The wooden chairs scraped on the cheap vinyl floor as Sylvia and Dakota sat down to a Sunday morning breakfast. Two eggs each, Dakota’s scrambled and Sylvia’s fried hard. Two pieces of toast buttered for each of them. White potato bread barely toasted to be brown for Sylvia, whole wheat as black as the coffee that sat in her cup for Dakota. Sylvia had water, milk not agreeing with her and the caffeine that coffee included having not passed her lips in almost a year. The couple ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the early morning of a day that held no appointments or demands. 

“Thanks for cooking, hon.” Dakota said as she bit down into her second piece of toast.

“It’s no trouble. I’m just glad I burnt your toast to your liking.” Dakota rolled her eyes as Sylvia laughed at her own joke.

“Ha-ha, yeah yeah laugh it up. At least you can tell mine’s toasted unlike your plain white bread.”

“My toast is toasted, thank you very much! It crunches when I bite into it, look!” To prove her point Sylvia bit down into her toast, only to discover that it was a soft spot with no crunch. Dakota burst out laughing at Sylvia’s antics as she just shot her a glare. After a minute or so of nearly non-stop laughing, they returned to their food neither one with anything but love in for the other in their eyes. 

As the two finished the last bits of their breakfasts, Dakota spoke up once again. “So, um, hon, I was kind of wondering if I could ask you something?”

A brief look of fear and worry flashed on Sylvia’s face before she forced it into something attempting to be neutral as she leaned in towards Dakota. “Of course you can, babe. Anything, anytime. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothings wrong. Look, I don’t really know how to say this without just saying it. Well actually, let me start with a different question. Have you ever heard of the term butch before?”

Sylvia burst out laughing at Dakota’s fear of asking what was, in her opinion, such a simple question. She leaned back into her chair and visibly relaxed at the knowledge that that was all Dakota had to ask her. She was still laughing as she answered her. “That- yes, yes honey I have the term butch before. Wha-what kind of a lesbian would I be if I hadn’t?”

Dakota continued on, undeterred and seemingly unoffended by Sylvia’s laughing at her previous question. “Okay, but have you ever met a butch?”

Sylvia’s laughter died quickly as she searched her memory for several long moments. “I’m sure I did at pride last year. There was a ton of people there, there had to be at least one butch in the lot.”

“No, I’m talking about like actually sitting down and talking to one. A full conversation, not a happy pride as you pass each other.”

“I… I guess not. Look, why are you suddenly so interested in my knowledge of butchness? Are-are you considering changing your presentation? Cause I’ll love you even if you never put on a dress again, I promise.”

Dakota sighed, suddenly feeling far more tired than she had been five minutes before. “Oh my God, you must have been a hell of an egg.”

“What does my egg phase have to do with any of this?! Besides, I know for a fact I’ve already told you about how weird my circumstances were. I mean, a GSA of twenty-odd trans guys, five nonbinary people who all preferred running on testosterone, and two cis bisexuals is not exactly the best environment for someone trying to discover that she’s a girl!”

“I know, darling, I know. Look, just forget I made the egg comment okay? It’s irrelevant and I shouldn’t have said it.” Dakota took a moment to gather her thoughts as Sylvia calmed down a touch, her journey to self discovery a bit of a sore spot for her.

“I’m sorry for getting upset. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Sylvia said with regret at her outburst written all over her face.

“You’re fine. I promise. Look, I am going to lay out a series of facts, okay? And I want you to remember that I’m not trying to assign you anything, just provoke self reflection.”

“Okay.”

Dakota held up her fingers as she counted off the evidence. “One: you don’t like being called traditionally feminine compliments and greatly prefer more masculine coded compliments, such as handsome and prettyboy.” Sylvia blushed at the term that she had only been introduced to two weeks ago, but that had caused feelings that she had rarely experienced. “See? Two: you hate presenting femininely to the point where I have only seen you in anything that isn’t masc or androgynous leaning masc once. And that was only for a bet that you wouldn’t put on a skirt.”

 “What can I say? I feel vulnerable and exposed in most women’s clothing. Not to mention the practicality issue - I mean you try figuring out what's leaking from the bottom of your truck on the side of the road in a skirt.”

“Please, just let me finish. Three: you told me yourself last week that you hate having long hair and only grew it out because you felt that you had to. Just like how you only thought about voice training because you felt like you had to, not because you wanted to. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

Sylvia bounced her fingers on her right hand on the table as she used her left hand to support her face. Sadness and guilt sat in her eyes. “No, honestly, I don’t see what you’re trying to say besides listing out all the ways I’ve been failing as a trans woman.”

“Oh, honey, no.” Dakota laid her hand on top of Sylvia’s bouncing hand to reassure her. “That’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Look, I just want you to be happy with yourself and stop thinking of yourself as a failure. I’m trying to get you to consider the idea that your identity may be located somewhere within the butch spectrum.”

“Dakota, what the hell are you talking about? I can’t be butch!”

“Why not?”

“Be-because I’m trans!”

“Sylvia, they have nothing to do with each other!”

“The hell they don’t! I-I mean, what's the point of even transitioning if I’m not gonna change? I-I have to c-c-c-change!”

“Honey, you have changed! You’re happier, more comfortable in your own skin, and look forward to living! Those are huge changes!”

Sylvia had tears running down her face as she continued. “You, you don’t get it. I-I hated the masculinity that was forced onto me for so long. I used it as a shield to avoid being picked on and hated myself for doing that. In what world does it make sense for me to turn around and just lean into it?”

“Did you really hate masculinity or just hate the expectations that they clipped onto it?”

“Look, I-I wanted to be able to be butch for so long.”

“What?”

“I wanted to be Sylvia Scarlett and Starbuck and Ripley and so, so many others that I can’t think of right now. I ca-can’t tell you how many times I’d get drunk and start ranting to my friends about how I wish I could be masculine in that inherently feminine way, but I couldn’t then and I still can’t now. I have to be feminine, no matter how nice it would be to be butch.”

“But why?”

“Because in order to get my d-d-doc/tor to believe that I’ve been me for twelve months, even though I’ve been out for almost two years, I have to meet hiss standards for a trans woman. A trans woman is fem/inine, so I have to be feminine. I can not be b-butch no matter how nice it s-s-seems or how much I wish I could be.” Sylvia took a second to try and steady her breathing and find her words before continuing. “B-B-Besides, wwho’s ever heard of a b-butch trans woman? It’s pract/ica/lly an oxymoron.”

“Honey, I… I never realized that you were suffering this much. I’m sorry.”

“Y-Y-You’re fine, babe. I-I-I-It’s my problem, not yoo-urs. I just never wanted to b-bother you with it.”

“I’m your girlfriend, Sylvia. I want to help you with this stuff going forward, okay?”

Sylvia’s voice was hoarse from crying. “Okay.”

“Why don’t we go lay down in bed, I’ll put on Babylon 5 and rub your back so you can relax? Does that sound alright?”

“That sounds nice. I’d like that.” Sylvia signed, words far too much effort for her right now.

“Alright, you go ahead and lie down on the bed while I put these dishes in the sink and get the DVD.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”