The morning, when it comes, is heavy. Grey. A cloying feeling fills the air. Bleary-eyed, I pull my duvet tight to my chin; I don't want to wake up yet. I want to be back to yesterday, to dinner.

For a few hours, it was like everything was perfect. For a few hours we could enjoy a family meal—Mum, Beth and Hannah, not a care in the world. We didn't have to face the reality that come the morning Beth was leaving. And you know what? I had a lovely time last night. I'm sure I didn't look feminine, not as much as I would have liked to, but I was happy. I was me. I didn't care what anybody thought. With Beth's encouragement, I even gathered the nerve to venture into the women's toilets. The best part of women's toilets only having cubicles, I've discovered, is that when I'm sat there with the door locked, I don't have to worry about people coming in and accusing me of being in the wrong room. And the anxiety that I always felt in the men's room, that guttural discomfort, is not there in the women's.

All this is to say that last night was a final look at the happiness of old. And this morning, that happiness is gone.

I make my way downstairs to the kitchen table. Mum and Beth are there already, silently eating their cereal. I join them. Pouring myself a bowl, I eat deliberately slowly. Part of me thinks that if I can just get breakfast to last forever, then maybe Beth won't go. But that's not fair on Beth. She needs to go, to start her life, and who would I be if I stood in the way of that? Soon enough we've all finished our food. Mum stands up, Beth sighs. Looks at me. "I'll miss you, Hannah," she says to me. "Come and see me when I'm all settled in, yeah?"

I nod. "You can count on in."

I won't be joining them on the drive to Beth's new digs. The car's going to be packed full as it is, with all of her stuff. There's just no room for me. So, as Mum begins the task of carrying all of Beth's bags from the hall where they've been gathered into the car, arranging them like some bizarre game of Tetris, I say my farewells to my sister. A selfish part of me still wants to say 'don't go'. I shut that part of me down. After all Beth has done for me, I won't ruin this day for her. Instead, I hug her tightly, so tightly. As we hug, I start to cry, and Beth starts to cry; I can feel tears, but I can't tell which are hers and which are mine. Just being in her arms, enveloped, makes things better.

But nothing lasts forever. Eventually, Beth pulls away. Her mascara is slightly smudged, and she looks at me with a distant smile.

"It won't be the same around here without you," I tell her. "I wish we had more time."

"We've got all the time in the world, Hannah," she says. "The rest of our lives. Just not confined to this one dreary little house in a small-minded town." Another sigh. "I'll write. I promise. But you don't need to waste your time on me. You're a growing girl. You've got your own life to live, and I'm just a supporting character."

"I love you, Beth."

Beth nods. "I love you too, sweetie."

Outside, Mum toots the car horn. The bags are packed, and she's ready to go. This is our farewell. There's a lump in my throat as I watch Beth walking out of the house; I stand in the door as Beth clambers into the passenger seat of Mum's car, and I watch as the car drives off into the distance. When it's out of sight entirely, I shut the door. And I'm surrounded by silence.

I go upstairs to have a shower—I'd had breakfast in my pyjamas, not wanting to waste a minute of the time I had left with Beth—and her open bedroom door catches my eye. I go inside. The bed is immaculately made, Mary-Mary rested against the pillow. Her bedside table is empty save for the lamp and a coaster; the trinkets that once adorned her windowsill are gone. There's no make-up strewn beside the vanity, and no vanity either, just an empty space where it used to be. I see no sign that anybody lives here any longer.

And they don't, I think to myself. This isn't Beth's bedroom now. Beth lives somewhere else, some strange distant city, and this room is just a spare bedroom which she stayed in once.

I'm the only daughter who lives here now.

I spend longer in the shower than perhaps I should. Nobody's here to complain about it, and the sound of the cascading water does a good job of drowning out the heavy silence. When I'm done, my fingers are slightly wrinkled at the tips. I wonder where Beth is now. Her and Mum are probably somewhere near their destination; I hope Beth's going to be happy.

 I dress for the day, opting for the most boring clothes I have. Part of me longs to wear the dress again, but it's in dire need of a wash. I don't have any more feminine clothes, though, and I'm damned if I will spend more than the minimum minute or two picking out which of my horrible male clothes I'm going to wear.

I consider putting on some make-up. In the end, I decide against it--it's not going to look good with my male frame and male attire. That's not to say I don't admire men who rock make-up, nor those who go for a masculine look while still expressing themselves with cosmetics. But they're not me. If I can't present the way I want to, entirely, then I'm not going to do a half job. It'd only make me feel worse.

