed off as I tried to formulate an answer. What was it that bothered me about this, specifically? Or, really, what was it that I did think defined me? I knew I was bothered by this, but I could hardly counter that when I couldn't even say for myself what I wanted...

Emma seized on the opening, picking her head up and putting herself face-to-face with me. "Oh? So if it's not because of something you aspire to, and it's not that you have any objections to the concept, then what is it?"

"For starters, a lot of it's this right here," I said, my tempo creeping upwards. "Like, you've been pushing this idea of yours that I should just go along with all this ever since we changed. Sure, you play the neutral arbiter when it suits you, but you're still trying to debate me into a corner here."

"I'm not-!" Emma pulled herself back over her shoulder, looking indignant, then guilty, then sheepish. "...Okay, I'm trying not to," she sighed. "Look, I'll admit that I'm excited - there's all these things I wanna share with you 'cause you're my friend that I couldn't before, y'know?" She lowered herself to the tabletop, looking up at me. "But I know you're going through some serious stuff, and I'm doing my best not to run too wild on you, I really am."

Are you, though? I thought, but said nothing. I didn't believe that Emma had any ill intent, but it was all too easy to see what she thought I should be, and I felt leery about giving her a say in this; I could picture myself ensnared by chains of rationalization, dancing to her whims like a puppet on a string...no, no, that wasn't fair, not really. But it still felt uncomfortable...

"And it's just...you know, it's where I belong," I sighed. "I've always been part of this group, for as long as I can remember. There's nothing wrong with that other group, but I'm a foreigner there. I don't speak the lingo, I don't have the tribal knowledge, and I don't really understand the rituals. I'd never be a native, just a tourist trying too hard to fit in." I grimaced. "Hell, you said yourself that I don't have to cope with-"

"I shouldn'tve, okay?" she said, getting a bit flustered. "Please, don't figure out major personal issues based on what my bitchy side tells you when I'm in a bad mood. Just...really, don't."

"But your 'bitchy side' kinda has a point," I said. "Even if I wanted to redefine myself, there's whole swaths of shared experience that I'm never going to be a part of. Why bother pretending about the rest of it, then?"

Emma put a palm to her forehead, her head tipping out of her other hand; she took a moment to right herself. "Again, I'm not saying you have to forcibly redefine everything about yourself to fit traditionally 'girly' stereotypes. I'm saying you shouldn't hold yourself back from things just because you're convinced they're somehow not for you. It's not 'you have to do this now,' it's 'c'mon, try it, you might like it.'"

She lifted her head off the table, nestling herself back into her own bosom. "And as for the rest, why do you have to check every single box on the list to consider yourself part of a group? I mean, I'll never share Tammy's feelings about her change, and I won't have to worry about running down like you do. And neither of you will ever have to wonder if you're really two people. But we can all bond over what we do share in this whole crazy mess."

"Yeah, but being friends is different than being kin," I said. "You can be friends even if there's major differences between you, but that doesn't change what you-" I stopped, frowning, as I caught something I hadn't at first. "Wait, two people!?"

She shrugged. "Honestly, I dunno. I didn't notice at first, 'cause this was all new and strange, but...this all comes weirdly naturally to me. My body reacts quicker and I have better spatial awareness now - like, there's times I've almost dropped myself, but I've caught me before I even realized; or I'll keep hold of myself like at the lake without really knowing what I'm avoiding. And when I was on my period, I kept doing little things to comfort myself without really thinking about it."

"Really?" I cocked an eyebrow, my tempo picking up a little with my curiosity. I'd wondered ever since the change if her head-gestures were something she was doing on purpose, but maybe they really were subconscious...split-conscious...?

She tipped her head into a nod. "It's not like there's this other-me perched on my shoulder or anything. But I keep wondering if it's some kind of secondary nervous system, or if my body really is aware. And...I don't really know the answer. But heck, I've even had moments of looking at people in a crowd and thinking what are those weird stalk-things keeping their heads tethered to their bodies!? before it all looks normal to me again."

"And that doesn't freak you out?" I stared at her in amazement. I had enough trouble just wrapping my head around looking like a girl now; how could she be so casual about maybe having another self?

"Uh, no...?" she said, ruffling her hair and grinning sheepishly. "I mean, that's my point. It's weird to think about, and nothing I'm at all used to, but...I'm still me, right? I still feel like me, I still think like me; I'm just a different me now. But that's normal, isn't it? Like, you're not the same person you were when you were five, surely."

"No, but I'm not a different kind of..." I paused, considering it. Was I not? Being a man sort of was a difference in kind from being a little boy, in so many ways; was it that much smaller than the gulf between a man and a woman? But then, a boy was the larval form of a man; it was natural to go from one to the other, even if it took time. Surely that was different than-

Emma laughed. "But you could be. 'You' isn't a fixed, immutable thing; changes in what makes up 'you' are part of life. You're a different person now than you were a month ago, and you were different then than five, ten, fifteen years before that. So it's not like your 'self-definition' is something you have to consciously adhere to; it's a reflection of your own natural properties. And it's okay if those change - whether you choose it or not."