When I'm dressed, I hop onto the computer and send Jessie a message. When can I come over?

She replies straight away. whenever. luv ya xx

I stay just long enough to write Mum a note so she knows where I've gone. I can't stay any longer in this house today, thinking of Beth and the years we wasted not truly understanding one another.

*

It's not a long walk to Jessie's place, and I spend it in thought. Where's Beth now? Is she settled in? Has she met the people she'll be living with all year? Is Mum still holding on and refusing to let her go? Probably the latter. Mum likes her hugs. I know she's going to miss Beth at least as much as I will. I actually feel a little guilty for going out. Mum's going to get home to an empty house, and she'll have to deal with all the emotions of her children growing up. And there's no Jessie for her to talk to.

I don't consider turning around though. In any case, it's too late for that--Jessie's house looms large before me. She's at the gate waiting, and greets me with a wave. I wonder how long she's been there.

My heart definitely lightens to see Jessie. Stupid as it sounds, given that I just saw her yesterday at school, it's a reminder that I didn't lose my entire support system when Beth got in the car to go to university. No matter what, I've got Jessie. I'll always have Jessie. I follow her up to her bedroom in the little annexe of her house, not really listening to whatever she's talking about but just enjoying the sound of her voice. We get to her bedroom and we sit on the bed.

"Are you alright?" Jessie asks. "You've not said much."

I nod. "Beth moved out today," I tell her. "She's gone to uni, and she's not planning on coming back. And you know, I didn't realise how much I loved her until recently. I never cared for her before, and she never knew the real me, and it feels like it's just so many years wasted. And now that we're finally on the same page, she's gone. And I'm just sort of... wishing she and I had built our relationship sooner."

"That's normal," Jessie tells me. "We all have things we wish we'd done differently, and we tell ourselves that, if only we'd done this or that years sooner, everything would be better. But I'm not sure that's true."

I frown. "You're not?"

"Life's a journey," says Jessie. "If you turn off too early, you won't end up in the same place, and you certainly won't travel the same road to get there. What if I'd worked up the courage to speak to you three years ago? It's easy to convince ourselves that we'd just have spent three more years together—but I don't think we would. I was ten times more closeted then than I am now, so scared I couldn't even bring myself to fantasise about being with another girl. And you were an egg that was nowhere near ready to hatch. Maybe we'd have had nothing in common back then. Even if we did, we might not have ended up together. Life would have taken a different path." She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "And you're like the best person I know, so any path that doesn't end up with us together is a path I'm glad I didn't take."

"Stop it," I say, "you're making me blush."

"Good. You're cute when you blush."

Being called cute only makes me blush harder. Jessie knows this, of course. It's why she likes to call me cute.

"Eventually I'll get over missing her," I say, to myself as much as to Jessie. "It's like Beth said to me: I've got my own life to live. So many changes to come. Good friends. A great girlfriend. But right now it's raw. I just want to be with someone, to have someone hold me."

Jessie nods. "Then that's what we'll do. I'll be with you. I'll hold you." She hugs me, her head resting on my shoulder. "For as long as you need."

And that helps. It really does. I positively melt in her arms, and turn briefly into a puddle of human-shaped goo, letting her surround me. No matter what, I realise, I have to keep this. What we have is something the old me could only dream of having, and if pretending to be him for a bit longer is the price to keep this then I'm more than willing to pay it.

"I won't tell the school," I say, though my words are muffled by Jessie's arm around me. "Not if you're not ready. I can be Harry for a while longer."

Jessie breaks the hug and gives me a concerned look. "You mustn't, Hannah. It's not you."

"It's like you said, Jessie," I tell her. "If there's a path that takes me away from you, I don't care what's down it. It's not a path I'm willing to take."

"No. You have me now, Hannah, and you will keep having me." She sighs. "I'm scared, okay? Scared of what it means to be out. But that's my thing to deal with, and my thing to work through. It shouldn't impact on your life. Our relationship. Come out to the school, Hannah. You'll only regret it if you don't."

"And what about you?"

Jessie shrugs. "What about me? You're my girlfriend. I've got to get used to people seeing that side of me. And you know what? If they want to make judgements, that's on them. It's not a reflection on me. I'm perfect." She says this last with a wide grin on her face, but I can't help but agree. She is perfect.

And for a while at least, I can forget about missing Beth.